#about certain things but i think there's a lot hidden in each word i say. i wonder for you too.

[mizuseyebrows]

I'm... a monster —mizu x reader

warnings: not proofread. fluff. she/her pronouns for mizu. slight angst. insecurities.

includes: sweet and compasionate reader. 'weak' and vulnerable mizu. word count: 2.2k (the shortest i've written so far, make a wish)

summary: you two were playing roll around, you kissed and mizu felt insecure when you called her 'pretty'... and you gave mizu her first hug ever 😭

a/n: i love writing vulnerable mizu... someone give her a hug

You've been traveling for a while with Mizu. Although at first she refused, as the days went by you showed her your skill with archery. Now when she had to defend herself from those who stood in her way, you could defend her back with your bow and arrow.

This has led to develop your relationship and become closer the more time you spent together. Maybe one night, resting in an eater, you went a little too far with the sake and let out a loving and clingy side that Mizu didn't fully know. And maybe, you stole a kiss from her that night that caught her off guard, she didn't know how to react… for almost a week.

But against all odds, that led you to have a certain joking and mischievous attitude towards each other. On more than one occasion, you both stole some kisses to see which of the two of you would be more flustered. It was all very innocent and playful, and that seemed to allow Mizu to let go a lot more.

However, you could still see that there were things that Mizu avoided telling or confessing. You assumed there could be a turbulent past, it was something you suspected due to certain comments that reflected her poor perception of herself. You wanted to help but how do you do that if she wasn't ready to talk about it yet?

Still, not being very clear about what happened in her life before you —not including the reason why she is on a journey of revenge— did not prevent you from seeing what was hidden beneath that cold and ‘impenetrable’ mask.

Under that layer of snow, there was a warm girl with a softer tone of voice who usually laughs at your flirtatious and affectionate comments. Sometimes she didn't even know how to respond to you, her mind seemed to freeze the second she tried to flirt with you back.

But it was adorable, she is adorable.

Mizu’s so adorable when she laughs as you two roll around playing some wrestling near the campfire. She’s so adorable when she grasps your wrists to settled them both sides of your head. She’s fucking adorable when she pins you against the floor and you can feel her pants brushing above your nose and mouth.

And, oh… She’s way more adorable que she gives you a little smile while her blue eyes looking over your features breathlessly as her chest heaves up and down.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked with a giggle. Your face slowly took on the color of the cherry blossoms as those sapphire orbs scanned you intensely.

"I'm... thinking." Mizu mumbled as her cheeks flushed pink too, her lips parting in a slight smile.

But she kept quiet after that, as if she didn't know what else to say. She didn't move, looking down at you with a soft expression. She remained like this for a few seconds before she broke the silence, leaning in a bit closer.

"May I... have a kiss?" She whispered as she looked up at you, her eyes darting down to your lips and back up to your eyes. There was something hidden in her gaze, almost like a hint of insecurity or fear.

The hairs on your body stood up as you heard the tone she used and how soft her question sounded. Also those hidden feelings had made your limbs tense a little, "…a kiss?"

"Yes," She breathed, leaning closer to you. "Please." Her voice was breathless, her eyes closing as she inched towards you. Her blue eyes looked right through you as her breath tickled your nose with a small smile. She paused, waiting for you to make the first move.

Your heart raced as you couldn't focus on Mizu's face very well due to the proximity between the two of you. Her eyes closed so gently, creating a pair of crescents that made an excited scream want to escape from your throat.

You shortened the distance, initiating a shy and soft kiss. Your lips pressed against each other, their warmth clashing together. Her mouth softly opened up now sharing a passionate kiss with you. Although your breathings were getting heavier, there really was no ulterior motive in this display of affection. Not even because Mizu pressed herself more against you as the kiss continued.

When she broke the kiss she looked away from you— her cheeks flushed pink as they glowed a dark red in the dim light and her eyes darting away from yours. Now her expression seemed conflicted: she frowned and pouted while it seemed like she was thinking about something. Her breathing was still heavy but you didn't think it was because of the kiss. With concern, you raised your hands to caress her cheeks, seeking to distract her or take her back from wherever her mind was on her.

Mizu remained still as you caressed her cheeks, her heart beating faster with each touch you gave her, but she turned her face to look at you again. Her eyes were snapping back to yours as you could see deep into her blue eyes. There was a certain weakness in her gaze, however, she gave you a relieved smile, enjoying this moment. She felt a strange sense of calmness wash over her... as if she finally found the light to help see through the dark.

