#possible mc death

[pulpitude]

ok so now i know what a butte is and i also know how it's pronounced but that still doesn't make the constant butte mentions any less funny

[softlyopulent-if]

Please tell me we're not going the "revenge bad" route and won't be able to to do anything to those people. Like you can have both romance and revenge because seriously letting those people live especially after what that Ass did to Reina isn't right.

You will be able to have revenge.

[eldrichthingy]

Thinking about how often ascended Astarion refers to Tav/Durge as "beautiful" and the fact that they can no longer see themselves in mirrors. Oh my god?

[timegears-moved]

okay back to rejuv i don't wanna any fucking see pokeani discourse

[penrose-quinn]

At first, I thought I dug myself into a hole by putting another offscreen death/funeral in the last chapter, but I think I could work it into my advantage. Now tho I'm more concerned with execution, esp with Benkei's grief 🙃

[strwberri-milk]

Hi, good morning/ afternoon/ evening. I've probably read all of your work on LnD, and I love them all. If it's not too much, can I request like the boys getting a call/update from MC after a disastrous wanderer attack on the city after not being able to contact them?? If possible, established relationship😅 ... thank you for your time!

im glad you like all my writing for them!! im so aefjaweofaw please give me the next main story update - also theres lots of references/imagery of death so if youre not chill w that i will see you tomorrow [salute] - theres also some very very slight references to their myths!! it feels a little ooc to me but thats bc. i think theyd be a little ooc when faced w a tragedy like this!! i hope you like it anyway <3

Zayne holds his breath every time a new patient is admitted. The hospital is busy with all of the patients that are coming in with the disaster, a mixture of those hanging on and people running up to him because he's the closest doctor in the vicinity to confirm death.

He volunteered himself to do triage because he was convinced that he'd be able to stop you from dying, that if you came in through those doors he'd be able to separate his love for you from the mind that studied all those nights but that's impossible - he only got here because of you.

His mind runs circles around himself, almost separated from his body as he tries to figure out why you weren't there. Hopefully it's because you're fine - you don't need medical attention or the medics on site were enough for you. However, he knows there's an equal chance that it's just because a doctor onsite was able to confirm your death and now you were in some bag, stored away with the others waiting for him to come identify you.

When he finally gets a moment to himself he obsessively checks his phone, praying to something that might take enough pity on him to listen at the very least that you'll call him. Minutes turn to hours as he's called back to work. Silence is a commodity now as he's stuck in the theatre, only able to go home after he's exceeded the legal amount of hours he's allowed to work in one night.

The long turned cold water hits his muscles as his mind wanders in the quiet of his home. You still haven't called - nobody's called. He understands that surely, all of you are busy but he's been there when the calls have had to be made. To hear the sobs on the other side of the phone as a squad captain confirms the death of another hunter as they softly ask if they'd like to see the body. He's also seen the calls when the bodies are far too mangled, a sight that no loved one should have to bear. He's waiting for it, almost falling in his haste to grab his phone once it finally rings.

Your number pops up, the letters of your name taunting him as he tries to answer it. He's about ready to throw his phone on the ground from the water on his hand refusing to make picking up the call an easy feat.

"Hello?" Zayne asks, an uncharacteristic shake in his voice.

"Zayne! I'm okay!" you say, voice sounding a little weak but definitely better than he could have ever anticipated.

"Zayne? Honey? Hello?" you ask when you're met with only silence, now beginning to grow anxious yourself. You knew he must have been busy - you were too - and you thought he was safe. He should have been, you'd heard no reports of the hospital being attacked.

"You're alive," he chokes out, falling to his knees.

"Of course I am! Things have just been chaotic so I haven't had enough time to call you until now," you explain, continuing to talk to him.

You hear rustling on the other side of the phone, trying to get his attention again before he cuts you off.

"Where are you right now? Home?"

"Oh - yeah I'm on leave now. Most of us who were in active duty are to let his recuperate. How come?"

"I'll be there soon."

He hangs up immediately, leaving you a little stunned. You decide to clean up a little, having nothing else to do really until he comes over. Zayne never acts this impulsively so you assume that the day with no contact really wore on him.

Once he arrives you open the door for him, planning to apologise for the lack of contact when he almost throws himself at you. You hold him back just as tightly, a little shaken yourself as you close the door after him. You realise that for whatever reason he's soaking, unsure if you should confront that but you decide to ignore it.

He leads you right to your couch, too exhausted to even find your bedroom as he buries himself against your chest. It's not the normal way he lays with you - typically he likes to hold you - but you know not to bother him now. You can't deny you were worried about him too, knowing he probably put in a bunch of overtime at the hospital.

He holds onto you tightly, measuring out the beat of your heart. It's the only way he can remind himself that you're still alive, that the two of you have one more day together.

Xavier has never felt like he wanted to die more than in this moment. One minute you were running with him, trying to stop the Wanderer from attacking the group of civilians the next you're totally gone. Logically, he knows you're most likely fighting a Wanderer by yourself and you can handle it but somewhere he's convinced you'll die without him at your side. You've proved yourself more than capable but he worries about you all the time - he knows how to fight these things, he's been fighting them for far longer than you have - and if you died here he'd have no more reason for living.

He practically goes beserk, tearing into each and every creature with the hopes that one of them can take him to you. With each failure he starts to spiral, standing atop a pile of rubble as he watches the recovery teams start to spread into the city. It practically took an entire squadron to force him to go home, promising him that he'd be the firs t to hear once they found you.

You were diligently following Xavier when you noticed another Wanderer going after a child. You knew that he'd panic once he couldn't find you but you couldn't just abandon them. You tried to tell him you'd be splitting off but over all the screams and screeches he couldn't hear you and you couldn't waste any more time trying to get his attention.

You were able to defeat the Wanderer but not before sustaining an injury that made it too difficult for you to continue active duty, taking the child to a safe spot and staying with them until help arrived. You ended up passing out from the pain shortly thereafter, waking up a day later to Tara in your face heaving a sigh of relief as she called for a doctor to come check on you.

Your body was simply fatigued and after an extra day of monitoring and ensuring you were receiving everything you needed to make sure you wouldn't collapse again when you get home. You nod, knowing what procedure is at this point. You reach out for your phone once the doctor leaves, knowing that Xavier must be worried out of his mind.

You're right, of course. He's laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as he waits for someone to call him. He saw the scale of disaster this attack was, knows that everything is absolutely awful and he's not the only one waiting for news but every minute that passes is another minute you could be trapped, praying that he's coming there to save you.

He decides to ignore the strict orders he's gotten, suiting up to go help the recovery efforts. He was going bad staying in bed all day, unable to get a wink of sleep as pictures of your suffering flash across his tortured mind. Working on pulling valuables and any remnants of life is depressing on a good day but right now it's downright torturous. He can't help but think that the next thing he pulls out is going to be your hand, severed far from your body.

When his phone rings everything disappears. He quickly picks up, steeling his expression to avoid making things worse should someone look over at him. He doesn't even notice who called him, just hoping that it was someone with news.

"Oh! You picked up fast. Are you just sitting at home then?" you ask casually, so casually he thinks it's almost cruel. How could you act so nonchalant about the fact that you held his life in your hands, that you are the only thing in this world he can bear to wake up for?

"No, I'm helping the recovery efforts despite orders. I...it was too quiet at home," he offers as an explanation and you hum. He can imagine you nodding, tapping your chin as you think to yourself.

"If you missed me you could have just said so," you tease, hoping that the ease in your voice will make him relax.

"Of course I did. Is that even a question? Are you able to take visitors?' You know what, doesn't matter. I'll just wait there until you are. I'll see you soon love."

He hangs up quickly and you know that he'll appear in the hospital within the next two seconds with that uncanny ability of his. You straighten yourself out a little, knowing that you were injured but not wanting to look like a total mess.

You can hear his footsteps running up to your door, slamming it open as he catches his breath. You've never seen him out of breath before - maybe he's much more tired than you initially thought.

"You made it," you laugh, making a slight sound from the impact of him practically jumping at you, holding you tightly as he buries his face into your neck.

"I was worried about you," he says softly, looking up at you. "I thought you'd been hurt, badly. And I wasn't there to protect you."

You sigh, helping him sit down into the chair at your bedside. You offer him your hand which he holds gratefully, never taking his eyes off of you.

"I know. I'm sorry. But look, I'm okay now, aren't I?"

He ignores the pain in his chest, trying not to imagine how heavy your hand would feel in his if you really had drawn your last breath. That weight is far too familiar to him, haunting his every thought in the hours that passed between then and now.

"You are. And I'm going to make sure you stay that way," he promises.

Rafayel didn't even know there was an attack until far after it. He knew you were working and that sometimes, you'd accidentally go MIA. You'd already texted him before your mission anyway and then he got drawn into another project of his and completely lost track of time. It's not until the next day that he finally sees his phone and the message from Thomas telling him not to come into the city for supplies for a day or so.

He immediately starts looking through articles, scouring pages that are constantly updating the death toll in search of your face. He curses himself for not paying attention earlier - every minute he wasted on some stupid was another minute you could have spent at Death's door, all because he allowed himself to forget that nothing matters if it's not you.

It's obsessive the way he looks through all of them, calling your phone non stop all the while. Every time he gets sent to voicemail he feels his breath get knocked out of his lungs, resorting to blowing up your phone with texts. When it's clear you aren't replying he grabs his keys to drive into Linkon despite Thomas' suggestion, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he heads to the hospital.

Even in all the chaos people can't help but stare a little as Rafayel makes his way to the counter, demanding someone tell him where you were. He's really trying not to be a brat, promising you that he'd be nicer to people but when it's your life on the line everything is up for debate. He goes through any and every possibility, figuring out what he can do to guarantee your survival.

Unfortunately for him, he gets escorted out. Jenna tries to calm him down, telling him that he'd be the first to know if they had any updates on you. Right now everything was just far too messy to know anything about anyone and there was a good chance that you were just being treated at a different hospital than usual due to the high causality count. He doesn't take no for an answer and manages to strong arm the name of the other hospitals you could have been sent to, starting up his car again right as his phone lights up with your name.

"What do you think you're doing not answering your phone?!" he yells, making you flinch.

Rafayel's never been mad at you, certainly not to this extent but you know that it's because he's anxious. He immediately catches himself too and you hear it, catching the sound of his hands against his steering wheel as he takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. Just - where are you?" he asks, sounding so exhausted that you feel like crying.

"I'm okay Rafayel," you say instead, adding the name of your hospital. He's immediately driving over as you talk to him, keeping your voice even.

"I was split up from the group is all, then triaged at a different hospital. I'm fine though - I managed to just sprain my wrist from overexertion so I'll have a sling for a bit-"

"You're staying with me then. I'm not having you stay alone with a broken wrist. Knowing you you'd do something dumb and make it worse," he scoffs, trying his best to drive safely to see you again. You don't bother to correct him, knowing that's the least of your worries.

You fall quiet, not sure how to respond. Rafayel has always been good at masking how he feels, rarely showing you what he's hiding behind his mask. Now he's an open book, making it clear that nothing will be okay until he sees you again.

"Okay," you agree, leaning further back into the pillows of your hospital bed. "They wanted me to be released into the care of someone if I could anyway. That's why I was calling you - that, and trying to return all your missed calls."

"Thank you," he says so quietly you barely hear him over the sound of his car.

"Of course my love," you say just as softly. "I knew you'd worry as soon as you saw the news."

