#tw missing limbs mention

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Moon: Well, Eclipse isn’t a flight risk anymore.

Sun: What?

Moon: Oh, his legs got towed.

Sun: …Are you saying you took off his legs?

Moon: No, I’m saying Jack did out of grief of losing his dad.

[d4ught3r-0f-n0n3]

Okay lore drop based on my starter. (Zip this is your fault.(kinda))

Uhhh body parts getting crushed, sexual relations (specifically between three people.) and uhh blood and possibly more actual under the cut so.. don’t look if you don’t like that stuff.

This is gonna talk about her missing leg and why she bleeds ichor.

Burnice is a child or Aphrodite and Ares (shocker I know) but she wasn’t made just by them. Ares and Aphrodite had a threes0me with Skylar (the human dad of Burnice.) Now ares I feel might’ve been much more ecstatic than Aphrodite to have this child, but of course something has to always go wrong with gods and small babies.

Burnice was a very small child, born around 6 and a half months (so around 2 and 1/2 to 3 months early) and due to her being so small she was around the size of the gods hands when they where their usually sizes and Aphrodite (idk if it was an accident or not) crushed her left leg under the knee of course, Apollo was a great help making sure her body was okay but.. she unfortunately lost her leg.

Ares, went to his mother, asking her what he and Aphrodite should do, Hera holding the newborn baby glance it over and saw the missing leg.. it reminded her of her son.. her hatred for the son she made all on her own.. she walked to the edge of Olympus’ gates and went to drop the small crying baby but Aphrodite quickly snatched Burnice away. Screaming at the goddess about how she was crazy and what was wrong with her.

Ares though.. being his mother’s favorite wanted to try and listen to her.. to keep her happy.. so.. Aphrodite and ares came up with an idea.. give it to the human man whose sperm mixed with ares inside of Aphrodite to raise it. Saying they would come and be protective over their daughter.

Skylar happily took her and raised her. But she was mainly godly (33.3% human and 66.6% godly.) so that why her blood is ichor and why she’s missing a leg.

@cloak-of-ares @hera-of-peacocks @notesbyaphrodite @people who wanna read it lol

[victor-cartoons]

Guys, could y'all give me ideas for a name for the AU? ? I'm trying to come up with something, but I can't think of anything :[

Originally it was just going to be called something (kinda dumb) like "disabled!tankman" but I think I need something better than that

[kitty-lattee]

“You don’t get to decide what I see.”

[victor-cartoons]

You guys want to hear about a post-war Tankmen AU where I explore the consequences of war to extreme points (specifically events like losing limbs by battle and having to learn live a life not only outside of war, but with disabilities as well. not really talking about wars and their global consequences, but rather emphasizing the personal consequences of war in the life of a ex-soldier) with Tankman and Boyfriend angst content (shipping) with some mentions of Tankdad or am I taking the Tankmen series too seriously?

an AU drawing below, (no gorey stuff but John looks pretty fucking bad emotionally/srs) (please proceed with caution)

[abyssyby]

off guard on duty

— the big twins watch the little twins for a day and long for what they think they'll never have.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: my babies my angels my loves ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ sylus is just a dad of 4. here's a silly little fic about the big twins watching the little twins. they have a great time. let me know what you think of this one lol, it was super fun to make! enjoy! ❀-urs important heads up for context of this story: kyros and lucian are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. around 3 years old at this time.

kieran, luke, lucian and kyros highlight!! | sylus x reader | fluff, angst, softbabysitter!twins, mom!reader, sufferingdad!sylus, bigtwins are also sylus's sons change my mind?? tw: separation anxiety/tantrums, past abuse mentioned (pls let me know if I missed any!)

Don’t drop them.

Don’t lose them.

Dinner is at six.

Easy enough. They’ve gone through more difficult missions before. Covert ones, requiring meticulous planning and great improvisation. 

Kieran prides himself in being able to execute seventeen different kinds of strategies to take down a group of thirty men within 5 minutes. Luke can persuade anyone into doing anything, and eliminate them— without a trace—if they don’t comply. Exceptional mercenaries. Isolated ghosts. Nothing is impossible.

Perfectly capable babysitters, if you ask them. 

How they made the silent twin wail like a siren and the rambunctious one sit still was beyond them.

“Papa!” Kyros screams, blotchy red cheeks puffed and damp bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. He presses himself against the heavy main door, as if forcing himself to walk through, stretching his little limbs and straining his ankles to reach the knob. “Papa! Papa!” 

“Keero mad.” Lucian blinks, staring at his brother across the room, snuggled against his mama’s blanket. Your scent envelops him, helps him stay calm in your absence. You had left for your mission earlier that day, and Lucian has since finished his little tantrum, as evidenced by his own salt-crusted cheeks.

Luke and Kieran are a mess, to put it mildly. 

“It’s okay, little boss,” Luke tries to say, pulling the toddler away from the door where Sylus had just left from. Kyros gurgles a desperate sound as he weighs himself down to the floor in protest. “Big boss will be back.” 

“Papa!” Kyros cries, calming words falling on deaf ears.

“I don’t think he knows who ‘big boss’ is.” Kieran, equally panicked but hiding his racing heart behind calm breathing, offers. “Little boss, papa will be back.”

Kyros seems to scream louder at that, stomping his little feet and running off to the crevice by the door. He squeezes himself against the corner and sobs. Fat droplets of tears streaming down his swollen cheeks. Heartbreakingly resembling an abandoned hamster.

Kieran’s arms fall to his sides—how? How is this little one such an angel during play time and…? Have they done something to upset him? Does he not really like them? Is this how he finds out that a child can have preferences and can choose not to prefer them? 

Before Kieran can spiral deeper in self-pity and throw Luke off with the swelling emotion in his chest, in their periphery, they see movement from the couch. Lucian, wrapped in his mother’s blanket, waddles over to his brother and gives him a little hug. “Squeezy-squeeze, Keero. No cry.”

Luke blinks at the sight. The realization comes to him in the form of a distant sensation— freezing cold cells, the deafening bang of a metal door and him, anguished and ashamed, crowding Kieran close to the corner of their room where they held one another—high on sedatives— after they had just torn each other apart to survive another day. 

With that, he moves slowly, approaching the little twins with caution and then opens his arms. “Kyros?” 

Lucian makes way, and at the sight, Kyros scrambles over to Luke and buries his hiccups in his chest. He engulfs him in a hug, mindful of the pressure he applies with his arms and how that would translate to a little body like Kyros’s. Pressure, deep, deep pressure tethers him back to them. 

Kyros deflates, nuzzling his wet little face into the fabric of Luke’s turtleneck. He can’t be bothered by the snot, relieved that the boy has begun to stop crying. 

“Papa will be back.” Luke says quietly, making sure to press his lips into the baby’s head so he can feel the sound. Something he’d observed you and Sylus would do to him. “Kieran and I are here.” 

He exhales when he realizes Kyros doesn’t struggle. That he is allowed to comfort him like his parents do. 

“Be back now.” Kyros murmurs, genuinely thinking big, strong Luke and Kieran can do something about it. 

“Later.” Luke assures him. “Just out on a mission.” 

“No, ‘ishun.” he shakes his head, eyes glassy and pleading. “No, pease?” 

“Sorry, buddy, Papa’s work is important.”

“Maybe we can do something else? Like… hide & go boom?” Kieran offers, mirroring the quiet voice and lifting Lucian up into his arms as well. An effort to put them all on equal footing. 

Lucian nods. “Yes.” 

Kyros shakes his head. “Don’wanna.” 

“Okay, that’s fine.” Luke nods, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “How ‘bout the hammock?” 

Kyros shakes his head again, much to their disappointment. 

Kieran racks his brain for ideas. Were it not for the devastation on the little boy’s face, he would have found it funny that he gets to see how Sylus would cry, if he were a small toddler. Lucian and Kyros look so much like Sylus, they might as well be triplets. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees the coat closet open, and an idea is born. “Hey… wanna see papa?” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Get out.” Kieran rasps, pushing his voice deep into his chest. He stands in an imposing pose, chin jutted out to accentuate his jaw and squinting his eyes to be half-lidded and bored. 

On his shoulders was Sylus’s brown leather coat, on his feet were Sylus’s large shoes and on his head… was Lucian. Serving as a giggly white wig on his hair.

“Give us the brooch!” Luke demands, Kyros in a baby carrier strapped tightly to his chest. He wore your hunter gloves on his thumb and forefinger, far too small, and Kyros held an empty water gun. 

“I hid it, go find it.” rasps Keiran again. Poorly hiding the cough that rips through his chest. 

“Where, papa?” Kyros giggles as he’s swung around. Luke makes exaggerated movements of disbelief. 

“Here.” cough. “There.” cough, cough. He rubs his throat and swallows drily, brows knitting together as he breathes out with great difficulty, “Somewhere.” 

Lucian— a sentient wig, apparently— points to the playroom. Kyros nods in understanding.

“Fine’da boots!” Kyros wriggles, willing Luke to march forward. Luke hobbles into the playroom and puts Kyros down, who dives into his toy box. Kieran follows with Lucian.

“Keero, no there!” Lucian says, scrambling off of Kieran’s shoulders, hitting him in the eye— both big twins wince— and sliding down his leg. 

“Don’t tell him, Cian, we’re team papa.” Kieran chuckles, rubbing his eye as he sinks onto the floor to watch the little twins. Something swells in his chest as he watches the two executing his little mission— an affirmation that he’s done something worth their time.

Luke pauses from searching for a clue. He asks, because it matters to the story, “Wait. Does that mean we’re team mama?” 

“Boots?” Kyros asks, holding up a toy fork. 

Lucian swats it away, “No!” 

Kyros continues his search, asking everyone if whatever he was interacting with was a brooch. 

“Boots?” He asks, bouncing on the trampoline. 

“Boots?” As he slides down the playset.

“Boots?” As he carefully stacks the colored rings into a wobbly tower. 

 Boots? Boots? Boots?

“I don’t think he remembers what the brooch looks like.” Luke finally says, after minutes of watching Kyros turn the place upside down. 

Lucian has since joined, and the moment he pulls out the plastic bathtime boat and presents it to them with a hopeful, “Dis boats?”— Kieran is sure he has forgotten now too. 

“No… uh…” Kieran thinks, lips quirking to the side. He tries to explain what the small, metal pin looks like to the toddlers again. They stare at him with wide, clueless eyes, feigning comprehension. “It’s black and has a bird— a small black bird in the middle,” he says, motioning towards Luke who points at the drawer it was in.

Lucian nods first. “Ohh…” 

Kyros hops up with a newfound fervor. “Bird! Ya, bird!” 

“Yes! Bird! Do you remember n— HEY!” 

In a flash, Kyros has tugged his brother out the door and the pair sprint down the halls. Kieran scrambles to stand, feeling his knees pop at the quick motion while Luke slips and tumbles on the rug trying to get to the door. He blinks back the black and white dots from his vision as he runs.

“Wait, wait!” Kieran begs, listening to the echoes of laughter down the halls to follow. Luke is already swiping through the security camera feed to locate them.

The boss is going to kill them. You’re going to kill them dead. 

The giggles resonate throughout the halls until they are confusing. Kieran swears he hears Lucian down the left and Kyros down the right, but Luke just saw them together on Camera 8. 

“They’re—they’re teleporting!” 

“Do they have evol? I’ve never seen them—did you hear that?!”

“Part boss? Did you spot wings?!” 

“Quiet! Let’s…” 

They stop. An argument between them brews just in the horizon when the silence swallows them whole. 

“Where are they?” Kieran glances at Luke’s phone. His jaw sets. Swipe after swipe through the camera feeds, they finds no trace of them. Luke’s hand begins to shake.

Kieran’s comments don’t help. “… I don’t like that.” Camera 13— empty. “No, no, I hate that.” 

Luke shakes his head as helplessness consumes him. “They’re invisible.” 

“Stop it.” 

Chills trickle down Luke’s spine as he hears faint laughter echo down the halls that he fails to localize. “Were they even real?” 

Kieran shoves his brother. “Listen to yourself!”  

Don’t lose them. 

Before their hysteria escalates— praise be— they hear a very distressed squawking. With a look, they take off left. Boss’s office. 