"You look so pretty." You said without thinking much, admiring her.

"I'm not pretty. I'm far from pretty." Her voice sounded a little raspy despite how calm she looked.

"No, don't say that. You're very beautiful, Mizu. Seriously." You smiled warmly, unable to stop looking at her face.

"That's a lie." Mizu muttered, turning away from you. She looked at the ground. "I'm not beautiful. I'm just a scarred, vengeful assassin whose lost all sense of beauty. I'm... a monster."

You blinked in disbelief at what you heard. Those words were too harsh to describe a person, you couldn't believe what you heard. You wanted to ask who dared to make Mizu think that about herself. You wanted to have all the details about why she has that concept about her. But you didn't want to disrupt the moment, you didn't want to make her feel worse. So you just cupped her face lovingly and made her look at you again, rubbing your thumbs in circles.

"Whoever made you feel those ugly things about yourself is the real monster. And as a child I wanted to be a monster slayer. I'm gonna kill that monster."

You could see Mizu's eyes widen slightly, her breathing suddenly stopping briefly as she looked right at you. "I... you..." She mumbled, her face heating up as tears quickly welled up in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" You asked in a soft tone, wiping her tears.

Mizu was still silent as her breath hitched in her throat. Your affection was making her... emotionally vulnerable. She hated that. She couldn't let you see that weakness of hers. "Nothing, it's nothing. Just forget about it." She mumbled as she separated from you to sit a little away and turn her back to you, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Mizu?" You sat on the floor watching her, concerned about her reaction. You gently caressed her shoulder, wanting to comfort her.

Mizu's hands clenched into fists to keep herself from bursting out in tears as she sniffed back. She didn't like the way you were so caring and worried about her... because she liked it. "I'm fine... really. Just... don't mind me."

"How do you ask me that? You're crying, I can't get past that." You moved a little closer to her, stroking her arm. "What's wrong? Tell me."

Mizu shuddered when you got closer to her... she wanted to push you away with all her strength but she couldn't. She couldn't break the warmth that she felt when you caressed her arm. She hated feeling weak. She had the feeling that you probably thought she was pathetic for crying in front of you like this. "I-I'm fi... it's just that... no one's ever... He—"

Mizu's cheeks flushed red as she looked down at her lap, trying her hardest not to look at you while still being next to you. She felt like she had lost all sense of self-control, and she hated every instance of it. She wanted to push you away from her, to stop the feelings of warmth that were washing over her body, but she couldn't. Her arms hung loosely, her hands starting to tremble slightly.

"Do you feel overwhelmed? Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" You stayed at her side, you wanted to hug her but you wouldn't do any of that if it was too much for her.

Mizu remained quiet for a few moments, her breathing shaky and her cheeks flushed a dark, deep red. It took her a while but she finally found her voice again, her eyes still unable to look at you. "I just need a minute more... then I'll be fine." Mizu mumbled softly, breathing quietly. She hated showing this kind of weakness especially in front of you. She didn’t want you to think she was a weak and vulnerable girl.

"Take all the time you need." You smiled lovingly but you didn't move, you would accompany her until she felt better and that stupid that she was a monster faded away from her mind.

Mizu closed her eyes as she leaned her head back against your chest, breathing slowly. You could feel her chest rise and fall against you, trying to compose herself. She didn't know why she was revealing such a vulnerable side of herself right now but she felt so tired... as if she wasn't going to be able to hold on any longer. She needed you at this moment without even realizing how much she actually depended on you.

You caressed her back gently. You wanted her to understand that you were there for her, that she wasn’t alone and that she will never be alone when she needs it most. You didn't say anything else either, you felt like talking right now wasn't going to do much for her. Maybe in silence you will provide her with the answers she needs.

A small smile crept over her lips when she realized how safe she felt with you. You gave her a sense of calmness just by being next to her, your touch and breath giving off an aura of warmth. The warm sensation that was radiating from you made her heart beat faster than before, her cheeks flushing a bright pink. Your touch did something to her... something she didn't quite understand. It was like everything around her felt so quiet and still...

"Do you want a hug?" You asked her in a soft and calm tone. "Would that make you feel better?"

Just by hearing you ask this question made her heart skip a beat. A hug... that was all she had been wanting. The way you were caressing her back made her want to lean into you more, her body practically begging to be held. "Please..." She mumbled as her hand slowly reached for yours.

You smiled softly and approached her to put your arms around her body, wrapping them around her torso. You clinged her to you with some force. Then you raised one of your hands to rest it on the back of her neck, making her head rest in the crook of your shoulder.