Another moment passes between the two of you. Rafayel thinks his heart fell out of his chest - or it would have if it was still his to hold. Instead, it's beating firmly in your palm, only able to do so under your affections.

"Rafayel, I'm really fine, I promise. I'm just hungry. Let's get something for dinner, yeah?" you offer, hoping to redirect his energy.

"Yeah," he replies, exhaling deeply.

"Anything you want my beloved. Just name it and it's yours."

[yeahihyperfixtate]

♡ —infatuated!sylus x reader

content : fluff, light angst (reader is badly injured), mc!reader, sweetpie sylus confessing.

authors note : first sylus fic, might be a pt 2 about dating if demanded <3, req are open!

♡ — infatuated!sylus whose heart almost stopped when he watched you brush with death himself, your instinct to save others never failing to make his blood run cold. used to flirting with fate, laughing in the face of danger with his nine lives to spare, but you—oh, you didn’t have such a thing, especially in that terrifying moment, he realised just how much he couldn’t afford to lose you.

♡ — infatuated!sylus who is just as bloodied as you are, the difference being that the blood he wears is yours. hands trembling as he pulls you into his arms, frantically searching for any sign that you’re still with him, that you haven’t slipped away. his heart is racing, his breath hitching in his throat, until—thankfully, mercifully—he feels the faint rise and fall of your chest beneath his touch.

♡ — infatuated!sylus who swears he’s a religious man when he hears the faint whisper of his name, soft and weak, coming from your lips as he carries you away from the source of danger. his arms tighten around you, a desperate grip as if he could protect you from everything just by holding you close.

♡ — infatuated!sylus who’s voice, breathless from the scare and the overwhelming emotions that flood his chest, finds his words blurted out—his feelings, raw and unfiltered, like a confession that had been clawing its way up from his heart. “scaring me like that… that’s the worst prank you’ve ever played on me, kitten,” he chokes out, his voice both trembling and teasing, trying to cover the rawness of his emotion with humour. “i don’t know what i’d do without you, and i don’t ever want to find out. you hear me?”

♡ — infatuated!sylus who hears nothing but silence from you, no response to his desperate confession, until he feels it—a weak, trembling palm pressed against his cheek, gentle yet grounding. it threatens to catch the tear that slips, unbidden, from the corner of his eye. he looks down, and there it is: your soft, fragile smile, a tiny curve of your lips that speaks louder than words ever could.

♡ — infatuated!sylus whos eyes meet yours, hazy but filled with something that quiets the storm inside him. no words are muttered, but none are needed. in that one look, he sees everything—trust, understanding, love. his heart aches with a fierce, protective devotion as he leans into your touch, his hand covering yours as if afraid you might slip away again.

“i’ve got you,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “i’m right here, and i’m not going anywhere. ever.” the promise lingers in the air, carried on the breath of his fear and his relief, binding him to you more deeply than he ever thought possible. and he swears, in that moment, that he will never take a single second with you for granted again.

[nocreativityfornames]

Everything we know about Barbatos so far, lore wise.

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR ALL SEASONS

➤ He lives in the Demon Lord's Castle with Diavolo and works as his loyal butler. (swd: 2-13)

➤ He's one of the demons who share a pact with Solomon. (swd: 2-A)

➤ According to Mammon, he has a secret torture room beneath the castle from where you can hear the screaming of his victims at night. The other brothers and Diavolo were in the room when he told this to MC but none of them batted an eye or tried to deny it. (swd: 6-19)

➤ Before, citizens of the Devildom were allowed to easily travel to the Human World whenever they wished through passages placed in certain locations in the kingdom, but now those passages are blocked and the only way demons can use them is by getting permission from the few other demons who are still allowed to use them freely first. Barbatos is one of said demons. (swd: 11-4)

➤ He has the ability to time travel thanks to his powers that allow him to create a portal to any place, time and reality he wants. (swd: 15-17 and 53-11)

➤ He was the one to take MC back to the past when they made a deal with Diavolo to figure out who had opened the attic door and released Past!Belphegor in exchange for Present!Belphegor's freedom from being imprisoned for conspiring against the exchange program. (swd: 15-17)

➤ He looked into MC's bloodline under Diavolo's request once the prince realized there was something special about them, and it was then that he found out that they were Lilith's distant descendant. (swd: 16-15)

➤ In response to MC asking him if he knew everything that would happen with Belphegor getting out of the attic before it occurred Barbatos said that no, he didn't know, and even further said: "Imagine for a moment what it would be like to know everything that will happen from now until the end of time. Why nothing could possibly be more boring, wouldn't you agree?" (swd: 15-17)

➤ His main way to use his powers to "space travel" is through the many doors in his room in the Demon Lord's Castle. (swd: 15-17)

➤ He was never a child. (swd chat: The Royals, “That's What I Mean”)

➤ He met Solomon a long time ago when the sorcerer risked death to summon him (swd: 53-16), desperately needing his powers to control time for reasons that are still unknown. (swd: 49-A)

➤ He gave Solomon his grimoire out of trust and respect for him. (swd: 53-16)

➤ It's a big rumor around the kingdom that he's powerful enough to rival even the Demon King himself. (swd: 54-1)

➤ He met Diavolo when the prince was still a child and Diavolo got Barbatos to work for him by luring him into the castle with the promise of very rare tea and then telling him that he wouldn't let him leave unless he agreed to be his butler, getting to the point of even threatening to not assume his position of king in the future if the older demon refused to. And telling this story to Thirteen, Barbatos confessed to having found the whole thing very cute. (swd: 58-A and nb: 15-A)

➤ When it hit the news that he had sworn allegiance to Diavolo the whole kingdom was in shock and it was THE THING everyone was talking about. (swd: 54-1 and nb: 15-1)

➤ He has been around for a long time and shows up in historical records under multiple different names. Rumor has it he was alive even before the Devildom took shape. (nb: 15-1)

➤ When asked about Diavolo in a conversation with MC, he told them that the prince is the very reason for his current existence. (swd: 54-5)

➤ Narrated by Solomon in the Nightbringer Prologue Movie we hear the story of a certain demon, it goes: “Once upon a time, there was a demon who could see both past and future. With a flurry of trumpets from his king, the demon appeared. Finding a lost human the demon whispered: 'I can take you to where you'll be happy.' Through their tears, the human spoke: 'Thank you, o kind one. If you save me from this dark path, I will pray to you every night. Please, tell me what they call you!'" But before any reply can be said Barbatos is shown making a shushing sound, which was largely perceived as him not wanting the viewers to know that he was the demon from the story. Later, the human was revealed to be Adam, a man who came to the Devildom looking for his lover and met a demon named Nightbringer, who he immediately went to begging for help. (nb: 8-16)

➤ He was the one to give Solomon the title of “the Witty Sorcerer” when he brought him to the Fountain of Knowledge for the first time while Solomon was on the verge of death. Barbatos attended the sorcerer's wounds there and declared him the new protector of the spring. (nb: 11-10)

➤ He's to blame for how much Solomon has changed, according to Thirteen. The reaper told MC that Solomon used to be very loveably innocent when he was younger, but that Barbatos let him experience whatever he wanted and now nothing scares or fazes him anymore. (nb: 11-10)

➤ The reason he had been so irritable towards Solomon in the past was because when visiting the sorcerers' home he found a list of demons he wanted to make pacts with and noticed his name was placed 8th. (nb: 25-1)

➤ Before meeting Diavolo he used to use his powers freely to travel through time and space whenever he wanted without a care for how his actions could affect others, and they ended up terribly affecting Diavolo and Solomon, and Barbatos sees his devout servitude to the prince as a way to atone for those past actions, but Diavolo doesn't know that. (nb card: Barbatos, "Tea With You")

➤ Although he accepted to work for the prince for the sake of atonement, he ended up enjoying his time with him and found that he felt a sense of belonging working for him. (nb card: Barbatos, "Tea With You")

[irishmammonagenda]

MC's magic going wrong 😱😰

or right depending on ur outlook on life ig

warnings: swearing, mentions of death (extremely brief and only notioned towards), physical affection

You hadn´t thought much of it at first when you got back to the human realm. Everything went back to normal. Or as normal as it could be.

Your mother and father sobbed when they saw you, stating how they though´t you were lying in a ditch somewhere in the stretching countryside. You´d lied, told them you were away on a residency based apprenticeship, that you were sorry for worrying them. Your siblings showed signs of worry you never thought they were able to feel for you. Thus you were being babied for a month or so.

That´s when it started.

At first, it was more corvids at the bird feeder in your garden than usual. Then it was stray cats. Then inexplicable black and white feathers dusting your clothing and hair.

Your mother smiled picking out the ivory feather from the confines of your unbrushed hair, "Oh! Your guardian angel´s been watching over you!" she says playfully, an old wives´ tale, nothing too serious.

You tense for a moment, before laughing with her. "Well I´ll take it as a good sign." Stupid old wives being the smartest people.

At first it was easy to brush off.

Then your father started getting lucky, he hadn't been one to gamble persay, putting a few coins in on a bet for the horse racing or the football was a regular occurrence, sometimes he won,sometimes he didn't. The difference of a few silvers, a share bag of sweets basically, made no real strain on your belts. But now, he was winning left right and center. Winning amounts that shouldnt be possible based on the amount he input.

Though, after you woke up to cats and corvids staring at you unblinkingly, in your room, with a few flies and insects on the walls, and your bedsheets covered in feathers and scales of all colours and sizes, enough was enough.

You were going to give those nerds a piece of your mind.

After shooing the animals out, (making sure to pet the cats), you picked up a lipstick, and channeled your pact magic before drawing a circle with various symbols on the floor,

You stilled, "Ah, shit. I dunno how to do this, i mean half of those symbols are angry faces and squiggles...." but ever the theatre nerd, you improved.

"I, MC, call upon the power of my pacts with the Avatars of Hell! and, using their power; a portal to the Devildom shall open for me!"

And a portal did open for you. Unfortunately, not to the best place. As you travelled through the time pocket you ended up stumbling once you made it to the other side, the stumble turnt into a tumble turnt into a fall. Unluckily for you, the thing you fell on was toned flesh and chuckling heartily, you were in Diavolo's lap.

"It's great of you to drop by MC!" He says, his massive hands pulling you further into his frame.

You cover your face with your hands, now noticing the various other nobles in the council room who are staring at their Prince, attempting to mask the fact their jaws are going to hit the floor.

Atleast the Brothers weren't there, but Barbatos' half polite smile half smirk and Diavolo whispering various playful musings of, "Did you miss me that much little human, we missed you too.", and "Summoning a portal illegally into the Demon Lord's castle and onto the Demon Princes lap...tututut." almost made the brothers seem like a mercy....

...almost.

You couldn't tell if this was a win or a lose.

[forkingandcountry-if]

For King and Country is an 18+ period low fantasy fic which seeks to combine the extensive background work and history associated with high fantasy titles such as LOTR with more ‘realistic’ storytelling and settings. It may contain distressing content like depiction of regressive attitudes (sexism, misogyny and prejudice), major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, abuse and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

Remember those long summer days when the countryside was green and life was still young, when you were but a little culver and all the world was promised for you.

But summer has ended. Amidst the furore and tumult, autumn crept in unnoticed, finding you unprepared, still a greenhorn.

Now, the old order is dead, yet the Empire endures. In this new and uncertain world, what are you willing to do for your King and Country, O little culver?

Ah little tragedies, that you could not remain in the safety of your family's country manor, that they could not shield you once again from this world.