There they find Lucian balanced on his father’s chair— round belly dented over the head rest, stretching to reach the charging perch, little hands grabbing the mechanical bird by the neck. Kyros stares up, holding the other boy’s legs as to not let him fall. 

“Kee-wan, bird!” Lucian says proudly, wiggling in his already precarious state. Kieran feels his life force in his throat as he rushes to get him down from the chair. Palms cold and clammy, fingers trembling and struggling to get a grip.

Don’t drop them.

“Boots!” Kyros proclaims in a shout. It still surprises them how loud Kyros can actually be. “Pisto boots!” 

“Mephisto was not the br—“ Kieran’s mouth is slapped shut as Luke cuts him off with cheers.

“Little bosses found the brooch!” Because he can’t have them running off to find any other thing they think is the brooch again. He can’t do it. His head is still spinning from his wipe out. He curses under his breath, silently checking— just in case— for little wings. 

The little boys scream in delight. Kieran softens at the sight, silently grateful his brother cut him off. Who would want to miss this? 

He pries Lucian’s fingers off of Mephisto gently and places the bird back on the perch. “Nice job, kids.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Dinner comes at six o’clock. Sylus had put his boys into a routine so well maintained that the sound of the clock striking six wasn’t a bell, but his son’s growling stomachs.

“Papa made you squash.” Luke says, taking it out the fridge and heating it. Meanwhile, Kieran buckles them in their ridiculously luxurious high-chairs. “And fish…” 

Luke pauses at the note written on top of the bigger container of meat and potatoes. Reads: Big Twins in handwriting they’ve only seen on under-the-table-offers, bidding slips and ledgers. He tries not to let it get to him, takes it out and heats it as well.

“Papa home?” Kyros asks, although this time with more curiosity than despair.

“Not yet.” Kieran tells him, giving his shoulders a grounding squeeze.

It doesn’t escape them how they’ve been calling Sylus “papa” all day too. How it came so easily when the adjustment was needed. Somehow they can’t seem to stop. 

Luke serves dinner. Two ceramic plates and two silicone-suction-cupped bowls. 

Lucian’s nose knocks into a palm as his path to his food is blocked. Kieran chides, “It’s hot.”

Lucian blinks at Kieran, who is still wearing Sylus’s coat and shoes, and tilts his head in amusement. Something connects in his head and he giggles. “Like papa.” 

Kieran’s face flushes, and Luke howls in laughter as he takes that in too. He hurls the silicone spoon at his brother like a javelin, and through his laughter, Luke catches it with ease. Straight to the sink it went and a new spoon is handed to Lucian. 

An unspoken truth passes between the big twins, a dawning that settles in them like warm milk on a sleepless night, as they feed their corresponding little twin. 

This is their life now— not just running errands, killing, and negotiating for Sylus, no matter how much they enjoyed that. How that put them into use. How that gave them purpose. A reason to exist in this world that hated them enough to maim them, and strip them of who they were only to throw them away. Because even then, they were still worth nothing. 

Now, in the soft glow of the kitchen light, eating the food Sylus had prepared them, feeding their charges. They see, they hope: this—this is who they are. Not machines, not weapons—boys, brothers, parts of this family. No matter how fleeting it may all be. 

They doubt it, but they feel it. In the way you check up on them when they come back from a mission, in Sylus’s silent but kind regard, in the little twins’ comfort and acceptance. Despite their shortcomings, their differences, they have found a place here. And maybe one day, the masks will come off and they will be nothing, thrown away once more— but what a wonder to have had this all the same.

“Kee-wan, Wook,” Lucian tells Kyros, pointing a chubby little finger at the wrong twin as he says it. Pulling the two out of their spiraling thoughts, different but grounded in the same soil. 

Kyros shakes his head calmly, chewing on the soft squash Luke fed him. He points correctly, “Wook. Keewi.” 

Seeking confirmation, Kieran gives Kyros a thumbs up. The little boy grins a proud orange smile, squash and all. Meanwhile, Luke teaches Lucian the differences— “Kieran’s head is this weird sha—ow!”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You’re still snickering at the video footage Mephisto sent you of Sylus lingering on the front door from earlier. Head devastatingly pressed to the wood, a white fist around the handle as his son screamed for him to come back on the other side. 

“It was terrible,” he tells you. His hand hovers on your lower back as you both ascend the pathway to the base. 

You offer him a sympathetic smile and squeeze his shoulder. “I know.” 

“We’re back!” You announce as the door is pushed open. Sylus slips in behind you.

It takes a moment for the footsteps to emerge, but they do. They always do. Only it wasn’t just the two light-footed ones’ you usually hear. Accompanying them was the sound of loud, bounding leather boots. 

“Mama!” Lucian screeches, little legs pumping to get to you. Leading the charge. Behind him, his brother— face scrunched in solemn determination, trying to catch up. Eyes zeroed in on his papa. And behind them…

“Stop! Ow, Mephisto! Kieran, get him!”

“I’m trying— He’s— OW!” 

The mechanical bird nosedives towards the two larger twins who struggle to catch their wards and fight off the bird at the same time. You giggle at the sight, and you hear Sylus chuckle the faintest bit too. 

Both on your knees, you each catch a twin, showering them with affection. Leaving the base for work has been harder than ever since these two gained the curse of existential dread and skill of object permanence. 

“Papa home!” you turn at your Kyros’s voice, who pats his father’s hollow cheeks softly. Meant as a happy report rather than a guilt-tripping accusation. Still, it prickles Sylus’s nose red as he tries to swallow the emotion that rises with the memory of his son’s cries. 

He presses his nose into his angel’s silver hair and breathes him in. “Brave boy.” 

“Mama!” Lucian says, both hands on your cheeks, turning your gaze towards the fumbling big twins. He points, correctly this time to each. “Kee-wan. Wook.”

You squint, taking note of the differences despite their movement and then beam. “You’re right!”

He giggles like a pebble skipped over a frozen lake when you pepper his face with kisses. 

“Mephisto.” At Sylus’s command, the bird ceases. It flutters to a nearby shelf and tilts its head as if nothing happened. 

“Were Kieran and Luke good babysitters?” Sylus asks. Even if he knows, Mephisto having sent automatic updates on his twins’ mishaps.

The little twins nod happily in response, then came the litany of warbles meant to be a retelling of their day. Two baby birds with their mouths wide open trying to string together something coherent. 

You and Sylus catch ‘keewi papa’, ‘boots’, ’boats’ and ‘pisto mad’. Understanding was half the battle when both your boys told stories with such vigor. You struggled to keep them in your arms as they ‘swoosh’ed and ‘fwish’ed, reenacting as if they could project their imaginations to the wall for mama and papa to see. 

Sylus turns to the big twins who listened proudly. Given they had context, they seemed to understand more than the parents did. He raises a brow, squinting slightly at Kieran to make sure, then asks, “Are those my clothes?” 

Kieran jumps, tongue in his throat. “I—“ 

“Looks good on you.” Sylus says so casually it was unbelievable. Lucian nods in agreement, “Like papa!” 

“Wook squeezies.” Kyros mentions as well, pointing at Luke, who had calmed him earlier. He nods in approval, swinging his feet. “Like Wook squeezies.” 

“Looks like you guys did really good,” you commend, walking over to the big twins. You brush a feather out of Luke’s hair, eyes sharp as you secretly check for scratches from their earlier bird-attack. Luke flinches at the contact, and you point at his forehead knowingly. “Ice.”

He hesitates, then gives a bashful smile. Rug. Right. “Oh, that’s… psh.” 

You promise to get him some. And before you forget, you add, “Thanks, guys.” 

“Faithful minions—“ 

“—at your service.” 

The tired grins on their faces make your heart clench. That… doesn’t feel right. The silence that follows is hollow as the weight of their own words settle into the space between them. Is it possible for them to believe that’s all they are? Help? Followers only good for their hands to take orders? The mere thought settles like bile on your tongue. 

You shake your head at the ridiculous notion and prop Lucian up on your hip. “Tell your brothers goodnight, Cian.” 

Lucian extends his arms and Luke plucks him from your hold. Easy and familiar, Lucian presses his forehead on each one’s like a lion cub. “Na-nite.” He whispers.

And just like that, they feel the warmth that radiates off of the little one so overwhelmingly. Just as they do pain, they feel this too— this thing that neither of them have the words for yet. But it is heavy as it is true. Lucian’s hands touching their faces, the gentle repose of your eyes work wonders to cast away old, haunting thoughts of being lesser than or temporary. 

Kieran holds him a little longer. Luke stares. For once, they have no strategy, no words, no logic or skill to make sense of the feeling. Standing there, in silence, they choke on something so difficult to swallow.

You make a mental note to treat them to something fun soon. Hang out with them like you did before the little twins came along. Maybe Luke would appreciate an opportunity to redeem himself in laser tag, or Kieran would like to play a video game again. You’ll make the time.

They freeze when you press a chaste kiss to each of their cheeks, then pass Lucian back into your arms. Without another word, you turn towards the kitchen to hunt for something frozen and something to eat. Nodding along and offering “ah-huh”s and “then what?”s as Lucian’s weaves a colorful, jargon-laced story. 

Sylus follows after you, Kyros already snuggled to his chest with half-lidded eyes and fingers clutching his shirt. He pauses, just as he walks past the twins. A heavy air hangs between them, but it isn’t suffocating. Not tense, or harrowing. Come to think of it, they haven’t felt that in ages. Not since Sylus. 

The air was just… firm. Stable and calm. 

“Thank you,” he says to them, holding their gaze with a reverence that they’ve never noticed before—one they had only ever mistaken for dismissal. But now, really looking, they see it. What Sylus truly feels for them— proven in the trust he had placed in them. Gratitude in the way they cared for his kin, just as he once cared for them; taking them in despite their troubled beginnings.

Pride, in its full glory. 

He is proud of them. 

And as if Sylus sees the gears turn and lock into place in their heads, as if he has been welcomed into their twin loop at last, he smiles—careful and sincere. “Get some rest.” 

Kyros waves a sleepy little hand at them as they go.

Alone, Luke and Keiran turn. Faces reflecting each other. Once never needing a mirror, now taking in the flustered, upside-down smiles pulling at the corners of their lips. They shake their heads at the impossibility of it all. And yet. 

A home, a family. Despite their past, their sins and their scars— 

They are enough. 

Finally, they belong. 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more little twins ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading! 。゜゜(´ｏ`) ゜゜。

[hxney-lemcn]

Alive, Dreaming — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: reuniting with Daisuke when he comes back.

tw: none.

a/n: a gift for enduring all that angst I threw at you :) (title is a song, not a song fic tho)

wc: 0.4k

Master List

You paced the living room excitedly, eyes constantly glancing between your watch and the front door. You were already grinning maniacally, making sure all the decorations were set in place perfectly. Daisuke was going to be here any second now, and you needed this small party to go off with a bang. You had invited a few of the people Daisuke used to hang out with at parties, but when you mentioned this party wasn’t gonna have alcohol or loud music they made excuses as to why they couldn’t show. Whatever, they were probably a bunch of jerks anyways. 

Your heart spiked when you heard footsteps outside of the door, Daisuke and his moms voice muffled through the door. You were basically jumping off the walls when you heard the keys jingling to open the door, hands shaking as you held the small confetti popper. The second the door opened you couldn’t hold yourself back, pulling the string sending confetti towards your long time friend and boyfriend.

“Surprise~!” You shouted, hopping up and down on the balls of your feet, your party hat hanging on for dear life. 

Daisuke stared at the scene in surprise before the biggest grin you’ve ever seen tugged at his lips, shouting your name excitedly before swooping you up into a hug. You both squeezed each other like your lives depended on it, taking in the other's presence after being deprived of it for over a year. 

“God I missed you,” Daisuke whispered, burying his face into your shoulder. His mother shuffled past, sending the two of you a soft smile before heading to the kitchen to get the cake out. 

“I missed you too,” You murmured back, rocking both of you back and forth gently. Pulling away slightly, you grinned as Daisuke pouted at you. Not giving him a chance to whine, you pulled him in for a short kiss, letting your love and longing linger on his lips as you pulled away. Much to your dismay (not) Daisuke chased after you, not letting you get away and pressing another kiss to your lips. This one slightly deeper with more conviction.