Her breath hitched as she buried her face into your neck, her shoulders shaking slightly as she held onto you for dear life. She had wanted this— needed this for such a long time but could only admit it to herself now. Your warm body embracing her made her feel safe. She felt so vulnerable and weak. She felt like she could cry right now.

Again you were just silent and hugged her body lovingly, tightly. You leaned your head against hers, smiling at what you were doing. It was not only hugging Mizu's body, it was also hugging her soul with yours, wanting to convey to her that she was loved and appreciated.

She felt safe with you— a sense of calmness that swept through her in your embrace made her feel at ease. This was the type of feeling she had been yearning for, craving, a feeling of comfort.

"How do you feel, Mizu?" You asked in a whisper, stroking her back slowly and gently.

Mizu's body tensed up at your question, her breath suddenly becoming shaky. "I... feel..." Mizu mumbled as she bit down on her lip momentarily, trying to figure out what she was feeling right now.

"Don't put pressure on yourself." You tried to lull her and held her tighter to you, clinging to her a little.

Your comforting touch was all she needed right now. The way you were holding her tighter to you had her heart beating fast. She was surprised that you were so affectionate and comforting, and it was doing something to her. Her breath hitched in her throat once again as you held here tightly to yourself, your touch giving her a sense of happiness that she thought she would never felt in her life again. It was as if she had been drowning for so long and your hug was a glimmer of hope which she was finally grasping right now.

second part

[comfortless]

to the anon who was talking about konig and the rule following intention thing: i love you. he seems cheeky like that. BUT i will also climb that big man and start strangling him if he entertained or led on the recruit.

idk, maybe its my rabies, but i would start whacking him grgrgrgrg. wrangle him till he acts right!!!!! (whatever that means)

i also love that anon! 🤭

Being instructed to “act right” for König is more or less the same as following any order at work. “Shoot that target.” is the very same as “Don’t glare at a stranger.” The differences between the König at home and the König on the field are subtle things. No bloodshed and rewards in the form of tenderness and orgasms instead. He’s less rigid, less focused, but still a soldier, the strangest one at that.

Everything is taken as directly as possible, because he’s not going to question any hidden meaning behind words. That’s silly. He always says just what he means, so shouldn’t everyone else?

There’s a lot he just doesn’t get, and your jealousy happens to be one of those things.

He would kill for you, lets you graze your fingertips over his favorite weapons, allows you to hold his face and even pretends that your staring doesn’t make his fingers twitch and sweat bead at his temples. König is loyal and so trusting with you… how dare you accuse him of worshipping some other woman in the same way? How could you even believe that?

Say you, his beloved, put together the pieces, realize that surely this woman is messaging your König during his leave for a reason. There’s an argument to be had, one that’s less of a screaming fit and more of a break down from both sides. You tell him through gritted teeth and tears that you know your intuition isn’t wrong: he’s done something, you just aren’t certain what that something is. There’s no outright accusation spoken, but his face immediately grows red and his eyes narrow.

It’s not that he even cares to question why you would think that way. He just wants to know where he’s failed. What is it that you need that he’s not already providing? He takes an awful picture of his cock each time he’s hard and away from you, even follows it up with one of the aftermath of thinking of you. No other woman makes him feel so starved.

He knows he isn’t very romantic; you would probably prefer actual dates instead of watching him train or following along like a cute accessory at the gym. But he brings you flowers, licks your cunt without hesitation, buys you feminine products and chocolate any time that you’re in need of them. Sure, each picnic date ends with your chest pressed against a sturdy tree or your thighs spread atop the patterned blanket, but the confessions hissed into your hair are true. It’s never just been sex, not to him. It’s love, and that’s one word he never seems to shy away from saying. He’s greedy, wouldn’t want something so simple, not after every moment you’ve spent together.

König might not get why you’re so into some new trend or show, but he listens when you talk about them. Or tries, at least. Really, he had no idea why you would bother explaining to him why you prefer a dress with wiry straps over something cozier when he arrives home, but he’s happy to just listen to your voice and shush you with kisses when he doesn’t know how else to respond.

You’re allowed access to his phone any time you like, even shows you his bank account to prove he hasn’t taken some lady a world away off on some expensive shopping trip or spent a curious amount at a pharmacy. In fact…. He’s barely spent anything while away, all of the transactions are from the last time he was on leave or at that cute little shop he had told you about and brought you home some shiny new gift from. There’s nothing suspicious to be found… except for those messages from the woman he tells you is just a recruit.