You must take to the capital at once, like all men and women of good birth, for king and country and the glory of the commonwealth! The spirit of progress and change has swept through the nation. The heady days of revolution are long over, and the streets have been washed clean of blood and filth. Invited to serve in the King's Army and attend university as a ward of the king, you must answer the King’s call. Navigate and become increasingly entangled in the web of intrigue, gossip, violence, and ideas that swirl around the nation. Enter a society radically different from the one you were raised to expect. These are the years that will decide your fate and that of your fellow countrymen. Act wisely, for it is not often that the world is within your grasp.

Features

Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Assume the identity of a citizen of noble birth and experience the story through their eyes.

Romance one of seven ROs or engage in a polyamorous relationship with a pre-selected two of them. The only possible poly route is the Young King and the Queen Ruler.

Practice and specialise in the skills of the King's Army with the option for swordplay, marksmanship, offensive galderquid and diplomacy.

Define your political leanings on the leading issues of your time.

Debate, engage and make allies and enemies with the various competing factions and interests that flock to the city.

Study at Pyrenne University, earning your lecturers admiration for your diligence, intellect, ambition or adventurousness or cruise through relying on your wealth and ability to hide.

Help to stabilize or sabotage the Empire.

Don't lose your head.

Critical Lore*

Talent

Galder denotes the practice of magic within our nation, a discipline requiring extensive study and mastery. The ability to manipulate Galderquid, the fundamental essence of magic, is a rare and intricate skill, demanding years of rigorous training to achieve even moderate proficiency.

Every individual possesses a basic affinity for Galderquid, but those with exceptional potential are identified through comprehensive evaluations conducted by village or city physicians around the ages of 12 or 13. These assessments determine the individual's capacity for advanced magical education.

Upon evaluation, candidates are assigned a national rank based on their proficiency. Those demonstrating exceptional aptitude are offered state-sponsored education at the Pyrenne Univetsity at the age of 18. Others are placed in various other institutions or may pursue private tutelage.

Galder is often referred to as the "fifth philosophy," characterized by its non-intuitive nature. Mastery requires adherence to rigorous methodologies grounded in reason, first principles, and established precedents. The study of Galder encompasses several specialized fields, each with distinct applications and techniques:

Sympathetic Galder: This field focuses on influencing the minds of individuals or animals. It includes practices such as illusion creation, language translation, emotional manipulation, and sleep inducement.

Transmutative Galder: Involves altering the intrinsic nature or form of objects. This process generally relies on the principle that the original and transformed items must possess equivalent 'worth.' The approximate worth of common subjects of transmutation can be found in any good transmutation book.

Invocation Galder: Pertains to the summoning and manipulation of natural elements, including water, earth, fire, and wind.

Clerical Galder: Associated with the Church, this field is predominantly closed practice. However, educational institutions provide instruction in healing and charming, which are also fundamental aspects of clerical magic.

Archery: Involves the use of Galder to manifest a bow and arrows composed of energy. These projectiles deliver significant blunt damage upon impact but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by bow-masters.

Blade-Use: Similar to Archery, this field focuses on creating blades, swords, or daggers from Galder. These weapons inflict substantial blunt damage but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by blade-masters.

The Second Civil War

The Second Civil War, sometimes known as the Revolution is recognized as having commenced approximately ten years ago and concluded two years later with the ascension of King Edmund I of House Wynd. The conflict was precipitated by a series of critical events and widespread discontent among the populace throughout the entire reign of the King Wulfric I Wynd regarding the laws of his government and his conduct as monarch.

The Second Civil was notably ignited by the previous monarch's decision to disinherit his eldest daughter and legitimise his illegitimate children thus making them heir presumptive. This controversial move generated significant unrest among the yeomanry and laborers, who perceived the monarch's actions as unjust and contrary to ecclesiastical teachings. Particularly in redeemist cities across the Empire, widespread protests ensued, leading to the deposition and, in some instances, the defenestration of local officials such as Lord Mayors, Sheriffs, and Governors who supported the king and a state of national emergency being declared with martial law being invoked.

A general, Walthe Courtney, who had previously fought in the unpopular Eleven Years' War on behalf of the crown, emerged as a pivotal leader of the revolution. Utilizing strategic peasant uprisings and sieges, Reval's forces delivered decisive blows to the royalist regime. The revolution culminated in the fall of the capital during the Siege of the King's Seat.

Following the war, a great council of all the great houses instituted several significant reforms. While the monarchy was retained, it was now bound with the monarch being bound by the Grand East Code. In accordance with the written will of the disinherited princess, who died on the battlefield during the conflict an exception was made to place her youngest brother, Edmund, then only 17 years old, on the throne.

The bicameral parliament was replaced by a unicameral national assembly with expanded suffrage of yeomanry and labourers with certain amounts of land. The sole eligibility criteria for parliamentarians are citizenship, attainment of the age of majority, no debt owed to the crown with elections held every eight years.

General Walthe Courtney was appointed as Lord-Protector of the Realm with extensive powers throughout Edmund’s reign and continued as Commander of the Armies for the duration of their tenure. Furthermore, the Pyrenne University was opened to all individuals of suitable skill, not limited to the children of nobility.

Under the new provisions, all children from great houses or those vassal houses with an annual income exceeding 1,300 libre must receive training and serve in the King's Army and live as wards of the king upon reaching the age of eighteen. The official language of the proclamation declares it to be in the national interest that the next leaders of the regions and nations of the Empire know personally their king and capital but the aim is considered to be preventing another war.

The King's Council is required to be include the Premier elected by the eligible electorate. The Premier recommends people to be members of the King's Council although the King is not bound to accept. The King retains the authority to appoint cabinet members from outside parliament, early precedent set by King Edmund I Wynd suggests that he will appoint those recommended by the Lord-Protector.

The King's Army and Pyrenne University

The King's Army, colloquially known among the common folk as the Small Army or King's Life Guard, serves as a voluntary armed force in peacetime within the Empire. Its primary role is to function as a national guard, maintaining peace and order across the extensive and diverse territories of the Empire and swear loyalty solely to the King.

During periods of peace, the King's Guard is comprised of volunteers who contribute to the stability of the nation. However, in times of war, the monarch is vested with the authority to implement conscription, thereby obligating the great houses to raise men to fight for their king.

Following the Great Council of 421, significant reforms were introduced regarding service in the King's Guard. Those heirs of great houses are now required to complete four years service and training within the King's Army as wards of the king although this time can be commuted upon ascension as Lord/Lady Paramount of their house. This training is relatively light compared to full military training, designed to balance the economic and educational responsibilities of these citizens with their military duties.

Pyrenne University is a theological university founded in the year 262AR by Tristan of Pyrenne, a master of theology and galder and was recognized by the King as a royal college in 289AR. It's Faculty of Theology is unrivaled across the entirety of the world and is considered one of the foremost institutions for education in galder, theology and philosophy.

Pyrenne admits its students on the basis of the national ranking system and the census taken each year, those students with a sufficiently high natural affinity for the study of galder are offered a place in which to study it beyond the common extent offered by tutors and hedge-witches.

Pyrenne has in recent years, following the second civil war and the increase in punishment by religious courts for physicians who attribute false rankings, with an increased student cohort particularly from the yeomanry and international scholars though the large majority of the general cohort remains largely consisted of the children of nobility.

Beyond its Faculty of Theology, Pyrenne University is one of the foremost institutions driving forward the development of innovations regarding farming and building, mechanics and the engine'ering class that has developed in major cities across the Empire.

Situated in the capital city, Pyrenne University benefits from its central location in what is often regarded as a hub of youthful energy and societal activity. Its reputation as a center for young nobles and genteel individuals enhances the college's role as a key venue for social introduction. It is frequently heralded as a place where the most advantageous social and matrimonial matches are made, positioning it as a pivotal institution in shaping the elite's social landscape.

The Empire

The Empire, as it is commonly known, is a vast realm governed by the Nine Paramountcies and the Imperial Household, all of whom rule from the King's Seat. This grand structure of power was forged between the years 23 ANU (Anno Non Unitus, or Year of the Ununified) and 1 AR (Anno Rex, or Year of the King) through the conquests of King Adan I, who earned the title "the Unifier."

From its inception, the Empire adopted an expansionist stance, which has characterized much of its history. This policy of territorial growth has been met with widespread approval among its citizens, largely due to the substantial wealth and resources it has brought to the nation. As the largest empire in the world and the unifier of the continent, it has established itself as the dominant lingua franca of common, further solidifying its influence and stature.

Throughout the Empire's history, the Imperial Household and the title of King have primarily been held by House Galagar, reigning from 1 AR to 399 AR, and later by House Wynd, from 399 AR to 438 AR. There have been instances where other houses acted as regents, temporarily holding the title on behalf of House Galagar, such as House Cruller (348 AR-352 AR) and House Abbey (9 AR-13 AR & 154AR-155AR).

Despite its vast wealth and dominance, the Empire has faced relatively frequent rebellions in its paramountcies where calls for independence have persisted. Historically, these uprisings have been met with swift and overwhelming military responses. However, recently in 399AR during the Wyndham Rebellion, King Hendrick the Conqueror succeeded in overthrowing House Galagar and replacing it with his own house who have led the empire since.

*The lore detailed here is accurate but also only extends as far as the protagonist's knowledge of these subjects at the present time of the fic, some detail will be lost or may have been withheld from the MC and they may have misconceptions.

Romances

When the advisors are not praising his good sense, nor the bards his mirth, the church his piety or the poor his generosity, the question emerges just who is King Edmund I Wynd?

The young king thrust into a position of power who uses it as well as he knows how, having learnt from the mistakes of his grandfather and father and the long shadow of war that is still cast over the continent?

Or is he merely the figurehead, installed after a turbulent civil war, a king whose true authority has been surrendered to the councilors around him, contenting himself with the trappings of kingship rather than its substance?

Alas who is to know?

Name: King Edmund I Wynd

Age: 21

Height: 6'5

Appearance: Edmund stands at a 6'5, noticeably lanky although his seemingly permanent jaunty posture appears to cut an inch or two of him. He possesses short bronde hair styled in such a fashion that it appears wind-swept and fashionably ruffled with various products used to achieve the effect. He possesses a lean athletic physique although it is evidently achieved through some sort of diet or exercise for aesthetic rather than being muscles created by years of work. He nearly always has a relaxed expression with a smile and his pale face is framed by his grey eyes.

(he/him) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: Life of the Party, Commitment Issues

-

Could it be that she, the queen consort, wields the true power behind the throne, acting as a surrogate for her kind lord, who never could bring himself to grasp the reins of authority?

She possesses the strength and allure of a king in her own right. Under her vigilant oversight, the king’s armies have routed the empire's foes, and now her gaze turns inward, determined to root out the treacherous elements within the realm.

Yet, amid her march towards peace at the end of a sword, there are those who seek to see her order destroyed. How long can it last? A queen consort without an heir, without children, lacking a direct claim to the throne, aging, and some even question her bond with the king himself.

Name: Veronica Abbey-Wynd

Age: 36

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Veronica stands straight at a tall 5'9 although her heels often push her to 5'11 or even 6'0. She has long wavy chestnut brown hair although more often than not it is in an updo of some sort for practicality. She has a healthy physique with faint lines and wrinkles, with an olive skin as well as doe-shaped deep brown eyes. Somehow a picture of beauty and severity, all the soft lines of her body somehow harsh.

(she/her) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: scary hot, masc women

-

Walthe Courtney, Commander of the King’s Armies and Protector of the Realm, emerged as a formidable figure in the Second Civil War. Leading the rebels with unmatched martial prowess, he earned the acclaim of being the finest swordsman in the land. His valor and leadership were instrumental in overthrowing the usurper-king and restoring order to the fractured realm.