“Who wants cake?” Daisuke’s mother called out, not needing to leave the kitchen to know you both were having a moment. 

Grinning at the two-toned haired man you held in your arms, you untangled your limbs, interlocking your fingers and pulling him with you towards the kitchen. Daisuke couldn’t be happier to be back home with you and his family. He couldn’t be more grateful that Pony Express was shut down now, that he wouldn’t have to do that again. Sure, he met some great people, and they definitely changed his life (for better and worse), but he wasn’t made for the stars. 

Sure, he was still uncertain what his future held for him, but he did know one thing. He didn’t want to live a future without you by his side.

[dnvrsmedia]

Whatever it Takes

sevika x reader (in canon universe)

there are no physical attributes or gendered language used in this :)

tw: PTSD and death mentioned

hurt/comfort for the fall season! (totally not self indulgent whaaaat)

You comfort Sev after a rough nights sleep

The air felt thick as your eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight peeking through your apartment window. A groan leaves your lips as you root around your bed for your girlfriend. As you come to it, you recognize what the cool sheets on your bed signifies. Sevika is missing from your bed for the third time this week. Many who didn’t know her would assume that she was back in her old stomping grounds, messing around with Babettes girls. Yet, you knew her better than anyone else, better than she knew herself.

You roll out of bed, leaving the comfort of your sheets and the smell of your lover. As your feet padded through your shared home, the sound of a whiskey glass hitting the coffee table filled your ears. Your first thought was annoyance at her inability to use a coaster (you think she does it just to fuck with you). Your soon second thought was questioning why she was up this early on her off day. Silco was kind enough to let her take a few days off…well after you had given him a very stern talking to. Sevika swears that the only thing he’s scared of would be you.

As you turn the corner, you see your lover hunched over her strong legs. Her chemtech arm off for the night, leaving her residual limb in the open. Her hair is down and in her face, not even caring that she can’t see well. Her flesh arm balancing a cigarillo and a whiskey glass, interchanging between vices. Her distant stare tells you she’s had a nightmare. Her staggering breath and deep frown tells you that she’s in her head. Sevika’s PTSD symptoms ebbs and flows with her day to day life. The fast pace and graveness of her line of work distracts her from the horrors that plague her mind in the quiet of the night. Yet, tonight, it seemingly has caught up to her.

A deep sigh leaves your mouth as you bite the corners of your lip, scouring your mind at what could’ve triggered her. The night before was filled with laughter and love between the two of you. The softer, less brute side of Sevika shone brightly through her hardened exterior. The side she only let you see.

You take a seat right next to her on your shared couch.Your arm moves to her hair, swiping her blunt locks away from her line of sight, tucking them behind her ears. A short grunt leaves her lips as a sign that she’s aware of your presence. When Sevika gets in these moods, you know better than to pester her to talk. She has seen and experienced horrific things, many of which you mightn’t even know. So when she feels comfortable in sharing even a sliver of her life, you let her at her own pace.

The pair of you sit in comfortable silence as your fingertips trail invisible figures across her body. You’ve learned through your relationship, keeping an aspect of constant physical touch in moments like these, keep her grounded. What makes you so different from all she’s mess with before is your attention to detail. You constantly find ways to keep her from disconnecting further into her pain, especially on days like these.

“He was there.” She kept her gaze distant and hard.Your hand squezees hers as an act of encouragement.

“I was a kid again and he-“ Her chest rises as her breath quickens, cheeks flush with anger. You rub her shoulder in hopes to calm her nerves. You knew Sev had a tumultuous relationship with her father growing up. Brief stories of her youth had slipped through during druken nights shared between you two, but that was the bulk of your understanding. You never thought to cross the boundary of asking how that came to be. A clearing of her throat brought you back to her as her eyes grossed over. A thick swallow of her throat and a shake of her head was enough to keep her emotions at bay.

“It’s been uh, difficult this time of year. Ya know it would’ve been ma’s birthday.” A glimpse of a bittersweet smile can be seen on her face. A surprised expression dawned yours. You thought Sev speaking of her dad was rare! She’s never once mentioned her mother to you in the past years you’ve known her.

��She would’ve loved you, i know it.” A smile couldnt be held back this time. Her distant stare broke as she looked into your eyes.

“I hate that stupid sappy shit you’re into-“ You giggle and slap her arm.

“But, I knew that ma sent you for me the second that I met you.” A shy and bashful smile adorned your lovers face as she nuzzles her nose into her favorite spot, your neck.

You feel your heart explode at her words. Sevika easily has been your most romantic lover (although she likes to downplay it to herself). You cup her strong jaw into your palm and kiss her. You hope every single ounce of your passion, love, and emotions can be felt by her through your lips. Sevika melts into your kiss, allowing for her tense body to relax in your touch.

Being vulnerable is hard for her, she knows that. She sometimes wonders if life hadn’t been so cruel in the undercity, if her father had cared for her…if her mother never died, how different her life would’ve been. Would she have given her life over to the cause? Would she have been something other than a soldier? Or would she still just be a cog in Silcos rebellion? Would she have found things that she liked? Would she have a hobby that didn’t include death and destruction? Would she have kids with you? Would she be less fucked to bring a child into the world and actually be a good mother? All of these were thoughts that had plagued her mind the moment she had gotten woken up by that nightmare.

And yet, here she is, unable to express the flurry of emotions to you. So…kissing will do. She’ll connect your bodies until you’re one so you can feel the deep connection she feels for you. She will be your fiercest protector and keep living for you. For you, have given her a new meaning, a new spark. She’ll keep fighting for Zaun, fighting for you so you will be able to have the life she dreams for you.

You part with her for a second before her lips chase you down. Her flesh arm reaching for you, holding onto your body like she fears if she doesn’t you’ll disappear. You climb onto her lap in one swift motion, needing to become one with her.

“I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere, Sev. I love you.” You stare into her eyes, into her soul. You need her to know that you will never leave her like her loved ones did.

Her steele eyes widen with appreciation and deep appreciation.

“Baby I-I love you. I will do everything to make Zaun the place you deserve.”

Your heart aches at her confession. No, it’s not the first time you’ve said those words to each other, but it is few and far between. Sevika shows you in your day to day just how much she loves you, so you never felt insecure in her loyalty to you. Yet, your heart aches for her. Your heart aches for the pain and the suffering that she’s endured and continues to experience. Your heart aches for the fact that you know she believes she doesn’t deserve good, that she doesn’t deserve you.Your revaluation turns a light within you.

“As long as I'm alive I will spend my days showing you how worthy you are.” You caress her strong jaw and place a kiss on her forehead.

You’ll do whatever it takes.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part III

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: You agreed to his terms, but you don't really have any idea what that actually entails—not that it matters. Ben's going to show you exactly what it means to be his. Turns out the price of a drink might be a bit more than you'd originally thought.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 7,146

A/N: I can only apologise for how long it's taken me to post this one -.- I went to the dentist today and (tw: mentions of drugs and painkillers) I had anaesthetic, then after I took strong painkillers—I really shouldn't have—and I felt like I smoked about an ounce of weed to myself for hours, so it took me a lot longer to finish this part up, edit, and then proofread. And honestly, I've probably still not done a proper job of it. The opening of this? Serious dub-con, which obviously is a big no-no... but it's this version of AU-richboy-motherfucker-Ben flaunting his fucking control. Possession. And I told y'all that this was gonna be a different breed of fic for me. I'm actively trying to make myself uncomfy (amongst other things) with this story, because it feels like good stories always leave you with a little pit in your stomach after reading. I got SO freaking excited when I got to writing about the bookstore and subsequent fucking because... bookstores are literally heaven. <3 like Reader obviously wasn't thriving in the boutiques, it wasn't her comfort-zone, but bookstores? Now that's where she can soak in the atmosphere, indulgently. I hope that comes across in my writing. Anyways, ramble over, here's part three... you know the goddamn drill: if the warnings above aren't evident yet, they certainly will be. I really hope you like this one. I really like it. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

You woke up floating.

Heavy-limbed. Warm. A deep, languid pull of pleasure threading through your veins, thick and honey-slow, drawing you up from sleep in waves. Your breath hitched, body trembling, hips shifting against something solid, something warm, the sharp, hot pleasure between your thighs sending sparks through your bloodstream, shooting up your spine like a live wire.

Fingers.

His fingers.

Two of them, deep, slow, curling inside you with perfect precision, teasing that gummy spot that had your stomach twisting, had your thighs clenching, had you already so fucking close before you even realised you were awake. A slow, lazy drag of his thumb over your clit.

You whimpered, body arching, eyes fluttering, and then, a wet, heavy pressure at your lips.

Thick. Hot. Ben’s cock, dragging slick precome across your mouth, smearing it slow as he watched you stir, watched you come back to yourself, watched you realise.

“‘Bout fuckin' time you woke up,” he murmured, low and smug, his voice gravel-thick, still warm with sleep, but dripping in satisfaction.

Your lashes fluttered, breath stuttering, body trembling as his fingers kept working you open, kept teasing you, kept coaxing you closer.

“Wanna come, sweetheart?” He murmured, voice mocking, silky, cock dragging over your jaw, your cheek, your mouth.

You whimpered, legs shaking, already so fucking gone.

Ben grinned, teeth flashing, watching you fall apart beneath him.

“Y’know, you make some real pretty noises in your sleep,” he mused, so fucking smug, fingers thrusting deep, dragging over that perfect spot, thumb circling slow, tight, making you clench down around him. “Didn’t even have to wake you up for it, you just started takin' it.”

You shuddered, body tightening, pleasure winding sharp, so close, so on edge, so ready to snap.

Ben laughed, voice low, taunting, his free hand dragging through your hair, fingers tightening at the base of your skull.

“Told you I was gonna give you a rough wake-up call,” he murmured, voice mocking, teasing, deliberate. “This is actually real fuckin' nice for you, huh?”

You tried to answer. Tried to breathe, but then his fingers curled deep, his thumb pressed down hard, and the pleasure hit you all at once, ripping through you, your body seizing, a wrecked, wrecked sob breaking free—

And the second your mouth parted, Ben pushed inside.

Thick. Heavy. Filling your mouth all at once, dragging across your tongue, pressing deep, holding you open, groaning loud, sharp, head tipping back as your throat fluttered around him.

“Jesus fuck, doll—”

Your breath hitched, body still trembling, still tight with pleasure, your own orgasm still wracking through you as Ben fisted his hand in your hair, thrust slow, shallow, letting you adjust, letting you feel it, letting you take it.

“So fuckin' good,” he groaned, hips pressing forward, deeper, savouring, owning. “Best fuckin’ way to wake up.”

Ben groaned, deep and wrecked, hips pressing forward, cock sliding deeper, thicker, stretching your mouth wide, making your throat flutter around him.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ on a cross, fuck—”

His fist tightened in your hair, keeping you right there, keeping you open, taking everything he was giving you. Your head was still fuzzy, still floating, drunk on pleasure, drunk on him, still warm and heavy-limbed from sleep and your orgasm, body loose and pliant.

You hadn’t even had time to think—to process—that you’d only known this man for maybe twelve hours.

It didn’t matter.

Because all you could focus on was how good he felt, how perfect he tasted, how completely he was using you, how his noises, his groans, his heavy, wrecked breaths, made you feel so special, so wanted, so fucking good.

Ben laughed, low and smug, watching you blink up at him, eyes glazed, lips stretched tight around him.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he mocked, voice gravel-thick, dripping with indulgence, dragging his thumb over your cheek. “Still all fuzzy from coming, huh?”

His hips flexed, slow, testing, watching the way your throat fluttered, the way your body trembled beneath him.

You whimpered, barely aware, just accepting it.

Ben’s grin widened, something mean, something so fucking pleased.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be good for me,” he muttered, hips snapping forward, a sharp thrust, shallow, controlled, but enough to make your eyes water, enough to make your breath stutter.

He groaned, deep, satisfied, tilting his head back. “Shit, sweetheart, your mouth—fuck.”

A slow, deep roll of his hips, a tightening of his grip in your hair.

“You just—fuck���you want it, don't you?” He murmured, voice thick, wrecked, smug. “Bet I could do whatever I fuckin' wanted to this pretty little throat, huh?”