So… what if you’re just projecting?

To him, his own jealousy is righteous.

König almost looks scary when he’s upset, not that he would ever lay a hand on you. Maybe the coffee table will be in disarray, cleared entirely when the thought of you leaving proves to be far too much. His shirt suffers a few massive tears when he grips at his chest to show you just where you’re hurting him.

You may not have outright accused him, but König can’t hold his tongue when he asks you about this imaginary other man. Is he handsome? Does he buy you nice things? Does he make you come hard? How did you meet and just where does he live? Do you love him…?

König would try his utmost to hold back tears. He feels weak when he cries, and the last thing he wants is for you to view him as fragile. He’s supposed to protect you.

But it’s all gone in a flash. His entire being seems to relax when you explain to him that there is no other man. The unshed tears are wiped away, a heavy sigh leaves him when he rubs at his face. He feels like the worst idiot just stood there blinking in surprise while you’re still pissed, but at least that scenario proves to be untrue.

You just want to understand why he’s entertaining some other woman’s flirtations. Is that what telling some recruit she’s got sharp aim and allowing her to grasp at his arm and admire his muscles is..? He will admit that maybe he’s allowed her too much closeness, even if he never has and never will return her affections.

It baffles him entirely for a moment, slows his tongue enough to have a grin curl at his lips. It’s the most flattering thing in the entire world to think that you desire him so much that the thought of sharing makes you like this. The realization that maybe you’re just as territorial as he is is impossibly cute, makes him twice as obnoxious and overbearing when you’re pulled into his arms.

His voice takes an amused lilt when he asks you just what you want him to do about it. Cut her off? He’ll avoid her entirely if it appeases you. He doesn’t want to hurt a woman that isn’t an actual enemy, so killing her is certainly out of the question, but he can be scary if you would like that. She wouldn’t like him as much if she saw his face. He would remind you that only a silly thing like yourself could ever be keen on it. Your orders are absolute, so long as he still gets a treat in the end.

[saltofmercury]

Pairing: König x f!reader

Plot: You want to invite König to your work party, but don't know how to ask.

A/N: First fight with reader x König. I went through lots of research here to try and get him a certain way, but ultimately I feel like because he likes you, he wants to push himself.

"For you"

The annual holiday work party was approaching. It’s all your coworkers were talking about, every minute, every second, of every day at the office. Last year’s party was one of the best. You were excited that now you had the opportunity to ask and bring a +1 this year.

You and König were pretty much in a relationship? At least you thought. It was complicated. He was a man of little words and big gestures. He loved taking you on picnics and sitting there talking with you. On one of those picnics you had shared a first kiss through his turtleneck. You two had been laying on your sides facing each other when you came close to him and he took initiative to gently grab the back of your head and pull you in.

“I want to at least feel your lips.” You whined

He blushed and dug his head into your neck planting soft kisses there.

“A little more patience baby, I promise.” he said softly.

Another surge of electricity ran through you. He wasn’t a man of many pet names, often copying you when you called him “baby” or “babe”.

He sent flowers to your door with small notes saying “ I can’t wait to see you later.” or “Thinking of you.”

He even wrote you letters for the weeks he was gone just so you had something to remind you of how much he liked you and your company.

Sometimes though, it just didn’t feel like it was moving anywhere. 

You felt like your patience was running thin due to the fact that although you did “couple things,” it wasn’t like he was your boyfriend. He never even asked you to be his girlfriend. 

You enjoyed spending quality time with him doing things he planned, but it was never more than just that. Things he wanted to do.

You craved more. You wanted more. You wanted more than just masked kisses to your mouth and hands, more than sunrise and sunset photos or meeting at your apartment or his house. Nothing moved on past just that.

*

Whatever König did in the military paid him well. He lived in the nicer part of the city, up in the hills. His backyard was huge. It was a quiet neighborhood.

You were glad that you were seeing more of each other in person. Holding hands as you walked around the neighborhood, he was telling you about the “drama” about one of his neighbors.

“I am telling you,” —he paused to look at your face. “They choose to fight over small things and then I wake up to the crash and the bangs of the night.” He exhaled, and then continued, “You know that she pretty much slammed the door so loud I could hear it across the street.”

You weren’t listening. You were preoccupied with how you were going to ask him about the party. He didn’t have you tell you he didn’t like public places because you just knew. Almost every date you guys had together were in his backyard or tucked away together secluded from the rest of the world.

You kept walking, silence filled the air.

“Is everything ok?” He finally asked.