In the aftermath of the bloody conflict, he was celebrated as a folk hero—a commoner who rose to lead his people to victory and bring about a semblance of peace. His contributions were rewarded with knighthood and elevation to nobility, an ode to his honour.

Now, as Protector of the Realm, Walthe ensures the continuation of stability with a steady hand. Yet, despite his efforts, a persistent thorn remains, a challenge beyond even his considerable grasp, casting a shadow over his otherwise successful stewardship.

Name: Walthe Courtney

Age: 43

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Walthe has short, practical wavy black hair streaked with grey throughout, reflecting years of experience and hardship. their muscled, well-built stature is a testament to their years of service. He has warm tanned skin, indicative of his heritage being from the centre of the continent. His light green eyes stand out against his rugged features, with a determined, piercing gaze.

(he/him/they) solo-route

Tropes: The Stoic, No Sense of Humour, Heroic BSoD

-

From the day his family and house declared for the usurper-king, it was clear that Lorn Greenspan, the youngest of seven brothers, would be sent away as a ward.

Only eight years old, he had to play his part, leaving behind the familiar chill of his home—its cold peaks and harsh landscape fading from sight. He was a pawn in a conflict he could scarcely comprehend

His father had told him plainly that he must be strong—because until the day their house bent the knee, Lorn would remain a ward, and his father had no intention of surrendering.

Forced to adapt, Lorn became useful, talented, indispensable—not out of love for those his family would call captors, but out of necessity. Now, he stands as your closest advisor and a member of your house in all but name—cool, calculating, indifferent. Yet beneath that icy exterior burns a quiet resolve. Though he never expects his father to yield, he is determined to see his homeland again, even if it means waging war to bring it to heel.

Name: Lorn of Greenspan

Age: 18

Height: 6'0

Appearance: Lorn has a thick head of dark chestnut hair, gently wavy, it is always styled fashionably with pomade and volume. He has a tawny complexion and almost amber, brown eyes that if you didn't know him you'd think were perpetually concerned and caring rather than probing and scanning. Though under his stylish clothes you couldn't tell it, his body is lean and athletic from harsh training.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: advisor-turned-lover, secretly-in-love, black cat

-

The unbroken line of Galagar Kings may have fractured at Kirston Wall, but the proud Highland rulers never truly relinquished their claim. To them, Hendrick the Conqueror and his descendants are nothing more than traitors. Yet, they understand that a king's throne is grounded in the right of conquest, and so they bide their time, quietly assembling their forces, tempering their men, and honing their blades.

Preparing for the inevitable clash, they drill relentlessly through lashing rain and violent gales, each generation more convinced of their righteousness and the frailty of their enemies. The realm may slumber in uneasy peace, but in the Highlands, war is always on the horizon.

Kent Galagar, the young Lord of Kirston, was shaped by this belief from childhood. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather—all were kings in their own eyes, their thrones stolen by usurpers. To Kent, acknowledging this truth makes you an ally, a friend. To deny it brands you an enemy, destined to be crushed when the time comes.

For Kent, proud, arrogant, and stubborn as he may seem, the world is divided by a simple truth: those who support the Galagar claim, and those who will fall before it.

Name: Kent Galagar

Age: 18

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Kent possesses a mane of thick, raven-black hair, often left loose or tied back with a leather strap. His skin is scattered with freckling, with a pale complexion. He has piercing blue eyes and a gaze that can shift from arrogant levity to fiery determination in an instant. His powerful frame is unmistakable, with broad shoulders and a chest that strains against the fabric of his tunics. His physique is defined—broad-shouldered and muscular, but not overly so, with a build that suggests both agility and power. His movements carry the confidence of someone who knows his strength and is unafraid to use it.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: Intense, enemies to lovers, jerk with a heart of gold

-

The nobility are arrogant, cruel, greedy, scheming, and foolish—qualities Arfryn has learned all too well through her peripheral access to them. Her current place among them is no accident but the product of the sweat, blood and tears of her entire family.

Born to a guildman father and a common mother from the east continent, Arfryn witnessed firsthand how the shifting tides of national conflict mirrored the fortunes of her own family. Every struggle either bolstered their wealth or teetered them on the brink of ruin, a fate shared by the yeomanry at large.

Her father, Jasper Caldwell, is the first Premier elected from the Small Parliament, a yeoman elevated by the newly enfranchised class. He has—in no uncertain terms—made it clear that his own position hinges on the peace of the realm.

Arfryn, understanding these dynamics, sees through the superficial grandeur of the nobility. Though she finds them to be the very embodiment of arrogance and folly, she is determined to bend them to her will. For now, she plays the game—offering smiles, be gracious, and dance while they are watching.

Name: Arfryn Caldwell

Age: 20

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Arfryn has a striking presence with her rich, deep brown skin and loose, jet-black braids that cascade down her back. Her eyes are a penetrating dark brown, revealing a sharp intelligence behind a charming, amiable demeanor. She dresses in elegantly simple fabrics that highlight her natural grace—always muted and refined to suit her surroundings but always at the very forefront of courtly fashions. At 5'11 her movements are deliberate, blending seamlessly into the nobility’s world, designed to make her easy to like and hard to hold grudges against.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Steel Magnolia, Dark Feminine

-

In public Dean Champion is everything a Lady-Knight should be, prodigiously skilled with both galder and weapons, valiant, chivalrous and extremely popular amongst all who meet her or have the chance to witness her in action.

She like many knights is also spoiled to a fault, her suits of armour gleaming and her squire-boys tasked with keeping them so, as they are expensive and extravagant. Indeed she wears them because all people like a performance.

In private, Dean has dedicated herself entirely to her studies at Pyrenne University, determined to learn all there is about the study and practice of galder and perhaps indeed the deeper secrets that only the great masters know—all the better to become both loved and indispensable to the state.

As the younger sibling of a line with many children, she does not expect to ever inherit and nor does she ever want to, she is entirely content with her career as a tourney knight and the life she's lead in the King's Seat thus far. Indeed Dean has long been utterly convinced that she'd make an awful Lady Paramount, she is convinced utterly that all those like her that revel in the spectacle, the fervor of battle and tourney alike are utterly unsuitable for such position.

Name: Dean Champion

Age: 19

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Dean has long deep auburn hair, typically braided for both practicalities sake and fashion, with strands often escaping to frame her face. Her skin is fair as if she'd somehow escaped the sun of both her home and the tourney. Her pale green eyes are bright and framed by dark eyelashes. Dean's build is athletic and commanding, showing off the results of rigorous training and combat practice, yet she carries herself with a grace that befits her status as a renowned Lady-Knight. Her entire demeanor projects a sort of graceful confidence, like that you'd expect of a Prince of ages past.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: The Lady and Knight, Knight in Sour Armour

-

Fran has long understood that she commands little respect at court—indeed, as a bastard, she finds herself dismissed even within her own family. Yet there is one, a young Lord who is but a child, who gave her legitimacy, who looks up to her, and has earned her unwavering loyalty. Her beloved little brother.

It is for him that she accepted the king's invitation to the King's Seat, to train in the King's Army. She wants to be his eyes, his ears, and his sword.

True loyalty is a rare commodity among the highborn, for what do they owe anyone but themselves and their own appetites?

She is content to endure their scorn and wear the title "Loyal Hound" with pride. After all, what insult lies therein? A good hound is strong, lethal, obedient, loved, loyal, and free to roam so long as it always returns. And return to him she will.

Name: Fran Radwell-Cadderly

Age: 18

Height: 5'7

Appearance: Fran's dirty-blonde hair is cut short, falling just above her shoulders—a length chosen for practicality rather than fashion. Her complexion is fair, lightly sun-kissed from time spent outdoors, with a few sun-spots across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are a dull blue-green, carrying an intensity that contrasts with her otherwise unassuming features. Her build is lean and wiry, reflecting a life of rigorous training, with a strength that belies her slender frame. Though she dresses simply, her presence is commanding, a blend of quiet confidence and restrained power and it makes her feel much bigger than the 5'7 she stands at.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Guard Dog, Loyal Companion, Golden Retriever

Additional

Demo: out now!

Pinterest: not yet available

Art: not yet available

Feedback Survey: not yet available

All Asks and Reposts are appreciated, work will be slow but steady and a demo should be ready shortly!

ask me lore questions please, I have far too many notes on this.

[weepinwriter]

Road to Heaven is an 18+ Dystopian fic which takes inspiration from popular media like the “Shatter Me” series and “Hunger Games”. It may contain distressing content like major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, body horror, amnesia and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

You are inmate No. 1441, incarcerated in Tartarus, the most notorious prison on the continent. You find yourself imprisoned for a crime that you do not remember committing, leaving you in a state of uncertainty about your own identity and purpose. The first memory you have is awakening to the sensation of a gun being shoved into your mouth.

Within the grim confines of Tartarus, you have been branded as the most dangerous criminal, feared yet hated by both fellow inmates and prison authorities alike. It becomes clear to you that in order to survive and unravel the enigma of your past, escape from this formidable penitentiary is imperative. However, achieving freedom will not be an easy feat, as you must navigate treacherous encounters with some of the most malevolent criminals known to humanity. In your quest for freedom, you find yourself entangled in complex relationships with three significant individuals. Firstly, your cellmate, whose icy demeanor suggests a deep-seated disdain for your very existence. Secondly, your best friend within the prison walls, whose seemingly excessive friendliness may harbor ulterior motives. Lastly, there is the warden, whose overtly amicable nature masks a peculiar familiarity with your past. As you navigate the perilous labyrinth of Tartarus, your ultimate objective is twofold: to survive amidst the most notorious criminals and uncover the truth about your forgotten past. In a world where danger lurks at every corner, you must tread carefully, for the path to redemption and self-discovery is riddled with uncertainty and perilous choices.

Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Take control of your interactions with the characters and experience the world of Elysium City through a personalized scope.

Romance one of the 7 RO’s, and if you are charming enough, fall in love with any two of them. The four possible poly routes available are: The Cellmate and The Friend, The Warden and The Master, The Protector and The Master, The Cellmate and The Rebel

Struggle against the evil that wants you dead and uncover secrets about yourself

Accept your identity as an Esper and rediscover your powers, or completely reject them

Master your ability of Conscious Manipulation and perhaps learn a few things about yourself unexpectedly

Choose to make allies within Tartarus or antagonize them. Your choices have consequences

Lead a dying rebellion against the Hightable or join them as an equal

There are a total 7 romance options, each with their own personality and a story along with dark secrets for you to uncover

Survive

1. The Cellmate [f/m] | Enemies to Lovers

Subject Name : Twenty

A palpable enigma surrounds the inexplicable disdain they harbor towards you, leaving you to ponder if your past misdeeds have sowed the seeds of their ire. Your questions remain unanswered, rarely do they grace you with a response, and when they do, it arrives veiled in hateful glares and a tapestry of venomous words. The origins of their animosity remain shrouded in silence, with fellow inmates mirroring their reticence. Only when they are complaining about the prison's wretched conditions and the Warden's despotic rule do they momentarily shed their icy facade, revealing hints of vulnerability and human emotion. When they do smile, albeit rarely, it is a fleeting moment of breathtaking beauty. If only you could find the courage to tell them that.