A mocking hum, gravel-low, his free hand dragging down your cheek, thumb swiping at the spit collecting at the corner of your mouth. His hips jerked, breath catching, and suddenly, his grin dropped, his breath hitched. A sharp, wrecked curse, his grip in your hair tugging, fisting, tighter, rougher.

And then—

“Ah, fuck it. Your face is gettin’ painted.”

A sharp groan, his hips pulling back, his cock dragging from your mouth, hot and slick and aching, his grip tight as he stroked himself, the tip brushing over your lips, your cheeks, dragging over your tongue.

He jerked, groaned deep, wrecked, as his cum spilled hot across your lips, your cheekbones, your jaw, thick ropes of it painting your skin, dripping onto your tongue, dripping down your chin.

Ben hissed, smirking, breathing hard, watching you, taking in the mess, the sight of you, his, all fucked out and ruined.

Another groan, thick and low, as he pressed back inside, feeding you more, making sure you swallowed him down, making sure you took him completely.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he muttered, gravelly, smug, satisfied. “Goddamn. You were made for this.”

Ben sank down onto the bed, pulled you up into his lap, then hummed low in his chest, fingers dragging slow over your cheek, collecting the mess he’d left there, his gaze hot, heavy, watching you.

“Made a real fuckin’ mess of you, huh?” He muttered, smirking, voice thick, wrecked with satisfaction.

You whimpered, body still boneless, still floating, still ruined from him.

Ben just grinned, dragging his cum-slick fingers down to your chin, scooping the rest from the corner of your mouth, then pressing it back against your lips.

“Open,” he murmured, mocking, fond, pressing slow, deliberate, watching your lips part for him, watching your tongue flick out, tasting him, yourself, everything.

A slow inhale, his smirk deepening as you sucked around his fingers, licking them clean, taking it all in like a good girl.

“There’s my girl,” he muttered, voice dropping low, pleased, rubbing his thumb over your tongue, feeling the way you suckled, letting him own you a little more.

Then he sighed, shaking his head, smirking like he was already thinking about how much worse he could ruin you later.

“You’re gonna have to put that dress back on,” he muttered, swiping his thumb over your swollen bottom lip, dragging it down slow, watching how your breath hitched at the touch. “But after we stop by your place, I wanna take you out.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, still floating, still coming back to yourself.

Ben grinned, amused, rubbing slow circles at your jawline.

“Wanna see what kinda shit you’d pick for yourself,” he murmured, “but I’m pickin’ some stuff too.” A pause. A knowing smirk. “Especially for when you’re here on weekends.”

You blinked up at him, then nodded, slow, hazy. But then, quietly, you murmured,  “I don’t really need you to buy me clothes, Ben.”

A tut. A slow, mocking shake of his head.

“You gonna fuckin’ accept it,” he murmured, low, smug, indulgent, rubbing his hand up your bare thigh, gripping it hard, “or I’ll just pick shit myself and not give you a damn option.”

Your lips parted, surprised, but you just nodded again, giving in.

Ben grinned. “Good girl.”

You stretched, arms raising above your head, back arching like a lazy cat, letting out a small, contented squeaky noise, your body still heavy, still warm and loose from sleep and pleasure.

Ben laughed, low and rich, his grip at your thigh tightening before he leaned in, teeth flashing.

“Get your pretty ass up,” he murmured, eyes dark, hot, voice thick with warning, “before I bury my fuckin’ face between your legs.”

Your breath caught, a shiver running down your spine, but you listened. You slid off his lap, pulling your dress back on, the fabric still crumpled, still reeking of him, the night before still lingering on your skin, your hair, your lips.

Ben watched you the entire time, smirking, shameless, before standing himself, stretching broad and tall, his body all golden skin and lean muscle, before reaching for his jeans.

The way he wore them was devastating. Thick belt, silver buckle glinting, the fabric fitting in all the right ways, low on his hips, taunting, like he knew what he was doing.

Then—

A button-up, dark, crisp, sharp, his thick watch sliding over his wrist, rings slipping back onto his fingers, the weight of them clicking together, his hands dragging through his hair, pushing it back, off his forehead.

You stared.

Ben smirked.

Then he reached for you, grabbing your wrist, tugging you toward the bathroom, flipping the light on as he grabbed a toothbrush, pressing it into your palm. His own already between his teeth, moving slow, lazily, the domestic ease of it so stark against everything he had done to you this morning.

And yet—

It felt seamless. Like this was just what you did now. Like he was already making you part of his life.

You padded out into the living room, body still warm, still loose, still tingling with the aftershocks of everything he’d done to you. The air smelled thick with whiskey, smoke, and sex, last night still lingering in the space, still woven into the fabric of the night before.

Your dress shifted around your thighs as you bent down, reaching for your underwear where it had been left in front of the sofa—where he’d stripped you down, spread you open, and made you his.

A sharp tut broke the silence.

You stilled. Then, slowly, you turned your head, glancing over your shoulder at Ben, who was standing near the door, arms crossed, head tilted, watching you.

His expression was unreadable.

“No,” he said simply.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

Ben cocked a single, thick eyebrow, eyes dark, knowing, and challenging. “You’re not puttin’ ‘em on.”

Your stomach dropped, a pulse of heat snapping down your spine.

You scoffed, straightening up, underwear still in your hand. “I can’t go out in this tiny dress without underwear on.”

Ben’s smirk was dangerous, his gaze taunting, smug, entirely too satisfied with himself. He tilted his head, that single brow lifting higher.

“You fuckin’ can,” he murmured, voice low, indulgent, a slow drag of his tongue over his bottom lip. “And you are.”

Your breath caught, thighs pressing together instinctively.

Ben grinned, catching it, seeing everything, knowing exactly what was happening in your head.

Then, sharp, commanding—

“Get over here.”

You swallowed, exhaling through your nose, and as you went to step forward. Your fingers instinctively twitched, your underwear still gripped in your fist.

Another sharp click of his tongue.

“Leave ‘em.”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed. You dropped them back to the floor, the fabric crumpling, and walked straight to him, heart pounding in your ribs, stomach tightening.

Ben’s smirk deepened, pleased, his hand brushing over your hip, his grip warm and firm as he squeezed once, slow, deliberate.

“Good girl.”

A shiver snapped down your spine, and Ben just chuckled, pulling you toward the door, leading you out.

The morning air was crisp against your bare skin, the fabric of your dress barely covering anything, the cool breeze skating up your thighs.

Ben unlocked the car, a different one from the night before—sleek, low, expensive, a deep red, all money and power, loud and attention-grabbing. You swallowed as he slid in, the engine purring beneath his hands.

“Address,” he said, voice smooth as smoke and whiskey.

You gave it to him, and the moment he punched it into the GPS, his expression shifted—

Disgust. Absolute, unabashed disgust.

You bit your lip, fighting back laughter, because of course he’d be fucking horrified. His eyes flicked up to you, then back to the directions on the screen, then out the window as he turned onto the main road, lips pulling into a scowl.

You saw the exact moment he took in your neighbourhood, his hands tightening on the wheel, jaw tensing.

And you lost it. A loud, bright laugh escaped your lips, body shaking with it.

Ben just scowled deeper, one broad hand lifting to rub at his temple. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You wheezed, barely able to contain yourself as he made a slow turn onto your street, eyes flicking around, pure judgment written all over his face.

Ben sighed, exasperated, glancing toward the run-down building as he pulled up to the curb.

“If some dumb pussy touches my car, I’m killin' 'em.”

You cackled, throwing the door open and stepping out, gesturing dramatically for him to follow. Ben groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but ultimately stepped out after you, grumbling under his breath, already looking like he regretted every decision that led him here.

The building was old, not terrible, but definitely not nice. You led him inside, checking your post box, then heading toward the stairs. Ben sighed again, glancing around before following, dragging a heavy hand through his hair.

“No elevator?” He muttered, already annoyed.

You just grinned over your shoulder.

“Welcome to the real world, rich boy.”

Ben’s footsteps were fast, heavy, intentional, and before you could even react, he was right behind you, a sharp swat landing against your ass, making you yelp.

You twisted your head, wide-eyed, breath catching in your throat. Ben just smirked, pawing at you, hands gripping, squeezing, claiming, voice low and mocking.

“I live in the real world, sweetheart.”

You laughed, stepping higher, looking over your shoulder, eyes shining with amusement.

“This is my version of the real world.”

Ben huffed, shaking his head, grinning. “Yeah?”

His hands slid lower, fingers skimming the hem of your dress, pushing underneath, brushing over bare skin, and your stomach flipped.

“Not anymore,” he murmured, voice thick, certain, irrevocable. “My world’s yours now.”

You shook your head, lips parting to argue—

But then you heard it. A low chuckle. The rustle of fabric. And before you could react, cool air hit the backs of your thighs. Your dress was up, pulled high, your bare ass completely exposed, and your breath caught in your throat.

You gasped, yanking it back down, twisting on the stairs, glaring at him. “Ben!”

His brows furrowed, like you were being ridiculous, like this was a non-issue, like you hadn’t just been completely exposed in the middle of your apartment stairwell.

Then he grabbed your dress again, and pulled it back up.

Your breath hitched, mortified, eyes wide, hands fisting in the fabric, trying to pull it back down again, but Ben’s grip was firm, unyielding.

“Wanna see my pretty girl’s ass while she’s walkin’ up the stairs,” he murmured, eyes dragging over you, taking his time, savouring the view.

Your stomach twisted, heat rushing up your neck, panic spiking.

“Ben, it’s a public fucking stairwell!” You hissed, scandalised, horrified, twisting around, gripping the banister for support, shoving at his hand.

Ben just bit his lip, dark eyes dragging over your naked skin, taking his time, memorising it, owning it. Then, slowly, his gaze lifted, locking onto yours.

“If anyone looks,” he murmured, calm, deadly, quiet and certain, “I’ll break their fuckin’ neck.”

Your heart stuttered, stomach dropping, throat tightening.

Ben held your gaze, firm, unflinching, before patting your ass, voice mocking, teasing, but completely serious beneath it all.

“Better hurry up, sweetheart. Unless you want some poor fuck’s blood on your hands.”

Your face burned beet-red, humiliated, embarrassed, but soaked in arousal, body buzzing, pulse roaring in your ears.

You didn’t say another word. You spun forward, dragging him up the last flight, leading him to your hallway, heart pounding, the feel of his eyes on you the entire time making you shake with nerves and heat.

When you reached your door, you yanked your clutch open, fumbling for your keys, fingers slipping against the metal as you unlocked it, heart racing, feeling Ben’s presence at your back like a physical weight.

The door clicked open, and you dragged him inside before anyone could see.

Ben stepped inside, taking exactly one second to sweep his eyes over your space before exhaling slow, one hand dragging through his hair, the other planting on his hip.

His expression was unreadable.

But his silence spoke volumes.

Your apartment was small, modest, but yours. It had been built with limited space and even more limited funds, but that hadn’t stopped you from making it your own.

A cream loveseat sat opposite a vintage-looking armchair, both covered in pastel cushions, a soft throw draped over the back. A small wooden coffee table sat between them, lightwood, matching the side table nearby. More than anything, though—there were bookshelves.

Everywhere.

Overflowing, spilling over, double-stacked, books piled onto side tables, onto the nightstand, onto the floor, and Ben’s eyes dragged over them, taking in the titles, the bindings, the absolute literary graveyard you lived in.

Your space was gentle, artsy, laced with soft nostalgia and the kind of quiet beauty that made sense for you. Tiny artsy trinkets lined the shelves, a tiny wooden table with two mismatched chairs sat near the kitchen, a vase of wilted, dying wildflowers placed in the centre.

Ben exhaled again, slowly, hands planted on his hips, his head tilting as he took it all in.

You cleared your throat, moving toward the kitchen, voice casual. “Want a drink?”

No answer.

You glanced back, watching as he took slow steps, looking around, soaking it in, lips parted slightly, like he was seeing something he didn’t quite know how to process.

Then—

His eyes landed on the window. He moved toward it, pressing a broad palm against the frame, gaze flicking outside, the sound of traffic drifting up from below.

A quiet laugh, deep in his chest.

You furrowed your brows, stepping forward. “What?”

He turned, expression half-amused, half-something else, chin tilting toward the fire escape outside your window.