[ Number 1579 is an S rank Arcane Tendency Esper with the Cryokinesis ability. They are under Libra’s Jurisdiction, and thus only follow orders coming directly from them. ]

Other Tropes : Emotional Scars, Nobody thinks it’ll actually work, Hate Sex

2. The Warden? [m] | ???

Subject Name : Nikita

There is an uncanny familiarity surrounding him, leaving you torn between the unsettling grip of dread and the elusive allure of desire. He claims to know you personally. Apparently the two of you were close friends before The Incident. Yet, when you press for details, he skillfully redirects the conversation before your emotions can catch up. "The past is but a fleeting shadow," he says, "no need to talk about something that can't be changed. Besides, you wouldn't remember anything." Evidently your memories had been erased. The question of who hangs heavy in the air, but his response remains enigmatic, offering only a mirthless smile.

[ Nikita is the Warden of Tartarus, the Reformation Asylum in Sector 10, 8th District. He is under Scorpio's jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Slowburn, Betrayal, Puppy play

3. The Friend [f/m] | Friends to Lovers

Subject Name : Victor (m.) | Vanessa (f.)

A compassionate and devoted companion, V. shines as a beacon of light in the desolate depths of this grim abyss that became your world. From the moment you opened your eyes, they extended a helping hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine complexities of Tartarus and easing your transition into this unfamiliar realm. Unfazed by the venomous whispers that tarnish your reputation, they remain steadfastly by your side, unwavering in their loyalty. Their warm smiles and whimsical wordplay serve as a balm, mending your wounded spirit after every bitter clash with Twenty. How fortunate you are to be blessed with such an illuminating presence, brightening the shadows that consume your existence.

[ Number 1339 is an A rank Catalyst Tendency Esper with the Illusion Manipulation ability. They are under Scorpio’s Jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Partners in crime, First Love, Good people get good sex, Slight yandere

4. The Count/Countless [f/m] | Forbidden Romance (relationship history can be friends with benefits)

Subject Name : Emir (m.) | Evara(f.)

A remarkable visionary and an exceptional entrepreneur, E. stands as an unrivaled figure in the illustrious realm of Elysium City. Holding the distinction of being the youngest Grandmaster in history and amassing unparalleled wealth, they reign as the CEO of the renowned Quinn Industries. E. is adorned with numerous titles within the esteemed echelons of society, serving as an icon of inspiration and a beacon of hope, while simultaneously arousing envy in the hearts of many. An arrogant and proud individual, their ugliness is conveniently covered by their astonishing fortune, combined with innate brilliance, seems almost mystical, as if destined for greatness from their very birth. Within Elysium City's grand social tapestry, few possess the persuasive prowess to sway the decisions of the Hightable itself, yet E. stands tall even among this select few. As an eligible bachelor, their daily inundation of love letters and marriage proposals is a testament to their allure. And yet, amidst all this splendor, it is you who has found a place of interest in their extraordinary life.

[ E. is a part of The Senate and thus does not fall under any District's jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Belated love epiphany, Billionaire, Power play, Daddy/Mommy kink

5. The Master [f] | Forbidden Romance

Subject Name : Leo

In her calculated pursuit, you find yourself ensnared. Your allure captivates her discerning gaze, for you possess what she desires most. You are the coveted object of her desires. In this strategic game, you are but a pawn, a possession within her calculated grasp. Yet, curiously she maintains a measured distance. Her reason? She eloquently articulates, “Witnessing the growth of one's possession is a fascinating phenomenon.”

[ Leo is the Master of {DATA REDACTED}. They are the Ruler of the 5th District. ]

Other Tropes : Secret Identity, Second Chance, Blood play, Begging

6. The Protector [m] | Bodyguard Romance

Subject Name : Caesar

A battle-hardened soldier, Caesar bears the scars of a lifetime spent serving the FAE and the city. With an intimacy unparalleled, he has danced with mortality on numerous occasions, making death a companion rather than an adversary. Yet, behind that facade of strength, Caesar is a fractured soul, haunted by insecurities and a self-destructive nature. His journey, filled with shattered dreams and the weight of his daughter's aspirations, has brought him to the edge of despair. The immortality he once embraced now feels like a curse, a harbinger of misfortune that has become synonymous with his presence. In his eyes, he sees himself as not a protector but a bearer of ill fate. However, the stars, in an unexpected alignment, have granted him a final purpose: to protect you. Beneath the intimidating exterior lies a gentle giant, yet one plagued by a profound sense of self-loathing. He grapples with the belief that his very existence is a catalyst for tragedy, a vortex that draws calamity toward him and those he holds dear. Intrigued by this complex guardian, you see the duality within Caesar — an attentive and understanding individual burdened by the weight of his own perceived malevolence. As you navigate through the intricate layers of his psyche, perhaps you could help him ease his suffering, even by a little.

[ Caesar is a registered S rank Endura Tendency Esper with the Regeneration ability. He comes under Leo’s jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Beauty and the Beast, Single parent, Stop calling me daddy

7. The Rebel [f/m] | Enemies to Lovers

Subject Name : Gael (m.) | Gwendolyn (f.)

You betrayed them. Or perhaps it's the other way around? You do not remember. The trust you once held dear has been shattered, and now you must face the price for your misguided beliefs. Like a fool enchanted by deceit, you must bear the weight of your choices. Remember this lesson, for betrayal's toll is a heavy one to pay. Proceed with caution, lest you become ensnared in the web of your own treachery.

[ There is no known information on this individual. Extreme caution is recommended. ]

Other Tropes : Amnesia, Revenge, Redemption, Breathe play

Links

[ DEMO ]

[ PINTEREST ]

[ THE DISTRICTS ]

[ THE HIGHTABLE ]

All asks and reposts are welcome 😁!

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[slytherizz]

Everything, with you - Sebastian Sallow x F!MC/Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+ | Breeding Kink | Size Kink | explicit sexual content | Dad!Seb

All tags can be found on Ao3

Summary:

"Watching you carry my children is one of life's greatest pleasures. If it's possible - you're more beautiful now than you've ever been.”

“Do you ever think about…”

“Having another one?”

A/N This works as a stand-alone but if you happened to have read either of my long fics this would sit either after the epilogue of 'Whatever it Takes' or in between the final chapter and the epilogue of 'In the Shadow of Us' (but I omitted the Azkaban references so it works for both). I have literally nothing to say for myself for this one other than...

For the thicc Seb girlies 💕

Dark curly hair tickled the underside of Sebastian's chin as he adjusted his son nestled in his lap. Book resting against his knee which was bent at an awkward and rather uncomfortable angle where he'd managed to cram himself onto Sam's little bed. Sebastian’s neck ached and his left leg was almost completely dead. Not that he minded. He knew his youngest would outgrow this one day, and would no longer need his father to read him fairytales. So Sebastian succumbed easily to Sam’s pleading and let himself be the dutiful mountain against which his son could rest. 

"Now, this word’s a little tricky, so take your time with it,” Sebastian tapped his finger on the page. "What does this say?"

"I'm not sure." Sam frowned. He traced his pudgy finger over the unfamiliar word and along the bright plume of fiery feathers printed in rich shades of red and gold on the page. The enchanted bird ruffled its wings as it clicked its beak attempting to nip at Sam's fingers. Each time the bird squawked soundlessly as he stroked its plumage Sam giggled with delight.

"Sound it out. You see right here? The 'Ph' makes an ‘f’ sound.”

"Like ‘t’ and ‘h’ make a 'the' sound?" 

“Exactly right. Two letters. One sound,” Sebastian said, ruffling his boy's hair proudly. 

Alice, his eldest had always had an uncanny ability to memorise words. Could recall the contents of practically every book he'd ever given her once she’d devoured it. She'd taken great pride in unnerving her primary school teacher by listing every ingredient in ‘A draft of living death’. Which may have seemed like a feat within itself…until she’d insisted on doing it backwards.

His unique form of parenting had been called into question more than once by her teachers but who was he to tell his daughter that ‘most potent potions’ was not appropriate bedtime reading? Restricting her inquisitive mind would be a far greater sin. 

Sam's little mind on the other hand worked like a tinker. Slower it may seem than his sister as he pieced together meaning. But that wasn’t nearly the case. Simply because he liked to fiddle with things more than his sister. Take a word apart and rearrange it before dismantling it again entirely. He picked apart the rules as he learnt them. All whilst, humming sagely from time to time like he was some great philosopher and he wasn't in fact, a boy of four who had spent the morning sulking when there was no honey left in the pantry for his toast.

“Try sounding it out," he encouraged. 

"Fee-nix?" Sam’s brows furrowed slightly the new word unfamiliar and clunky on his tongue. "Pheonix?"

"That’s it. You’re doing well. Now I know you know the rest of it. Reckon you can read the full sentence?” 

"The p-phoenix went up in…smoke?"

"Clever boy!"

Sam turned to look up at Sebastian, puffing out his chest with pride. Sebastian kissed the crown of his head affectionately. Sam burrowed his head into his shirt trying and failing to disguise a yawn against his father's chest. 

Snapping the book closed and placing it on his bedside table. Sebastian scooped him up as he shifted off the small bed placing his son snuggly under the quilt constellations in golden thread adorned its edges. 

“Right, I think that's enough for tonight. Bedtime for you mister.”

“But I'm not tired,” Sam protested. Rubbing his drooping eyelids which did little to rally his father to his plight. Eyes so like his mother's framed under furrowed dark brows. Stubbornness was an inherited trait and with how pigheaded he and his wife could be Sebastian should have known his children would be no different.

“I'm sure you're not,” Sebastian chuckled. Tucking the blankets tighter around his squirming limbs. “But it's already way past your bedtime. If you settle down I’ll put the stars up - How does that sound?”

Sam grinned, nodding his head eagerly as he buried his head deeper into his pillow. Sebastian pulled out his wand. Sam’s eyes lighting up. Glittering as they always get in his eyes when either of her parents performed even the simplest of charms. With an unnecessarily large flourish, Sebastian extinguished the bedside lantern plunging them into darkness. He whispered his modified charm.

Stars small but dazzling began to twinkle into life one by one across the steepled ceiling painting the cosmos across the wooden beams. 

It wasn’t nearly as elaborate as the charm in the Hogwarts great hall that had given Sebastian the inspiration. Not quite a replication of the overcast sky outside, but to Sam’s childlike wonder; his father could conjure the heavens in his bedroom. Pluck the stars from the sky so he could sleep bathed in starlight. 

For all his folly into the persuits into the darker sides of magic - there was no spell more powerful than the ones that made his children’s life a little more magical. 

“Night, Dad.”

***

Undoing the buttons of his shirt Sebastian shucking the material from his shoulders. Wincing as he kneaded at the tight knot that had formed in his neck from too long spent hunched over in his son's small bed. Stretching like a bear ripe from hibernation joints cracking audibly. 

His dark brows lifted in alarm as he caught his reflection in the ornate oblong mirror tucked into the corner of their bedroom. 

Sebastian had always looked like his father. Same bow to their lips, unruly chestnut hair and soft brown eyes like sodden earth after rain. He could practically divine how his features would change using the brushstrokes of the portrait of his parents that hung proudly on the stairs. 

But it was the things that went beyond the superficial that made his parents' old friends stumble on his name and acquaintances double-take in the street as if the dead still walked among them. The determined set of his jaw, the curious glint in his eye. There truly had never been any mistaking exactly who Sebastian’s father was. 

But he didn’t just look like his Dad ; he looked like a Dad.

Not that he'd ever been particularly lean . A stockiness to his frame as all Sallow men carried. Violence practically carved into his marrow. Built more for quidditch or boxing, than for scholarly pursuits he'd always been drawn to; but this was getting out of hand. 

Sebastian frowned at his reflection. Still strong in the trunk in a way that he never minded, especially not with how it elicited such sinful looks from his wife but he had become notably softer around the middle. What had once been a sparse tuft of hair on his chest he’d taken great pride as a lad, was now thick dark hair trailing down his stomach. 

It seemed as unprepared Sebastian had been, stumbling bowlegged and awkwardly into fatherhood, not having nearly enough time with his own to have much to go off; his body had settled far quicker into his new role than he had.

Scratching at the short beard he kept neatly trimmed. Well, for what could pass as neat considering his hair was unruly no matter where it grew. Sebastian twisted and turned, appraising himself from different angles.

When was the last time he'd duelled? Worked up any kind of sweat? 

Perhaps he should consider himself lucky he was in the shape he was. Carrying his children upstairs to bed and lugging stacks of heavy stacks of old manuscripts and attifacts charmed against magical interference around the Department of Mysteries hardly counted as exercise. The closest thing anyone would consider vigorous was fucking his wife. But then again holding her small frame against a wall hardly felt like work. 

He rotated his joints, and the tendons of muscle in his heavy shoulders flexed under freckled skin. An old puckered scar long faded to white across his shoulder now a mere remnant from his past life. Underneath the soft exterior of the doting father he’d become still lurked the shadow of the hellion youth he’d once been. 

Delicate hands slithered around his middle running along the breadth of him stroking at the hair on his chest. Her warm cheek came to rest, nestled between his shoulder blades. Sighing affectionately, her breath tickling his skin. Sebastian leaned into her touch, even after all these years he still felt sparks.

"If you keep scowling your face will get stuck like that,” she chided. Sebastian snorted twisting in her hold to face her. She’d loosened the soft braids she usually wore at her temples so her hair hung loose around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, crooked and his heart stuttered in an unsteady rhythm. 

“Alice, go down without any fuss?”

“Has she ever?” She quirked an eyebrow at him far more amused by their daughters' antics than cross. “Caught her trying to get into your study after I put her to bed - again. Luckily she isn’t half as stealthy as she is mischievous.”

Sebastian grinned at her, arching his eyebrows. “She gets that from you.”

“I think Scribner would have disagreed.” She said rolling her eyes. “But something tells me it's not Alice's nocturnal antics causing that face. Tell me what's wrong my love?" 

Placing a warm hand against his cheek fingers combing through the hair on his chin. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. Failing to suppress the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks most likely staining the tops of his ears. 

"Nothing, Pet. I’m uh-” he hesitated, wincing slightly. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. And is she hadn't, he was reluctant to point it out. Lest it change the way she looked at him. She was still as radiant the first time he'd laid eyes on her but Sebastian was a far cry from the roguish boy who'd made her heart race. 

He leaned heavily into her hand resting against his chin. Letting the tenderness of her touch and softness of her gaze quell the unease. “Just carrying a bit more timber than I'm used to. I hadn’t noticed how much the years had caught up to me. After two kids and all."

"You’ll always be the same stubborn and reckless boy to me," she wrapped her arms around him tighter. It was only a chaste peck but an inexplicable blush darkened her cheeks as she nibbled on the inside of her cheek contemplatively. Her hands grazed along Sebastian’s freckled shoulders, through the sparse hair on his chest nails scratching softly. "But I must admit…I rather like you like this. Broad. Manly.”

" Oh - Do you now?" he smirked. Admiring the flush that had stained her cheeks at her admission.

Seeming to take an unnatural amount of interest in the pattern of their curtains she averted her eyes blushing deeply. "Yes. I do. And don't let it go to your big head.”

Far too late for that. After all these years she should really have known better. His chest already swelling with pride a smug smile pulling at the corner of his freckled cheeks.

Tugging at the sleeve of her pale blue dress. The cotton slipped away to expose more of her skin. Sebastian snaked his hand around her waist to settle on the small of her back. Ducking his head to pepper kisses along the dip of her shoulder. 

The faint smell of mallowsweet that always clung to her hair far sweeter than any perfume; a herb balm that had soothed and tamed his stubborn heart. Heat rose where he'd exposed her as Sebastian's mouth worked its way down her neck towards her clavicle. Her fingers pressed a little harder into his flesh feeling the tight coils of muscle that still lurked underneath. 

Despite Sebastian's intention of letting his wife thoroughly enjoy the body, she found so desirable. She seemed distracted. Her breathing hitched a little as he grazed his teeth over her delicate throat. Sucking in just a way that would usually drive all the thoughts from her pretty head - that was not the case tonight.

“Besides - it's not like I look the same as I did before Alice and Sam.”

"Mmm, but watching you carry my children is one of life's greatest pleasures. If it's possible - you're more beautiful now than you've ever been.”

“Do you ever think about…”

She trailed off. Mouth opened and closed lamely as she searched for the words her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Having another one?”

The high-pitched and uncharacteristically nervous noise of agreement she emitted made Sebastian pause his efforts to adorn her shoulder with dark love bites which were now blooming like wild grapes. 

It was rare to see his wife nervous. Even rarer still for her mind to be elsewhere when it came to their marital relations. But he could understand her trepidation; it wasn’t as if either of their children had exactly been planned. 

Before either of them were born he often wondered if they should have been parents. Not a single guardian between them to cobble together any semblance of what a parent should be. A trail of lost souls he'd not been able to protect. 

Hazy memories of love weren't exactly a blueprint for success. 

So Sebastian packed those feelings away even before he'd let them fully bubble to the surface. Resigned perhaps to the fact that although she may have fallen in love with the rough-edged boy he’d been; she'd still bore witness to the worst of him. A dark unsightly stain on his soul he kept cloistered away but they both knew would never leave him. Or her.

And why would either of them want to burden a child with him as their father; or her with his last name? It did not do to dwell on something Sebastian never thought he’d be able to have.

Then one day their world shifted and as willfully unprepared as they’d been for it; so did they. 

Alice bloomed in the cracks of space in their lives they hadn’t known something had been missing. But perhaps had always left vacant and wanting for her. 

Sam, followed so shortly after. Alice - barely a year old when they’d realised three would quickly become four. 

By then, Sebastian had put to rest that gnawing anxiety that told him perhaps they should have never been parents. Fatherhood suited him. Soothed an old ache that had been throbbing since the passing of his own and now he wore it like a familiar coat. 

He allowed himself to bask in the elation of their growing family; in a way, he’d not been able to with Alice. Not only taking pride in his wife, who practically glowed more beautiful than he’d ever seen her; but pleasure in watching her stomach swell once again with his child. 

So much in fact, he lamented over the missed opportunity for what it would be like to take her with the sole intention of filling her with life. Could practically taste it every time he felt her unravelling on his cock. Dragged his feet at the apothecary when she asked him to purchase extra dandelion root for her monthly brew in the years that followed.

Already Sebastian could feel his blood rushing south at the thought. Inhaling sharply, calming his heart which was now thumping hard against his sternum as that familiar desire pooled. 

“I love our family. Alice and Sam, are plenty troublesome and we have our hands full as it is,” he began carefully.

Sebastian cupped her chin, shifting her soft gaze to his. The smile he wore, genuine if a little weak. What he said was true. Sebastian did not wish to burden her with making such a decision simply to satisfy his elicit fantasies. He would not begrudge her if she didn’t want another child after she’d given him so much - more than he’d ever let himself hope for. 

But she visibly deflated with his words. “Oh…so you wouldn't want another one?”

“No! I mean- not ‘ no’ . Merlin, it’s quite the opposite. In fact, I think I’ll always want more ,” Sebastian spluttered. Tongue tied and feeling the opportunity slipping through his fingers Sebastian took a breath to right himself. “Neither of us has much in the way of family outside of the one we made for ourselves - each child you give me is the greatest blessing I never thought I’d have. I’d love nothing more than to grow the family that we created.”

“I just want to know you're sure. You don't have to just because I want one.”

“There is nothing within my power that I would not give you. But, trust me love there are other  reasons it appeals to me.” 

“Oh?”

Hands glided down her spine grabbing the soft curve of her backside. Her eyes widened as he pulled her flush against his body where she could feel the growing bulge press against her stomach. Tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, Sebastian ducked his head to nip gently at her earlobe before he whispered.

“Getting to fuck you purely with the intention of filling you with my seed. Watching you swell with another of my children. Breeding you. ” His voice, a low rumble reverberating from deep in his chest. Domineering. Predatory. Every point his body was pressed against hers felt like a fire that ignited a desire that lay dormant inside him. Desperate to claw its way out. Claim her as his - again . "Wearing the evidence under those pretty dresses of yours for everyone to see. So they know exactly what you let me do to you. Who you belong to.”

A visible shiver ran down her spine. Goosebumps prickling across her skin at the filth of his words. Feeling pressed hard against her stomach exactly how much the idea appealed to him. 

“Sebastian-”

“Tell me you want it and it’s yours,” he murmured huskily against her neck. Nipping at that spot below her jaw he knew made her knees buckle. 

His little witch had never been the obedient sort, as wild and stubborn as a poorly bottled lightning. But after all these years together - Sebastian knew exactly which buttons to push. How to make her laugh so hard her cheeks ached from smiling; a sound so perfect it washed his worries away like a tide. The ones that made rage; burn so fiercely he was reminded she was barely a witch at all but a dragon merely playing at domesticity. 

Most favourably to Sebastian were the ones that turned every rational coherent thought in her head into a blinding fog of lust.

He trailed kisses across her skin, her pulse quickening under the tender brush of his lips. An eager whine slipped from her throat. Hips pushing against his in search of friction to soothe the heat pooling in her abdomen.

“Yes- fuck. Please, I want that. Another baby. Your baby.”

The choked sound that clawed its way out of Sebastian’s throat sounded far from anything human. Somewhere between a groan and a growl. 

Wasting not a second longer he grasped her hips lifting her swiftly as if she weighed nothing at all. Thighs wrapped tightly around his hips as she moulded into him. Heat radiated from her core barely concealed behind the thin fabric of her undergarment. 

Fingers tangling in his hair, she pulled his lips forcefully to hers. Kissing him greedily. Tongue delved between his parted lips as if he were the air she breathed. 

From the way she ground her hips insistently, his wife cared little if it drove him to distraction; she knew there was no way Sebastian would let her fall. 

Carrying her over to the bed to practically launch her down onto the mattress. Hooded eyes, devoured every inch of her husband standing above her. Her dress dishevelled had ridden up to expose the tops of her thighs which squeezed together in anticipation. Sebastian palmed his hard length through biting hard on his lip to stifle a moan.

Her nimble fingers came quickly to fumble with the buttons of her dress. Sebastian batted her hand away with a grunt to tear into them himself. His mouth trailed kisses further down her body with every inch he exposed.

Stopping as in his journey towards her core to pay particular attention to the soft curve of her belly. She whined under every press of his lips against her stomach squirming impatiently under Sebastian with the need for him to fill the womb he worshipped so reverently. 

Sebastian pulled her hips sharply towards the edge of their bed dropping to his knees between her spread legs. Folds already glistening with unrestrained desire. Sebastian ran the tip of his nose through the sparse hairs. The heat of his breath teased against her growing slick. Shivering with anticipation her hips bucked craving - no, needing Sebastian to provide relief to the ache between her legs. 

“Sebastian - please,” she whined. 

“Impatient,” he scolded. Despite his own clothed erection strained against his trousers twitching desperate to be buried inside his wife’s impossibly tight core. But to Sebastian there no more perfect sight than her laid out before him. Bare, flushed and eyes darkened with desire. A nymph from some Greek tragedy he hadn’t tamed; rather merely a disciple come to worship at her altar. “Such a good girl. Already so wet for me.”