“That where you sit to read?” He asked.

Your brows furrowed further, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yes,” you answered, hesitant. “That’s where I like to read.”

Ben’s lips tugged down, an almost thoughtful frown, like he was considering something. A shift. A glance back at you.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, motioning for him to follow. “Come on.”

You led him toward the small hall, into a bedroom that was more of the same—small, but soft, delicate, lived-in. A double bed, lightwood frame, bedding pastel, frilly, a tiny dresser and matching single wardrobe standing against the wall.

Books were everywhere—stacked beside the window, stacked on the nightstand, tucked into the smallest corners, just waiting to be picked up and lived in.

Ben exhaled slow, stepping inside, eyes dragging over every detail, every piece of you, before something on the bed caught his attention.

A stuffed bear.

You saw it exactly when he did—

But he was faster. He reached down, fingers closing around the bear’s plush arm, lifting it up, inspecting it.

Your eyes widened, a horrified gasp catching in your throat, and in an instant, you lunged, snatching him back.

“That’s Eugene,” you blurted, clutching the bear to your chest, heart hammering, heat flashing up your face. “I’ve had him since I was a baby.”

Silence.

Then a deep, gravel-thick chuckle, low and amused, so fucking smug.

“Eugene?”

Your stomach dropped.

Ben smirked, arms crossing, head tilting. “That’s a stupid fuckin’ name.”

Your jaw dropped. “It’s not a stupid name!”

His grin widened, delighted, eyes dragging over you, still clutching the bear like your life depended on it.

“You’re adorable,” he muttered, shaking his head, grinning like the smug bastard he was.

You huffed, pressing Eugene tighter against your chest, scowling. But Ben just laughed, deep, rich, indulgent, before turning back to your tiny dresser, hands dragging across the wood, eyes sweeping your wardrobe, taking in the limited space, the minimal amount of clothing.

He nodded to himself, once, thoughtful, like he’d already decided something, and then turned back to you, grinning.

“You really are just a cute little thing, huh?”

You exhaled, shaking your head as you placed Eugene neatly atop the dresser, turning back to your drawers to pick something out for the day.

"Are you done judging my apartment yet?" You asked, voice dry, throwing a glance over your shoulder at him.

Ben nodded, too easily, like he’d made his decision already.

Then he said it.

"You’re not livin' here anymore."

You froze. Slowly, slowly, you turned to face him, blinking, lips parting. "Excuse me?"

Ben stood there, completely set, his expression final, unchallenged, like it was a decision already made. Like his word was law.

"I’ll find you somewhere nicer," he said, flat, casual, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Not havin’ you livin’ in this shitty little space. In this—" He scowled, lips curling in absolute disgust. "—this fuckin' neighbourhood."

You laughed, loud, incredulous, because surely he was joking.

Ben’s brow lifted, his expression turning harder, sharper, annoyed.

"The fuck’s so funny?"

You shook your head, grinning, motioning vaguely around you. "I can’t just leave."

Ben’s grin dropped. His jaw ticked.

"You absolutely can."

Your stomach flipped, something tightening, something warning—

"You’re stayin’ at mine 'til tomorrow night anyway," he continued, voice even, matter-of-fact, like this was just how things were now. "Gives Butcher enough time to look into some places closer to my building."

Your breath hitched, your heart skipping a beat, panic flickering in your chest. "Ben—"

He wasn’t listening.

"I’ll make sure you got a little outside space, so you can read when it rains."

Your lips parted, words catching, sticking. This was too much. This was ridiculous.

"Ben, no," you breathed, shaking your head. "Ben, this is—"

Too much. Too fast. Too real.

You barely had time to process before he moved, gripping your ass, yanking you flush against him, his presence commanding, unrelenting, his hands rough, his voice dropping to something low, dangerous, final.

"Not fuckin’ up to you anymore."

Your breath left you in a rush, a shockwave rolling through your body, heart hammering, pulse roaring.

The gall of this fucking man.

Your stomach twisted, your mind spinning, thoughts racing.

You couldn’t just up and leave. What if this arrangement didn’t work out? Where the fuck were you supposed to go?

Then—

His mouth crashed onto yours. All tongue, all bite, all fucking force, like he wanted to brand you, consume you, remind you exactly who you belonged to now. You moaned into him, helpless, his hands kneading your ass rough, possessive, fingers digging in, owning you, staking his claim. He licked into your mouth, deep and hot, smothering, like he wanted to choke you with it, take you under completely.

You whimpered, weak, knees wobbling, head swimming, body giving in. You forced yourself to pull away, gasping, breaking the kiss reluctantly, shaken, breathless, every nerve buzzing, every limb weak.

Ben just grinned, cocky, satisfied, lips red, slick. Wrecked.

You exhaled, swallowing hard, turning back to your dresser. You pulled out two different outfits, laying them out neatly on the bed, before stepping back, arms outstretched, chin tilted up.

Ben’s eyes flicked to the bed, then back to you, his smirk deepening. A slow, pleased nod.

"Good girl."

Ben’s eyes were heavy on you as you slid into the sundress he’d picked, a soft cardigan draped over your shoulders, your fingers slipping into your chucks, tying the laces with quick, practiced motions.

He was silent, but you could feel him watching, like a predator tracking its prey, eyes dark, intent, cataloging every movement, every shift, every breath.

You ran a brush through your hair, smoothing the tangles from the night before, the tension of the morning still settling in your bones, still buzzing in your chest.

Ben slapped his hands together, breaking the silence, voice gruff, expectant. “Come on.”

He grabbed your wrist and dragged you back down to the car.

The drive was quick, the city flashing by in streaks of morning sun and steel, your neighbourhood disappearing into something sleeker, something richer.

You knew where this was going before he even parked.

Boutiques.

Your stomach twisted as he led you inside the first one, racks of silk and lace and delicate materials stretching out before you, the air filled with the scent of leather and perfume. The lights were too bright, blinding, like a spotlight shining straight at you—making it evident that you had no business standing around such extravagant and lavish fabric. Ben was already moving, hands skimming through hangers, eyes narrowed in focus, decisive, ruthless, sure.

He plucked a dress from the rack, holding it up. “This?”

You bit your lip. “Ben, it’s so expensive.”

He rolled his eyes, exasperated, before grabbing another. “What about this then? Fuck, sweetheart, come on.”

You hesitated, fingers twitching, eyes dragging over the price tags, heart pounding.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t pick.

Ben sighed sharply, grabbing you by the waist, pulling you against him in the middle of the store, uncaring, unbothered, completely indifferent to who was watching. Big, warm hands splaying wide against your back and waist, holding you there, possessing you.

Then—

A bite to your jaw, sharp and teasing, followed by a slow, lingering nip to your bottom lip. His voice, low and smug, a whisper just for you.

“If you’re a good girl and you pick some clothes and things you like…” A pause. A beat. “I’ll take you to a bookstore after.”

Your breath hitched, eyes widening, something bright sparking behind your ribs, something sharp and eager, something so painfully obvious that the second Ben saw it. His grin stretched slow, sinful, victorious. He had you.

You exhaled sharply, defeated, muttering, “Fine.”

Ben’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest, his hand squeezing at your waist before he released you. “Atta girl.”

So you picked.

Hesitant at first, but then more assured, more certain, fingers brushing fabrics, grabbing soft knits, casual blouses, comfortable dresses, things that felt like you.

And Ben did the same. Only, his choices were…

Less you. More him.

Thin straps. Short hems. Deep plunging necklines. Tight and revealing and scanty. But you didn’t argue, because in the next store, it only got worse.

Shoes. Strappy little heels, sleek and minimal, elegant and dangerous.

“These,” Ben murmured, holding up a pair of barely-there stilettos, eyeing them like a fucking prize. “I want you naked in these.”

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, heat flashing up your spine, face burning.

Ben just grinned, pleased, slipping the shoes into the growing pile.

Then lingerie. Tiny, lacy, barely-there sets.

Ben was relentless. Piece after piece, holding them up, grinning as your face burned hotter, making mocking little hums when he found ones he particularly liked. By the time he was satisfied, your arms were full, your head spinning, the sheer amount of money spent on you making your stomach twist.

You chewed your lip, glancing at the packed bags, overwhelmed.

Ben watched you, saw it, and before you could spiral, a sharp clap of his hands, voice gruff, certain.

“Let’s go.”

You blinked. “Where?”

Ben’s smirk turned lethal.

“The fuckin' bookstore, sweetheart.”

Your heart jumped, something soft, warm, excited spreading through you, and before you could even process it, he had you in the car, heading across the city, taking you exactly where you wanted to go.

The scent of old paper and ink swelled around you, the quiet, reverent hush of the bookstore wrapping around your bones like a second skin. Dim amber light pooled in soft halos overhead, illuminating rows upon rows of shelves that loomed like cathedral pillars, stacked high with the kind of stories that felt like home.

This was sanctuary. A temple. A place that smelled like history and longing, the weight of every story pressing down on you in the most delicious way.

And then there was him.

Ben was flush against your back, broad and burning, radiating heat like a furnace. He was impatient, hands constantly on you, gripping your waist, your hips, fingers squeezing like he wanted to leave marks even through your brand-new clothes. Clothes he had insisted on buying you. Clothes he had piled onto counters, thrown into bags, spent more money on than you’d ever let yourself consider.

And yet, here? The bookstore? Here was where you would accept indulgence without argument.

You trailed your fingertips over the spines of classics, whispering titles under your breath. Poe. Wilde. Shelley. Darker works next, running over Dostoevsky’s bleak philosophies, Dante’s infernal descent, each one pulling at you with their heavy, inescapable gravity. Then, onto the poetic, the romantic—words spun like gold thread, woven into something aching and eternal.

This was everything.

Ben made a low sound behind you, something between a sigh and a growl, burying his face against the crook of your neck. His beard scratched deliciously at your skin as he nipped at the spot just beneath your ear, exhaling against you, his voice thick with something molten.

“Fuck’s sake, doll,” he muttered, hands slipping lower, gripping your hips, pulling you back into the hard line of his body.

“I’m standin’ here about to bust in my fuckin’ jeans and you’re—” he gestured at the shelves in front of you with a short, impatient movement, “—gettin’ all dreamy over a buncha fuckin’ books.”

You bit your lip, fingers closing around a particularly battered copy of Paradise Lost, trying and failing to ignore the way his grip tightened on you, fingers digging in, desperate to ground himself. His mouth trailed down, teeth scraping along your jaw, another groan pressed into your skin.

“Y’know what I wanna do?” He rasped, low and dangerous, his voice meant for violence, his words meant for you alone. “Wanna get you back to mine, spread you out, pump you full ‘til you’re drippin'. Make you sit on my fuckin’ face ‘til I can’t breathe, get you cryin’ all over me ‘cause you can’t take anymore—”

You exhaled sharply, knees going weak, thighs squeezing together instinctively as heat coiled low in your belly. You gripped the book tighter, trying to focus, trying to remember where you were, but Ben—Ben was relentless. His hands slid up beneath your brand-new shirt, rough palms skating across your stomach, fingers spanning wide against your ribs, holding you there, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

“Ben—” you tried, your voice coming out breathy, barely above a whisper.

“Fuck it,” he cut you off, tone edged with that gruff finality, like he’d already made up his mind. “Get ‘em all.”

Your brow furrowed, your dazed mind struggling to catch up. “What?”

“The books,” he said, like it was obvious, voice dripping with exasperation. “Fuckin’ get every single one of ‘em.”

You blinked, stunned, lips parting to protest, but he was already moving, reaching past you and plucking stacks from the shelves, shoving them into your arms like it was nothing. A dangerous glint sparked in his eyes, jaw ticking with impatience.

“Ben, I don’t need—”

“Don’t give a fuck what you need,” he gritted out, snatching the Paradise Lost copy from your hands and tossing it onto the growing pile. “You’ll take ‘em. Every last one.”

Before you could argue, before you could do anything other than gape at him, he grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you to the register, dumping the books onto the counter with an utterly dismissive wave of his hand. The poor cashier barely blinked, used to customers with too much money and too little patience, scanning them through as Ben shifted behind you, his hands back on you, his mouth back against your ear.