Her fingers tangled harshly in his hair hips bucking as Sebastian at last ended her torment. Licking a broad stripe with the flat of his tongue across her weeping entrance. Her head fell back in a broken whine finally relieving her from her torture. Sebastian released a  groan of his own against her folds, lapping more needly at the growing slick. Savouring every drop she offered him. A man lost in a desert and her his bountiful oasis.

He knew her body better than he knew his own. Chasing her keening mewls a wordless plea for more, pleasure only he could offer her as he flicked and curled his tongue against the hooded bundle of nerves. Releasing his grip on her hip to slide his fingers into her tight heat. Savouring how her fluttering walls gripped him as he worked her open with every pump and curl of his fingers.

Her back arched, legs shaking the cool satin sheets scrunched in her fists as she writhed in ecstasy. Clinging desperately to them a last bastion of as she teetered on the edge of oblivion.

He chanced a glance up at her, mouth still servicing her fervently. Their eyes locked her voice caught on a silent plea for release. Sebastian sucked. Devouring her quivering clit and she broke. 

Screaming curses and praise to forgotten deities her body jerking to grind frantically against his tongue. Sebastian’s hips rutted forward into nothingness as her body clenching around his fingers as he brought her to climax. His own need growing almost unbearable as he felt her dissolved into pleasure needing to feel that pulsing release around his cock not just his fingers. 

His patience was now paper thin, he needed to be inside of her and from the way her fingers tugged at his chestnut hair impatiently as her orgasm ebbed - she seemed to agree. 

Bed springs creaked as he crawled onto the bed beside her. He slid his hands along the dip of her waist gripping her soft flesh to flip her onto her stomach. 

She peering back at him from over her shoulder. Her lips were swollen, her hair in a wild tangle but her eyes burning into him as if she could set him alight - daring him to take her as she arched her hips up and back towards Sebastian. 

Gripping her side he bared down on her. Large body resting heavily against her back she curled up into him sighing contentedly at the feeling of his weight resting against her.

How many wizards had coveted her affection since their school days? Cursed the very ground Sebastian walked on because since the day she’d become his. His cock achingly hard grinding against her arse at the mere thought of her wearing the reminder to them all exactly who she belonged to under her dress. 

He scrambled with the buttons on his breeches before pulling them off entirely cock springing free arching proudly and achingly hard. Slit glistening in anticipation that coil inside of him already tightly wound at the mere thought of filling her.

"Going to fuck even more of my kids into you," he purred low in her ear as he settled himself between her legs dragging the head of his cock through her spit-slicked folds. Their nerves practically vibrating with carnal anticipation. 

She cried out, broken and rasping as Sebastian finally pressed into her with a strong deliberate thrust. Stretching her open inch by inch groaning low, his head falling against her back when he buried himself inside her to the hilt. The sheen of sweat coating her back salty on his tongue as he mouthed brainlessly at her bare flesh. 

“Fuck,” she hissed as Sebastian began to cant his hips in deep maddening strokes. He hadn't expected such a lustful fog to overcome him. Like some primitive part of his brain had overcome him and now he was entirely consumed with the thought of her. Filling her with seed.

His eyes flicked up catching their reflection in the mirror. Sebastian groaned her name as he watched himself pounding into her relentlessly. Tiny body nestled under his own her spine curved in pleasure but her face was buried in the sheets. Stifling the delicious sounds of ecstasy she only made for him into the mattress. 

Sebastian grunted in annoyance. Snapping his hips harder she only seemed to bit down harder on the sheets.

He didn’t just want her to feel him filling her with life; he wanted her to bear witness to it.

Tucking his arm around her waist he hauled her up flush against his body. Her yelp of surprise dissolving into a moan as the new angle had her sinking deeper onto his cock. Her back pressed against his chest she rolled her hips, eyelashes fluttering as his crown teased against her sweet spot. Sebastian curled a possessive hand around her throat to keep her upright. The other kneaded her breast, rolling the pert peak between his fingertips. 

Despite the utterly filthy position in which he took her. Sebastian’s hands were gentle, large arms cradling her body. He whispered sweet reverent praise and encouragement into her ear with every roll of her as she sought her pleasure.

“Look at you,” he whispered. Pressing a kiss to her temple coaxing her to look and witness how fucking perfect she was. Her eyes cracked open, gaze settling on the mirror in the corner of the room. Sebastian's reflection grinned at her. She blushed deeply at the sight but she made no move to cover herself. Eyes devouring the sight of her bare, legs spread wide and impaled on Sebastian's cock. 

“Fucking look at you.” He punctuated the statement with a sharp buck of his hips into her cunt.  

She whined desperately with every deep maddening thrust. She leaned back further into his embrace, head tipped back in a wanton moan but she didn't tear her eyes away. As if wishing to burn this moment into her mind. Cunt fluttering greedily around his cock, coaxing more slick onto his shaft. 

“Fuck- you're taking me so well. Do you- fuck. Feel how deep I am inside you?” Sebastian groaned at the slight swell of her stomach. He released her breast hand ghosting down the planes of her stomach. “I can feel you clenching around me - fuck . Feel where I'm going to fill you. Where you'll grow our child.”

He barely recognised the cadence of his voice, low gravelly more akin to a growl than anything human. He pressed a little harder onto her stomach. Feeling the head of his cock against his palm, he groaned. Forehead fell against the crook of her neck pumping into his palm as he ground into her with deep thrusts. Gently teasing his thumb over the blunt head through her soft stomach. 

She whined readily, shivering with pleasure sinking deeper onto his cock with every needy roll of her hips. Blood pounding in his ears Sebastian could feel the pressure mounting. He released his hold on her throat, taking hold of her hips so hard he knew even if his seed did not take her skin would still wear the marks for days.

Leaning back so she could rest against him, his toes curling in the sheets as he found purchase to thrust into her frantic. Her arm wrapped around his neck keening and whimpering with every strong thrust. 

“Please Seb- fuck. I need,” she rasped. Too deliriously close to the edge to tell him what she needed. What they both craved so desperately. 

“Tell me what you want, darling,” he grunted. Peppering kisses behind her ear, along the curve of her jaw. “Do you want me to come deep inside you? Breed you? Make you mine again?”

“Yes. Gods. Yes!”

“Tell- tell me,” he grunted. Clutching her hips to pound up into her brutally. The coil inside of him tightened, feeling his release rushing in. Visions narrowing and cock twitching eagerly. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“I-I want your seed. Your baby. You. Please, Seb- fuck,” she cried out. 

Deft fingers found her clit. Still so sensitive from how he’d already made her quake. Sebastian circled the swollen nub and her head tipped back in a husky moan. Grinding her hips against him, Glistening with a thin sheen of sweat everywhere their bodies were intertwined. 

“You're going to look so perfect. So bloody beautiful carrying our child. My child.”

She gasped as that familiar feeling pooled in her core. “Fuck- Seb please. I'm close.” 

“Fuck I can feel you. So tight - around my cock. Let go for me, my love. And I will ah - for you,” Sebastian groaned into the shell of her ear. 

Despite his vision blurring as Sebastian teetered so close to the edge of nirvana, he couldn't tear his eyes from their reflection. He doubted there was a more mesmerising and all-consuming sight than watching her come completely undone. Head tipped back all words stolen by how expertly he fucked her so a tune to her body. Beads of sweat clung to every curve and dip on her. 

Shimmering. Beautiful. His .

Teasing faster circles over her still-swollen clit. Bucking into her hard and faster. Biting down on his lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue as he desperately held back his release. A final uneven snap of his hips burying his cock deep inside her climax broke. 

She cried out suddenly; a clap of thunder announcing a storm. Like the heavens split apart and she submitted to drown in the waves of her pleasure. Nails clawing against his shoulder. Cunt tightened and spasmed as she sucked him in impossibly deeper as Sebastian followed her. Pulling her hips down as her came hard. 

Her name and filthy praise erupted from his lips in a sound he could only liken to a primal whine. Spilling his seed hot and purposeful into the deepest part of her channel. Grinding against her arse, Sebastian milked every last drop from his pulsing cock. 

Willing it to take root. 

Her body slumped against him boneless but every nerve alight and still shivering from the last throws of pleasure as her orgasm ebbed. Rasping in broken pants as she tried to recapture her stolen breath.

He kissed her cheek, tender, lovingly and with as much gentleness as Sebastian could muster with how he practically rattled with how hard his heart was hammering against his ribs; he shifted strong arms guiding her onto her side. Cock still sheathed inside of her. Unwilling to remove himself from her his mind still overcome and entirely consumed with the need to fill her with life.

Sebastian pushed his release deeper inside her with shallow thrusts. She whimpered hips bucking away from the overstimulation of the motion. He peppered soft apologetic kisses across the small bruises beginning to bloom around her throat wrapping his arms around her and cradling her body to him tighter. But Sebastian held firm. Hand pressing against her stomach a silent prayer. Willing his seed to take. 

"I love you. You're going to look so beautiful. Full of my baby," he cooed, with a languid roll of his hips. Tucking her a sweaty lock of tangled hair behind her ear. She sighed, angling her face to meet his gaze. Dishevelled. Swollen lipped. Beautiful. Her soft crooked and familiar yet it still takes his breath away. 

He'd once thought the greatest thing he could do was burn the world for her. But now he knew - It was to build one. 

A life. A legacy. One that they forged and fought for together. Everything, as long as it was with her. 

Despite his efforts to keep her full of him, he could already feel it leaking out around his shaft, hot and slick, coating her thighs. The crown of his cock dragged over her sweet spot before pushing his further in. “In fact - why stop at one this time? Twins do run in my family.”

“I don't think that's how it works-” she stuttered. But her core clenched greedily around his cock. Still stiff and firmly inside of her, it twitched with approval. 

“Care to test the theory?”

[black-rose-writings]

Things I have gathered about Danny Phanton without having ever watched the show (from posts and fanfics):

There's ghosts and they're kind of assholes, but they're also all friends and have christmas parties. Their presence is treated as a mild annoyance by everyone except the ghost hunters.

The main character is a dead 14yo. Sometimes. He's also trans.

There are adult professional ghost hunters around. Literally all of them seem like they are just taking out their serial killer urges on ghosts. "Man is the real monster" trope in action. At least some of the ghost hunters are a Men In Black parody.

The dead 14yo actually the most competent at removing ghosts from the mortal plane.

There is another 14yo who is not dead and also hunting ghosts. She's somehow also more competent at it than the adults.

The MC's parents are ghost hunters and want to torture him into perma-death. That is somehow not the biggest problem with their parenting.

(Like, I get that adults in kids' media need to be kinda dumb and immature for the premise of the show/book/movie/whatever to work, but I'm getting the feeling the adults in this show cross the line of 'plot necessary dumbass' into 'fucked up and abusive' territorry.)

One of the ghosts is tiny, piloting a giant mecha suit and dedicated to skinning the MC and hanging his skin on his wall. He somehow also has a cool rocker girlfriend and thinks this will impress her. Jury's out on whether or not that's a good strategy.

There is a ghost called the Box Ghost, who demands to be taken seriously. Nobody takes him seriously.