“Fuckin’ piece of work,” he muttered, voice bordering on a growl, like he couldn’t believe you. “Whole new fuckin’ wardrobe, and you get all soft-eyed over books instead.”

That broke you. You laughed—properly laughed, the sound bubbling up out of you before you could help it, head tilting back against his shoulder. And the thing was, he wasn’t even trying to be funny, wasn’t trying to make you laugh, but his delivery—the sheer frustrated disbelief in his tone—was hilarious.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, scowling, but there was something softer behind the glare, something almost fond.

“You’re laughin’ at me,” he accused, his hold tightening, but you only laughed harder, trying to suppress the grin overtaking your face.

“A little bit,” you admitted.

Ben grumbled, but he couldn’t keep up the charade. His lips twitched like he was fighting his own smirk, like he couldn’t quite resist the way your laughter curled around him, soaked into his bones.

Still, he rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he reached into his pocket and shoved a ridiculous amount of cash into the cashier’s hands without waiting for the total.

“C’mon,” he said, voice rough as he slung an arm around you, dragging you toward the door, his grip firm and possessive. “Gotta get you back before I fuckin’ lose my mind.”

You followed, books in hand, warmth in your chest, laughter still lingering on your lips. He was impossible. A wrecking ball of impatience and rough affection, of greed and need and unrelenting, all-consuming hunger.

And you didn't think you'd have him any other way.

The ride back to his building was a blur of neon streaks and city lights, the low rumble of the car vibrating through your bones as Ben floored it through intersections, breaking speed limits like they were a personal affront.

One hand gripped the wheel in a vice, the other flexed restlessly against your thigh, fingers twitching like he was barely holding himself back. You could feel the tension radiating off him, like a storm wound tight, ready to break.

He barely even put the car in park before he was out, throwing the door shut behind him. The books, the bags—he didn’t give a single fuck about them. Someone else would handle it. He jerked his chin at one of the building’s staff.

“Get that shit upstairs.”

Didn’t even wait for a response.

You had barely unbuckled your seatbelt before he was yanking open your door, grabbing your wrist, hauling you out onto unsteady legs. The air outside was thick and humid, but it was nothing compared to the heat coming off him in waves. He didn’t even slow his stride as he dragged you toward the building, toward the private elevator that led to his penthouse. No interruptions.

The second the doors slid shut, he was on you.

A snarl ripped from his throat as he shoved you back against the mirrored wall, mouth claiming yours in a brutal, consuming kiss, all tongue and teeth and hot, growling need. His hands were everywhere—knotting in your hair, yanking your head back so he could suck bruises into your jaw, your throat. His other hand was palming your ass, gripping hard, fingers digging deep like he wanted to leave bruises, like he wanted to brand you beneath his touch.

“Gonna ride me soon as we get in,” he growled against your lips, voice raw and wrecked with hunger. “Gonna fold you in half and fuck you ‘til you don’t know your own fuckin’ name.”

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, at the thick muscles of his back, but it only spurred him on. He wedged a thigh between yours, pressed you down against the hard muscle, grinding you against him like he needed you to feel how desperate he was.

“I could fuck you right here,” he muttered, voice thick and dark with filth. “Right against this fuckin’ wall. Spread those pretty legs and fill you up. Bet you’d love it.”

Your nails dug into his biceps, thighs clenching around his leg, and he felt it—felt the way your body responded to every word. His grin was wicked, breathless.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” His teeth scraped against your throat, tongue following the path of his bite. “Like me talkin’ about how I’m gonna wreck this tight little fuckin’ cunt. How I’m gonna stuff you so full of my cum, you won’t be able to fuckin’ walk.”

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

Before you could take a breath, he grabbed you, hauled you up, threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

You yelped, fists slamming against his back, but he just swatted your ass once—hard. Then again. And the third time? That one had you gasping, a sharp, stinging heat blooming across your skin. Instinctively, your hands scrambled down his back, gripping the thick muscle of his ass in retaliation.

He let out a rough bark of laughter, squeezing your thigh as he carried you through the front door to the penthouse.

“Grabby little thing,” he taunted, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re lucky I like it.”

You sank your teeth into the hard plane of his back, and he groaned, fingers digging into your thigh, pinching the tender flesh there.

Then he was moving. Fast. Determined. Possessed.

He stormed into the kitchen, sending a chair skidding across the tile in his path. He didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. Just reached out, knocked half the shit off the counter, and threw you down on it.

Air punched out of your lungs from the impact. 

Your new pants? Gone. Ripped down with a single motion, tossed aside like they were nothing more than an obstacle. He shoved your legs apart, pushed your knees up to your chest, spreading you wide open for him.

His pupils were blown, his chest heaving, a primal hunger carved into the sharp angles of his face.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, voice hoarse with reverence. “Look at you.”

Then he was on you.

His mouth latched onto you like a man starved, groaning so deep it vibrated through your core. His hands—massive, greedy—held you open, kept you exactly where he wanted. His tongue worked you over, hot. Wet. Obscene. Licking into you like he wanted to consume every part of you.

He growled against you, the sound muffled, vibrating straight through your cunt. He licked deep, long strokes, sucked at your clit, shaking his head slightly like he was drunk on it.

“All fuckin’ mine,” he muttered, voice wrecked, spit-slick and desperate. “This fuckin’ pussy—mine.”

His eyes rolled back, fingers flexing against your thighs. He looked like a man unhinged, lost in it, absolutely devouring you like he needed it more than air.

“Fuck, doll—fuck—tastes so good—” He groaned, the sound pure filth, his hips grinding against the counter like he couldn’t not.

“Could fuckin’ die with my face buried in this pussy.”

And then he doubled down.

Sucked harder, licked faster, fucked his tongue into you with a desperation that sent you arching, gasping, hands scrabbling at the countertop. He growled, low and threatening, holding you down, keeping you there, keeping you open, making sure you took it.

“Takin’ it so fuckin’ good, baby—shit, you were made for this.”

Your vision blurred, your legs trembling in his hold. He was relentless, obscene, groaning into you like this was all he ever wanted, like this was the only thing that mattered.

And God help you, you loved it.

The second you shattered under his tongue, Ben pulled back with a sharp breath, his beard slick, his mouth bruised and swollen, pupils blown wide as he grinned down at you.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling through his nose, and then his gaze dropped to you—twitching, breathless, sprawled out like a wreck over his pristine marble counters.

“That was fuckin’ pathetic.”

You barely had a moment to recover before he was flipping you onto your stomach, dragging you back so your hips hung off the counter’s edge. His strength was effortless, his grip bruising as he yanked you where he wanted you. He didn’t waste time, didn’t ease you into it. One second you were catching your breath, the next—

Slap.

His palm cracked against your ass, hard enough to have you gasping, gripping at the counter.

“Fall apart the second I put my mouth on you,” he sneered, fingers digging into the fresh sting of your skin, kneading before delivering another hard slap. “Get so fuckin’ needy, huh?”

You moaned, toes curling against the tile, your hips pressing back instinctively. His rough chuckle scraped down your spine, dark and mean, and then you heard the metallic clink of his belt being undone. The sound sent a violent shudder through you, anticipation tightening every muscle in your body.

Ben grunted as he freed himself, his cock heavy and aching in his fist as he lined up, dragging himself through your slick folds before slamming inside, all the way to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

You screamed, arching, nails scraping against the counter, and he just groaned, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, biting down hard as he held himself deep.

“Fuck yeah,” he exhaled against your skin, thick fingers curling around your throat from behind, dragging you up, bending you back at an angle that made every thrust hit just right.

“So fuckin’ tight. Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

You gasped, his arm unrelenting around your throat, holding you up like it was nothing, like you weighed nothing. He was using you, owning you, claiming you with every brutal snap of his hips.

The cold marble bit into your hipbones, a delicious counterpoint to the blistering heat of him. His free hand slid down, gripping at your ass, squeezing, groping, pulling you open wider so he could watch himself split you apart.

“Gonna keep you just like this,” he muttered, breath ragged, voice mean. “Bend you over every fuckin’ counter in this place—”

Slap.

“—Keep you stuffed so full of my cum you look knocked up.”

You whimpered, your body trembling under his relentless pace, every punishing thrust pushing you closer and closer to that breaking point again.

“You fuckin’ love it.” His teeth scraped against your jaw, fingers tightening around your throat, controlling the very air you breathed. “Love lettin’ me use you, huh?”

You moaned a broken yes, and he growled, the sound primal, vicious, something feral. His grip on your ass tightened, nails digging in before another sharp slap made you jolt in his hold.

“Yeah, you do.” He huffed a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it—just raw, unhinged possession. “Let me wreck this perfect little fuckin’ body. Let me have it—all of it.”

Your walls fluttered around him, that tight pull dragging a guttural groan from his chest. You were so fucking close—

Ben groaned, forehead pressing against your temple, his thrusts turning rougher. Sharper. Deeper.

“You don’t wanna take pretty clothes from me,” he gritted out, punctuating each word with another snap of his hips, “but you go all fuckin’ doe-eyed over some bullshit books.”

A sob of pleasure tore from your throat, your whole body tightening around him, and he felt it—felt the way you clenched, the way your legs shook.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he groaned, fingers squeezing around your throat as his pace turned brutal, fucking into you like he wanted to break you.

“Fuckin’ come. Come for me—now.”

Your whole body seized, pleasure consuming you like wildfire, dragging a ragged cry from your lips. You convulsed in his hold, clenching down on him so fucking tight that he snarled, hips stuttering, burying himself deep as he followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a vicious, guttural sound.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sound in the penthouse was your ragged breathing, the distant hum of city lights through the massive windows.

Ben exhaled hard, pressing a bruising kiss against the side of your face before muttering, voice still thick and wrecked with lust, “You ain’t goin’ back to that shithole.”

You barely had the energy to lift your head, still shivering, still trying to catch your breath. “Seriously?”

“You heard me.” He grunted, still buried deep inside you, his grip possessive, immovable. “You’re stayin’ here. Gettin’ you a real fuckin’ place. No more of that run-down, rat-infested shit.”

You huffed, a weak little laugh, but there was no arguing with him.

Not when he was still inside you. Not when his fingers were still bruising your hips, keeping you in place like he wasn’t done with you yet. Not when his teeth were grazing your shoulder again, voice dipping into something lower, darker.

“You’re mine, baby,” he murmured, breath ghosting against your damp skin. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver <3

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Solar: I am in agony.

Moon: Yeah, having half your leg cut off does that to a person!

[randomreadingtimewithtsuki]

HIIIIII AS PROMISED IM BACK FOR THIRDS!!!

Our dear wise generals (+ tsukasa and Hyoga) with reader being their s/o.

How do you think they’d react to finally finding reader’s statue after the stone war fight only to realize a part of the statue is missing and they can’t find it?

🤭

Hello! Thank you for requesting and waiting!

I hope this is of your liking, please let me know what you think!

It was not proff read, so be aware of bad grammar and grammar mistakes.. sorry :c

TW: Mentions of blood and missing body parts.

Tsuki's Note: I made them short because it is a lot of characters... sorry..

Tsuki's note 2: I also removed Chrome, because... timeline wise it doesn't make sense. so... sorry chrome fans... I did keep Ryusui because he is from the modern world and we can squeeze something there.

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

Senku

When he found he was lowkey relieved.

He called Gorilla team to help dig you out.

Also asked Yuzuriha to start making some clothes for you.

When they were done digging, Taiju screamed very loudly.

Which called Senku's attention.

When the boy noticed you were missing your right foot his heart sank.

But his expression didn't change, he smiled and told the team " What? the only thing we need to do is look for the foot. No need to panic"

And so, they looked for your foot.

After a few days of searching, Gen questioned Senku " What if they never found your foot? Would you remain as a statue?"

Senku had thought about it. Even though he did want to see you and talk to you again, he didn't know what would happen if you were revived without your foot.

Would it bleed? Would be fully healed? If not, how would he keep you away from infections? What about your mobility?

So Senku decided to not revive you until they either found your foot or he had the means to make your life better without one.

If your foot was not found, he would start to think of ways to make you comfortable asap. Would probably experiement a bit with animals to see how the healing process of a missing body parts works.

Ukyo

He was so happy to find you!!!

Ukyo couldn't wait to hear your voice again. To hear you calling his name.

He asked for help to dig you up.

At the very first few moments, everyone noticed you were missing your left hand.

But the team remained positive! It was quite possible your hand was somewhere around here!

So, Ukyo and the Gorilla Team tried to find your hand, to no avail.

Ukyo felt great sorrow and guilt. How come? It wasn't fair you were missing a piece. Why you and not him?

Senku asked him what he wanted to do. There was no guarantee how your arm would heal. and life without a hand is tough.

Ukyo pondered a lot about it. He took into consideration how you would feel being left petrified or to live without a hand.

He didn't want to experiment on animals to see what would happen.

Finally, he decided to wait until the kingdom of science had enough medical supplies to support you.

He was more than willing to help you leave with just one hand for the rest of yours and his days.

Gen

Gen never let out a huge relief sign like now.

He was so glad to have found you!!

He asked the Gorilla team help to dig you up.

When they finally removed all the dirty around you and lifted your statue, they notice you were missing your right foot.

At first, Gen thought Taiju pulled you too strongly, thus, making your foot break.

But soon enough, they found out that wasn't the case. Your foot was not around you.

So the search began.

Gen's head went a mile per hour thinking where it could be.

To him, there was no way you could be brought back to life missing a limb. Nope.

He was terrified that you would contract some infecction or would be miserable.

When he realized you foot was no where to be found, he broke down.

Despite being comforted by Yuzuriha and the others, Gen still felt really bad for you. For how unfair this was.

He ultimately decided to only revive when they were sure what would happen and had the means to give you a comfortable life.

This meant he asked Senku to experiment on some animals to see what would happen.

Ryusui

It was the happiest day of his life.

There you were, pretty as always.

Ryusui didn't waste a second to hire ask for help to dig you out!

But as soon as the team began digging you, Ryusui noticed something.

You were missing your right elbow bellow.

He demanded everyone to stop and went to inspection you closely with Francois.

Ryusui asked everyone to continue digging with caution - your arm could be, no, it was near by!

Alas, no one found your arm.

The happiest day, quickly became the most frustrating one.

But he didn't gave up on looking for you arm, no!

Ryusui did everything he could, but... to no avail.

The man sat down to think for a bit. Was it worth it reviving you now, like this?

He wasn't angry at the situation, just sad. There was nothing he could do for now to fix your your arm.

But he also didn't felt safe reviving you now.

Because of the amount of people he hired asked for help was huge, Senku urged him to decide on something - they man power to something else.

Ryusui, decide to not revive you now and ask some villagers to keep looking for your arm.

He was decided he was going to revive you when it was safe - so he asked Senku to experiement around with animals - and had the means to give you a great life.

He would have money for it anyway, but... He needed to guarantee your safety first.

Tsukasa

Finding his sister and you in a few days was a blessing.

Tsukasa started to dig you out of the place where you were petrified very gently.

When he was almost done, he noticed you were missing your left knee and bellow.

His heart sank. But he didn't gave up on finding it, it should be around here!

Eventually Tsukasa asked Senku's kingdom science's help.

A few days of looking went by and he couldn't find your leg.

Tsukasa didn't show it, but he was sad and feeling guilt.

He couldn't help but think about the statues he broke, so this is how their family feels like, huh?

He was also feeling guilty for being healthy while you were missing a piece. How would you survive in this stone world like this?

How would your injury heal? How good your life would be?

Eventually he had to take a decision. Tsukasa decided to not revive you until either your leg was found or there was enough medical support for you.

Tsukasa was willing to carry you around and take for you forever. But first, he needed to make sure you would be healthy, not just physically but mentally too.

He asked Senku if he had experimented on animals to know what would happen.

When the boy replied with " more or less" and proceeded to explain what would happen and what could happen.

Tsukasa asked Senku to, please, continue on experimenting and to build things to bring you confort.

Hyoga

He was very excited to see you again, despite his deadpan face saying otherwise.

He was truly glad to see you.

Hyoga started digging you up and when he was half away through he noticed you were missing a few fingers.

He looked around the area, digged and he couldn't find your fingers.

Homura tried to help him too! But nothing came of it.

Hyoga was scared to revive you like this. He didn't know what would happen.

What if you caught an infecction? How could it be treated? It couldn't.

He debated for a long time whether or not he should ask Senku and Tsukasa's help.

He ultimately decided to not ask for help, he couldn't.

Even if it was for you. Because what if, what if, they use you against him? How would you live and adapr without your fingers? With him not being there?

At least for now, you were safe.

Hyoga would only ask for their help, they needed his. he used it as a trade.

To some it may be cold hearted, but to him, it was a way to guarantee your safety.

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

Thank you for reading!

I hope this was of your liking!

[victor-cartoons]

Rrrremember this?

I was thinking... what if I do it like the old Tumblr.. AN ASK BLOG! where you ask the characters trivial things and the creator has to work with that to develop the plot.

Still, I have to think about it, and wait to have free time, school is hard even on the verge of repeating the year again xP

[knullanon]

Can I request a maybe part 2 to the Nolan Grayson; gremlin villain reader? Where readers powers were working on a subconscious level to heal them but after enough punishments reader down to their core believes that death is the best alternative and their powers ‘turn off’. I wanna see the reaction of the family after a harsh punishment and reader just. not healing.

Listen I love angst and you’re more than welcome to ignore this but I think it would be so interesting

(Nonbinary reader pls as well)

I don't think I'm very good at angst but here u go pls enjoy and I'm sorry if it's shit🙏👍

tw: death, heavy gore mentioned, like a lot, reader is dying so they're not really there, angst, you die (!) so there's that, Nolan is kind of a dick, sad ending

~~~

It hadn't been very long since you were left there. You could tell because almost nothing in your body healed yet. Most of, if not all of your bones had been broken, fractured or missing and you could barely feel any of your limbs.

The only thing you could feel was your hands. Often times, on your missions you needed to fight or use your hands, and so you made it a habit to heal your hands before the rest of your body. Of course, this was before you were kidnapped.

They weren't totally healed: you still had a few fingernails missing, your left pinky was crooked, and your palms didn't have any skin. But compared to the rest of your body, they were the most intact.

You tried to move your legs but they were shredded. In fact, only your right leg was there, as the other had been ripped off. What was left of the right leg was just a hunk of meat: Nolan had ripped out your femur since you decided to run away. They were slowly growing back, you could feel them there, but it was a slow proccess.

As soon as you could feel some sensation in your neck, you turned your head, looking around to see if there was anything you had missed in the basement. There was the chair, a few empty boxes, and a mirror.

There wasn't a mirror there before. You struggled to get onto your forearms, ignoring the crunching noises of your bones as you dragged yourself to the wall. When you tried to push yourself up, you fell back down, as you remembered your spine didn't completly heal.

You waited a few moments, and focused all of your energy on your back. You counted the beat to your favorite songs, one of the best ways for you to heal quicker as you found. You kept counting, kept switching songs, but... nothing was working. Sure, you were able to flail your arms around a bit, along with moving... what's left of your leg, but it wasn't going back to the way it used to be. It was completly severed, you felt, but where you would feel ligaments and muscles and bones morph and fuse back together, there was nothing.

After a few minutes, you stop trying. Pain meant nothing to you at this point: you've been torn apart and put back together again more times than you could count, but it felt... weird. Like you were a piece of paper slowly drifting down, swaying side to side until you finally met the ground.

As everything went dark, you stopped thinking about Nolan, about Mark, and even Debbie. It didn't matter now. You were going to be free.

---

Before bed, Nolan had Mark go with him to see his "ill behaved sibling," as he put it. The basement was more dingy and dark than he remembered it to be. Besides the smell of iron and blood, there wasn't the usual groan or crunch or curse from you. In fact, when Nolan got completely downstairs, he basically flew over to you.

"Get up."

Mark stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring down at your dismembered body. Unlike other times that Nolan had punished you, you weren't fully healed or even partially. Almost every single wound that you had hours earlier in the day were still there, and it looked like you had dragged yourself around the room from all the blood on the floor.

When you didnt move, Nolan kicked you, hard. Mark was expecting you to say something, do something, maybe at least try to fight back, but you didn't. You just sat there, bleeding all over the place. It made him think something was wrong

At this point, Nolan was obviously pissed. He picked you up by your neck, and held you above him, dangling your body in front of him.

"Dad, I think-"

"Let me handle this, Mark."

"You think you can just pretend to be dead so you can get out of being punished? You were the one who ran away, not me."

He tossed you across the room, letting you hit the wall and slide down unceremoniously. He then floated all the way back up the stairs, before looking back to Mark.

"Good luck trying to get them up."

And with that, he left. Mark stood there for a moment, before he rushed over to you.

"_____, I'm so sorry, I didn't think he would be that mad, I-"

When you didnt look at him, he stopped. He shook you, trying to get your attention, but your eyes were glassy. Empty.

"_____?"

You didnt awnser. Mark kept asking you, shaking you, moving you, but you weren't responding. Not even with a kick or a shout or anything.

It was when he couldn't feel your heartbeat when he started to panic.

"I know you're- you're upset, but cmon, it's just me!" He pleaded, shaking your body again and again. "Dads not here, he's upstairs, somewhere, it's just me!"

You didn't react. You just sat there, pressed up against the wall, looking like a ghost. Mark sat next to you, holding the remains of your hand.

"I'll sit with you, OK? Until you feel better. Don't worry, I don't mind. It's not like I'm doing anything."

He laughed to himself, before he squeezed your hand.

"Please heal soon. I miss you."

~~~

sorry if that sucked ass but oh well

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

Comfortember Day 3: Warm Food

(originally posted in 2022)

Rain pounded against the hard cobblestone, bouncing off the stone and covering the roads in a light mist. A horse and carriage drove down the street, splashing through the puddles as it went. The street was mostly empty, with only a few stragglers making their way home for the day. The street lamps flickered, barely cutting through the dense rain. This was a bigger city than the ones Myla had previously been to, having electricity powering the streetlights instead of candles or magic. Myla pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, keeping her head down as she passed a couple on the sidewalk. They barely paid her any mind though as they hurried to get out of the rain. 

Myla’s stomach ached with hunger pangs as she walked and she mentally went over how much money she still had. She had been staying at different inns for the past month and, unfortunately, what little money she had was dwindling. She mentally cursed her situation. Kept her eyes on the ground and kept walking, forcing herself to just keep moving. 

Myla stumbled suddenly as her vision blurred for a moment. She reached out to brace herself against a nearby wall but her hand didn’t make contact with anything, causing her to fall into the dirt and mud. She groaned, and slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead. She went to pull her hood back up but was surprised to find that her horns had grown. She hesitated before taking a deep breath and willing her magic down. Slowly, the horns retreated back into her head and she felt the rush of magic leave her. She had been struggling with controlling her powers but luckily had found that calming her mind made them less likely to act up.

After a few seconds, she slowly raised herself, struggling a bit with her prosthetic leg. She pulled her hood back up and sighed, feeling just how soaked her clothes had become. Her dark green cloak was now covered in mud and soaked with water, sticking to her clothes and soaking them too. She even felt some mud stuck to her braided hair. 

She glanced around, checking if anyone had seen her embarrassing moment, and noticed she was now alone on the street. She squinted her eyes a little as she looked at the nearby buildings. Something about them seemed a little off to Myla. she couldn’t quite figure out why though, the style of the buildings matched the rest of the town and there was nothing about them that was standing out. 

She decided to ignore it for now and started walking again, shivering now. Myla wondered if she looked as pathetic as she felt. Soaked, freezing, and hungry.

She walked for a while longer, her anxieties clouding her mind until she heard the sound of muffled music and people talking. She looked up and saw a pub only a few buildings down. She picked up her pace and felt herself relax a little, grateful for the chance to get out of the rain and warm up.

She entered the pub and sighed in relief at the warmth. She went to take off her hood but hesitated as she noticed the other patrons of the pub. The majority of the people in the pub were strange creatures that Myla had never seen in person before, some more human-like than others. A few looked human but Myla didn’t miss their sharp teeth or unnatural-colored eyes. She was stuck, frozen in fear. What was this place? Should she even be in here? Was she safe here? Suddenly, she felt a rush of magic course through her, just under the skin.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will the magic away, silently praying that she didn’t cause any destruction or hurt anyone. Too many times already had she woken up in a destroyed inn bed from her powers activating while she was asleep. Luckily, nothing seemed to happen besides her horns growing back out. She opened her eyes again and noticed a few people had looked over at her since she was still just standing by the door. She hesitated before snapping out of it and shaking off as much water as she could. She gripped the inside of her cloak and made her way over to a seat at the bar.