The MC's nemesis is another dude who is sometimes dead. He looks like a vampire and swears in food. He also wants to kill the MC's dad (for mostly valid reasons) and bang his mom (for no good reason at all) and adopt the MC as his son(mostly because of his hangups around the parents, not because said parents suck at being parents). In a villainous and fucked up way, because he's the main antagonists. He's also a billionaire, has a cat, and is weirdly obsessed with american football (IDK jack shit about american football, but the level of obsession is treated as not normal by the characters so I will assume it is weird and just how americans be like).

There were 3 seasons, but half of the fandom is convinced the third one may have been a fever dream because it's so bad.

There was a finale that everyone pretends didn't happen because it sucked.

There is at least one time travel fix it episode and the time travel ghost wears way too many watches.

The MC has two living friends - Wade from Kim Possible, but thinner and leaves his house, and a jewish goth vegan.

The MC has a clone and she's a baby and a gremlin.

The ships all have the weirdest fucking names.

Somehow half the named characters being dead is not the angstiest part of the show.

I kinda want to know how someone came up with it and what drugs they were taking. IDK if I want to try some or avoid them, but it would be good to know either way.

[eggroll-sama]

Who’s My Roommate?

The Touchstarved cast are at a hotel and can’t decide who will be their roommates. Some are against certain pairings. You don’t really care, but they seem they’ve got a few colorful opinions || Touchstarved LI x reader. All of them have a crush on you, but you’re oblivious. I had this in my drafts for a while but I finally got the motivation to finish it. Just light-hearted shenanigans. Sorry if there are any typos!

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“I don’t want Leander,” said Vere, his arms crossed and glaring at the man across from him.

They didn’t think deciding on rooming buddies would be so hard. There were exactly three rooms, side by side, and anyone who knew basic math understood there would be two people per room. The problem was, who and who?

Vere and Ais were the first pairing that came to mind. But then Mhin complained that they didn’t want to hear them having sex at two in the morning. You and Kuras could sympathize so argued that, no, Vere and Ais cannot be together in the same room. Vere was angry, Ais was indifferent. He preferred Vere’s company over others, but as long as he didn’t get Mhin he was fine. He found the idea of Mhin aiming a knife to his neck fun, but in the end he didn’t want to deal with them pestering him like a fly.

And then there was Leander. If they went off the reason of not wanting to hear someone having sex, then Leander was tough. He had had sex with half of the members in the group: Ais, Mhin, and (maybe) Vere. You still didn’t really know if they did it or not.

“I wouldn’t mind sleeping in the same room as Leander,” you said. Everyone stiffened except for the man in question, who had a cocky smile on his face. Secretly, everyone wanted to room with you, but they didn’t want to admit it.

Kuras stepped in before Leander could make a comment, and steered the conversation to possibly drawing sticks so it would be fair for everyone and well, not everyone was happy with their partners. Vere got Leander, Mhin got Ais, and you got Kuras. You weren’t against Kuras being your roommate; he was a gentleman and minded his own business. He didn’t seem like he was against rooming with you either. The others were not so happy with their results.

“I’m not rooming with a monster,” Mhin spat, venom lacing their words, glaring holes in the back of Ais’ head.

Ais ignored them, while Vere rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah, well nobody wants to deal with an annoying midget like you. I think you forgot to pack your booster seat.”

Vere snickered as Mhin’s face turned red from anger.

“Hey hey now hold on, MC said that they were fine with rooming with me, so why not just leave the two of us out of it?” Leander said, arms snaking around your shoulder.

“No, you soft penis numbskull. You’re not rooming with MC.” Mhin stepped in. When the others looked at Mhin curiously, they coughed nervously and looked away.

You tried to lighten the mood with a joke, “Ais and Leander are best friends. We should room them together.”

The corner of Leander’s smile frayed at your joke. Ais narrowed his eyes at you. At least Vere was laughing, probably at you for your failed attempt to lighten the mood, but at least he laughed. You drew into yourself. You’ve forgotten the others were getting quite annoyed by the arguing. This was serious business that might mean life or death.

“How about we draw sticks again?” You suggested meekly, trying to move past the awkwardness.

“No, it’s just a waste of time,” intervened Vere, “we all clearly have our preferences, so how about we list anyone we don’t want to room with? I go first. I hate all four of you, fortunately, so I’m going to room with Ais or no one.”

“I don’t have a preference,” said Leander with a blush.

“We know,” Vere rolled his eyes.

“At this point let’s just room the two people that are the doormats of this group, Leander and Vere. It’s the easiest way to deal with them,” said Mhin.

“Or how about we room Leander in one room and Vere in the other one, and then we all share the last one,” you suggest. At this point you were running out of ideas and throwing them out randomly hoping you would hit a jackpot.

“I’m not invited to the foursome? That is unfortunate to hear,” Vere said.

“It’s getting too complicated. Room Vere with MC, Mhin with Leander, and me and Kuras. That should be good,” suggested Ais, getting impatient.

“I’m afraid that would be endangering MC’s safety,” said Kuras coolly, ignoring Vere’s exasperated reaction.

He quickly switched to his flirty demeanor, a coy smile on his lips, “Oh, but I don’t bite. Unless they ask me.” Mhin scoffed in the background. Kuras was expressionless. If he reacted to Vere’s tasteless innuendos, he would give the fox exactly what he wanted. So he stayed quiet and didn’t let his face give anything away.

“I agree with Kuras on this one. A bloody, mangled corpse is the last thing we want to deal with,” said Mhin. Though Mhin said this, you knew that they cared about your safety.

Ais sighed in defeat, pulling out a cigarette and a match, “I’m going out for a smoke.” You couldn’t blame him, they’ve been arguing for the past thirty minutes. Ais walked off to the entrance of the hotel.

Seeing Ais walk off, Vere waved their fingers before sauntering off in the same direction.

“The dog went to take a walk with it’s owner. Good grief,” said Mhin.

“We still need to get this rooming situation settled. I’m sure the others won’t mind if we decided without them,” said Kuras.

He sighed, “From what I’ve observed, the best rooming pairs seems like the fox and Ais, Mhin and MC, and Leander and I. We’ll take the middle room, Mhin and MC take the left, and Vere and Ais the right. That way Mhin wouldn’t be disturbed from any unnecessary sounds at night.”

“I could live with that,” said Mhin.

Leander didn’t seem too pleased with the end-result, but he wasn’t going to complain, “Alright. Guess I get to room with the good doctor tonight. Hey, maybe we can finally get some dinner, you and I.”

“Perhaps,” said Kuras, but from his indifferent expression and hollow tone it sounded more like a no.

“Ah,” was all Leander said. You could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. Then, he pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket, “I brought cards with me. Anyone wanna play Poker in an hour or two, our room?”

You smiled, “I like Poker. Bet I could beat you,” you nudged his shoulder teasingly.

“Sure.” Leander said with a laugh, but the way he said it almost sounded…condescending? You raised your brows, but before you could fully process it, Leander had already started speaking, “Would the doctor like to join as well?”

Must’ve been my imagination.

“I suppose if you are going to play in our room, I could join for a game or two.”

Kuras reply seemed to brighten Leander’s mood from the thinly-veiled rejection for dinner a few seconds ago.

“Great! How about you Mhin!”

“I’m tired.” Mhin grabbed their bags and started heading for the elevator, ignoring Leander’s invitation. You saw Leander’s smile falter.

“I’ll try convincing them,” you whispered to Leander who gave you an appreciative smile.

You had the keys to the room, so after saying goodbye to the other two, quickly followed after your small companion.

“I’m glad I get to room with you, Mhin,” you said while waiting for the elevator with them.

Mhin huffed at your words, turning away, “Right.” In the corner of your eyes you could see their pale skin get pinker just a tad. You smiled to yourself at their reaction. You weren’t really sure what the rest of the day will entail, but at least you were able to get through the hurdle of deciding who will be your roommate.

[fluorescent-if]

| DEMO 10/30/24 | RO INTROS |

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Welcome back to Misty Cove!

Your hometown that holds all of your best memories from childhood. Days where you spent all of your time with friends, exploring and playing. The most notable thing about both you and your hometown however, is what started happening in your teenage years. After you and your friends uncovered a mystery about the high school you all went to, you starting finding more odd occurrences across the county, and well, it's not like anybody else was going to solve them.

You and your friends because a team of detectives. Most your teenage years and early twenties were spent solving odd crimes across the country. You were all best friends.

That was until four years ago when...

Well, you're not sure you can remember anymore.

It doesn't matter right now. Welcome back.

'Return to Misty Cove' is a horror/mystery Interactive Fiction game that is inspired by Scooby-Doo, Soul Reaver, and the works of H.P. Lovecraft. This work will be rated 17+ for gore, violence, swearing, death, body horror, and possession that might not be suitable for everyone.

Customize your MC's appearance (gender, height, body type, ect.) develop their personality and become the linchpin of your mystery solving team.

Find out more and possibly solve the mystery that has been haunting your hometown.

Rekindle, or destroy old friendships (and maybe develop romances) with your former team, and meet others along the way.

Have an animal companion! (dog or cat)

RO's & Other Major Characters

Cameron "Cam" Morris (M/F) [RO]- Tech-savvy and mechanically minded, Cam is currently working as a mechanic after you and your group broke up, they are currently going to grad school for mechanical engineering, and still sends postcards and pictures to you. They are likely the sweetest person you have ever met, even if sometimes they are too kind to people who don't deserve it. Out of the four of you, Cam was always the one who needed to do what was right, no matter the cost, and even if what they thought was right at the time hurt in the long run.

Ollie Cohen-Reyes (NB) [RO]- Ollie has always been interested in macabre and strange, spending hours researching in the library any and every topic they were interested in. They get along with very few people, but once they are able to get close with others it becomes easier, and they become sarcastic and witty, and feel less uncomfortable talking about their interests freely. They work as an adjunct professor in forensic anthropology.

Rose/Rory Thompson(M/F) [RO]- They are a loyal person, first and foremost. When the group broke up they somewhat lost their purpose, but they ended up settling and working as a bartender in Misty Cove. Having taken boxing and self-defense classes from a young age due to their paranoid parents, R was always the best when it came to physical confrontation with the cases you investigated, even if outside of this they never seemed like someone who had that much power. They have become far more aggressive and assertive than the person you knew as a child, now having the attitude to match their technical know-how.

Terra Clarke (F) [RO]- You originally knew her by a different name, but she started transitioning early on life, and Terra is the only name you can remember now. Normally when you say it it's followed by a nasty comment. Terra was never someone you got along with when you lived in Misty Cove. She was antagonistic towards you and your friends, but a lot has changed since the last time you saw her. She now owns her Grandpa's diner, and tries to take good care of the people of the town, especially since the mayor won't do much. She is always exhausted now, but is very happy to see a familiar face, even if your history is muddied because of both of your actions.

Randall 'Randy' Clarke - Terra's grandfather and former owner of "Randy's Diner" always very kind to you and your friends, even if you all never got along with Terra. He has been running his diner since the 60's and has faith that his granddaughter will uphold the legacy.

Ana Lloyd - (An-uh) the mayor of the town of Misty Cove. Trying to "restore the former glory of the town" as if she didn't move here less than 2 years ago, and was the only person who ran when the former mayor died while in office. She has been selling some of the old public spaces to business developers as a way to "expand the town and bring in new people".

Mrs. Ms. Emerson Talbot- Your former English teacher from high school, you never got along with her that well. She, now in her 70's has only gotten more bitter. You just hope she doesn't hold grudges.

Dorothy Giles- Your co-worker, likely the only one in your office who has a soul anymore. A woman who would go to the ends of the earth to protect the people she cares about, even if those people are just 20-somethings that she has taken under her wing.

(Things are subject to change throughout the games development)