She sat down and looked at the menu hung up on the wall, mentally going over how much money she had. She felt her heart sink as she realized she couldn’t afford anything. 

“Welcome stranger,” the bartender asked as she walked up. She was mostly human looking except for a large black scar-like mark that went across her face. The scar went all the way from the side of her neck, over the nose, and under an eyepatch on the right eye before disappearing into her inky black hair. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Uh, um…” Myla glanced back up at the menu, knowing she couldn’t order anything. Her good leg bounced and she rubbed her hands nervously in her lap. “I-I think I’m good. Just trying to uh, warm up. If it's ok for me to do that here ma’am.”

The bartender looked her over for a moment, Myla doing her best to shrink from the woman's gaze. 

“You are not from around here, are you?” She asked, leaning on the bar.

“No… just passing through.”

“Well, then you have to eat something,” the bartender said, a bright smile on her face. “The mutton is great and you’ll want to try it while you have the chance.”

“I would love to… but I-I can’t… I can’t afford it,” Myla said, feeling a little ashamed. She wondered if they might kick her out since she wasn’t a paying customer

“Hey, It's ok,” the bartender said, giving Myla a kind smile. She seemed to think for a moment and checked her pocket before looking back at Myla. “How about I get you some anyway. On the house”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” Myla said, holding her hands up.

“It’s no trouble, really. I’ve made good tips tonight and when else am I going to get to treat a pretty lady to a nice meal.” The bartender winked at Myla, causing her to blush. “I’ll be out in a bit with your food.”

Myla simply nodded, unable to speak as the lady walked away. She looked down at her lap as she tried to calm her now racing heart. She thought about how this seemed too good to be true, the chance of her arriving at this pub and someone being nice enough to give her a whole meal for free. Her whole life, most people had only been nice to her because of her brother, either not wanting to get on his bad side or because they wanted to be closer to him. The bartender must want something, she concluded. She must want Myla to owe her in some way. Myla felt her anxiety pick back up as she zoned out, spiraling in her thoughts. 

“Hey, are you ok?” 

Myla snapped back to reality and looked up, seeing the bartender standing back in front of her with a concerned look on her face. Myla could also feel the eyes of a few other patrons staring at her. She must have looked weird, sitting there zoned out. She blinked and realized her food was ready. 

“Oh, um, yeah… I’m ok,” Myla said, looking down at her food. She blinked and tried to force back the tears that threatened to fall. 

“Hey, hey, what's wrong?” the bartender asked, placing her hand on the bar in front of Myla. 

“I-I’m ok, I-” she sniffed and wiped her eyes as a few tears escaped, “I just… things have been really hard lately… and I don’t know how to repay you for this… This is the kindest anyone has been to me in a long time…”

“Hey, don’t worry about repaying me. Like I said, it's on the house. If you want, we can talk later and maybe help your situation. I know a lot of people that would be willing to help. But for now, eat. We’ll worry about that later.” 

Mayla sniffled again and nodded, starting to eat the food. The bartender was right, the food was amazing. As she ate, she felt herself calm down, being warmed from the inside out. For the first time in weeks, she felt as if her troubles her smaller than they had been. She relaxed a bit as she ate, enjoying the comfort of a warm meal. 

[alwaysanundertone]

Hey!!! Could you possible do marauders with reader who has a really bad fear of spiders, like she cries when she sees them and can’t sleep or panics at the thought, and a scene where the boys help her <3

An unpleasant encounter | poly! marauders x fem! reader

tw: mention of arachnophobia, spiders

comfort

You were reading on Sirius's bed, the sound of the rain outside creating the perfect atmosphere for a good reading session. Your boyfriends were somewhere in Hogwarts, pranking the poor first years, and now their dorm was pleasingly quet.

Your feet were dangling off of your bed, your book held in the air.

You were relaxed, finally winding down after an exhausting day of classes, when all of a sudden you spotted a furry, black creature crawling on your ceiling.

Your limbs froze, immediately recognizing the small animal for what it was: a spider. It wasn't even that big, not bigger than a coin, but still your brain short circuited as you saw it moving awkwardly, his little legs moving faster and faster until it hung directly over your head.

You jumped up, falling miserably on the ground on your ankle, while you still kept your eyes focused on its every movement, not wanting to lose it and find it on your bed later.

Your breath quickened, small teardrops collecting in your eyes as you saw his legs moving rapidly; you felt the panic engulfing you, like being trapped in a heavy blanket in the middle of august. It was overwhelming.

That's how your boyfriends found you, sprawled on the ground, your hand pressing down on the sore area right above your feet.

It was Remus who talked first. "Darling, what are you doing?"

You didn't speak, only raising your hand to point at the scary, black monster.

Sirius chuckled. "Love, I think he should be fearing you, a grown woman, then the other way around."

As soon as he reached for it, you released a screech. "Stop it Sirius! It's going to fall right on top of me and bite me and I'll die! You won't have a girlfriend anymore!"

You saw your boyfriends exchange a look, then James reached for your hand.

"Do you trust us, love?"

You reluctantly nodded, gaining a proud smile from him. "Perfect. Would you like to try something? We will stop as soon as you feel too uncomfortable"

As much as you didn't want to admit it, leaving with arachnophobia wasn't easy. You couldn't bring yourself to enjoy little picnic dates because you were scared of seeing some stupid spider and ruining it. You always felt like you were overreacting, but you couldn't help it.

You cringed as Remus picked up the lid of a discarded clear jewelry box from your desk, standing on top of your bed and proceeding to trap the little creature inside of it. He turned around, giving you an easy smile. "Do you feel comfortable enough to come near, darling?"

Sirius extended his hand, as soon as you took it he tugged you into his arms, making you gasp. “Hey there, love” He grinned, pecking your lips, a small smile forming on your own lips.

He turned you around, making a small gasp fall from your lips. “Just look at it for now, okay? I’ll be right here with you.”

Remus held the box tightly secured in his hands, you looked at the spider. At first all you could do was cringe as you saw his hairy legs move frantically to escape, you saw it moving around the small box, looking for a place go escape, coming out empty handed.

The more you looked at it, though, the more your feelings changed. A sort of compassion crawled its way to your chest, making you feel kind of… bad. Yes, of course the creature still scared you; yes, you still wouldn’t want it to be ANYWHERE near you.

Still, you didn’t want it to die no more. You started to hate the box, to find Remus hands cruel.

“Remus, free it outside. Don’t kill it. Please?”

He smiled at you fondly, nodding and making his way to the window.

You felt Sirius mouth breathing right next to your ear. “I’m so proud of you”

—-

taglist: @eeviee4 @sammyreid @sxmnc

Hi gorgeous souls I’m back ;) did you miss me? It’s been a crazy month 😭

[emil-the-idiot42]

Angels Crashing to Earth

Part One: Falling from the Stars

Cecil Stedman X Alien!Reader TW: Cannon typical violence, Severe Injury, Sent to die, Heavy mentions of death and dying, basically torture if you look close enough, Blood, different colored blood, bodily mutilation from wounds. If there is any I missed that bugged you PLEASE let me know so I can add it to the warnings.

No mentions of reader's gender or appearance other than blood color, wings, having a few hollow bones cause the reader's Alien race is loosely based on birds/biblically accurate angels, an extra heart, and an extra eye. Kind of like an angel character but not quite.

Written in second person. Barely any dialogue in this part. Instead of (Y/N), I will be using ___.

Word count: 927. This part is mainly to launch off the story, get background started, and to grab readers attention. I also don't know how people write thousands of words for the first chapter of their fic when most famous books only have around 1,000 to 1,800 for their first chapters.

Description: You are punished by your alien race for failing a mission and sent to your death. Crashing onto Earth, you are found by the GDA and are being closely monitored by the brand new director as you heal.

You were put into the sarcophagus by your Flock, you disobeyed a direct order from the leader. A punishment for those who didn't listen, who challenged the Flock. "Conquer the inhabited planet in Sector 15." Remembering those words as you landed on the planet, ready to do anything for the Flock. Something must have changed when a mother of the unfamiliar species was staring at you. Her child cowering behind her in fear, the infant in her hands, the look of sheer determination in her eyes, ready to do anything to protect her spawn. You tore your gaze away from the mother and gazed at the environment surrounding you. Colors you have never seen before, life you never thought possible. The Flock kept things orderly and clean. Colors of pale blue and soft yellow paired with white that reminded you of clouds were all you knew. With a hesitant step, you walked toward a patch of wildflowers, a gaze of amusement and curiosity took over your usually stoic features. The mother loudly proclaimed something in a foreign tounge. Ignoring her words you plucked a flower and enjoyed the scent of the pollen. That was months ago. You lived with the mother and her children, learned the ways of their people, enjoyed what seemed to be a normal life until the Flock came to take their planet, and punish the deserter. Locked in the sarcophagus, the machine that will be your death. A tight unmoving space. Silence was all you could hear, yet on the outside the Flock was holding your funeral as if you had already died, though you would soon. Telling tales of your greatness before you failed on your first mission for the betterment of your Flock. A star pupil, a brilliant warrior on planets inhabited by beasts, but when it came to the true task at hand... you failed. Launched into space suddenly at speeds you could never hope to have achieved with your wings signaled your death would be soon, but you would never know how long it would be until then. Hurling through space before your tomb would hit an asteroid, a planet, or a dying star. You might die from dehydration or starvation before the hunk of metal made any contact with anything in the cosmos.

It was a terrible fate to be in the sarcophagus.

＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Flames engulfed the ship and the turbulence was the sign your end was finally here after who knows how long you had been drifting in space. Panic rose in your chest as you thought you had more time.

The crash came soon after, bones broken as the metal of the sarcophagus pierced limbs and organs. The taste of iron and salty copper flooded your mouth as you coughed up your own blood. Yellow seeped from your wounds that seemed tragically beautiful on your features. Hands holding together what you could, you cried out in pain, for help. You were raised by the Flock to never ask for help. It was weakness, but you were here in your weakest moment, still alive after the Flock abandoned you to die. Just as your eyes closed waiting for the darkness that comes after death, the metal of your fate tore open.

An unfamiliar being clad in armor, holding a weapon screamed something in their language. Possibly to more of their kind. A silent plea for help escaped your lips before you closed your main eyes. The third on your forehead staying open in case of danger. More of the people rushed over and began to take you out of the death trap. You began to lose more blood and only cried more tears until you passed out believing this was your end.

＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Breath sharply filled your lungs as you shot up in what you could only assume was a bed. Panic raced through your veins as you looked around the space. A room of white and harsh bright lights. Machines beeping with your hearts, needles embedded into you, the cold seeping through the fabrics covering you.

After a while you calmed down realizing the space was a medical room. You had survived. It was a miracle. You were sure you were going to die. How many others from the Flock had survived the sarcophagus? You were certain you would be unable to heal from all of the damage even with your powers.

Your thoughts were interrupted by two people walking into the room. One wearing a long white coat with something similar to a writing utensil and a brown board with materials you assumed they would be writing on. The second was dressed in a suit, his stance intimidating and tall, the scar on his face proved to you he was a warrior that survived a great deal.

They began to speak but the look of confusion on your face was evident, telling them you didn't understand their words. You assumed the person in the coat was a doctor, they were now focused on the various machines hooked up to you and scribbling things on the brown board.

"Where am I? Am I safe?" whispers of concern left your lips in your language before you could stop them. The man sighed as he sat down on the lone chair by the bed.

"I'm Cecil." plainly said and to the point as he gestured to himself. You understood the gesture. It was the same as the mother saying her name on that planet. That beautiful planet.

Attempting to mimic his motions and the first word he spoke, you introduced yourself the same way.

"I'm ___."

AN: Sorry if its short or not good. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope those of you that like it enjoyed it as much I enjoyed writing it. Second part will be called "Understanding Upon the Earth" so keep an eye out.

Pretty dove borders I used I got from @dollywons so go give them some love and support.