You blushed. “Yeah, just thinking about something.” You continued walking with him. The crunch of leaves beneath every step you took.

“Is something wrong?” His voice was uneasy.

“No.. it’s nothing” you responded.

“Something is wrong…” he interlocked his hand with yours and squeezed your hand.

You cracked. It was either now or never.

You exhaled and proceeded to go on,

“There’s this holiday party coming up and I wanted to know if you were able to come?”

He stopped walking, turned towards you. You were already used to the hidden bottom half of his face. His eyebrows however always gave it away.

“You want me to come?” He says softly, but quickly dismissing the idea,

“I don’t know about that. Drunk people I don’t know? Doesn’t sound fun.”

“It’ll be fun,” you rambled on, “They have these fun raffles throughout the night and you get to claim your prize in front of everyone.”

Silence. He just kept walking.

“There’s always a really delicious buffet and an open bar!” You kept trying to entice him more.

He continued to walk straight ahead.

"Drunk people? No thanks." he says.

But you weren’t giving up.

“It’s not really a party” you begin. “It’s more so like a small get together. It’s just my office.”

He pinched his eyebrows together.

“I said no, y/n” he said sternly.

You were caught off guard.

“It’s with people only you know.” He says coldly.

“Most of these people you already know.” you said back.

He did know your coworkers from stories you would tell him late at night. He even knew their names because he would ask about them.

Still, nothing from him as he kept walking, putting his hands in his pockets.

Was he ignoring you?

 “It’s going to be both me and you. Fun music, good food, and –” 

He turned around and stared down at you. He kept shifting his eyes to your forehead, your eyes, and back to your forehead. He looked intimidating. It wasn’t someone you recognized at all. You looked for any glimpse of hope that he would just give in.

“Go by yourself. I’m not attending anything.” He responded with anger, and some annoyance.

Ouch.

You were hurt. How he dismissed everything so quickly, without even being reasonable. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to cover up your sadness,

 “That’s fine. You don’t have to come.”

*

The walk back to the house was quiet. The sun was setting and the temperature dropped. You wrapped your arms around yourself. Still mentally kicking yourself for even pestering him so much about a stupid party.

König took his jacket off and handed it to you. Like nothing happened.

“I’m okay, we’re 2 houses away” you say.

“Please put it on. I know when you’re cold.” He replies.

You give a tired smile. “I’m fine really.” What you really wanted to do was get to your car and cry.

When you arrive at his house you grab your purse from the kitchen counter and begin to walk towards the door, looking down at your feet.

“I want to go home, I’ll call you later, okay.” attempting to not look a him or cry 

König looks down at you. He puts his hands on your shoulders and rubs your arms. His eyes now stare at the floor.

“Please don’t leave like this. It’s not a big deal.”

You exhale. You chew on the inside of your cheek, but you can feel tears.

“It isn’t a big deal to you. But it was a big deal for me.”

“It’s just one party. Please don’t be like this.” He is almost annoyed. What was wrong with him today?

“I’ll just call you later, ok? I just want time to myself.”

You move past him, walk to the driveway, and drive home.

*

As the events replayed in your head and the embarrassment crept up you started to feel tears run down your cheeks. How he kept walking in front of you while you spoke, how he looked at you like he was bigger than you and your party was unimportant. How he just dismissed the whole idea of it.

His words replayed in your head. “If you’re patient with me, I promise to be worth your while.” Where was this guy?

You arrived home and settled into the couch. You opened up your laptop to see that your +1 had been approved.

Well so much for that. Maybe you could bring one of your friends. Surely your coworkers would forget how you've been endlessly talking about the mystery guy you had met at the dark hours of the night at a grocery store. You felt the embarrassment again. Tears flowing down your face.

He was so mean tonight, thinking he was so above a party.

A notification popped on your phone. It was König.

You shut your phone off before even reading what he could’ve said. You didn’t want to continue any conversation with him right now.

*

The next morning you decided to not attend the party. You already felt low. You hovered over the send button to tell the coordinator that you would not need the +1 or a spot for yourself.

A knock came from the door.

You stood up and walked over. You looked through the peephole –König. You forgot you didn't respond to him last night.

Once opened, you see König standing there. He looked a bit tired, the way his shoulders slumped, his hair was a mess as if he slept on different parts of it but didn’t bother brushing it out. 

He’s staring at you, eyeing your face. 

“Can I come in? I want to talk.”

Oh great…

You nod, and step to the side. He follows you to the couch.

He’s there staring at you fidgeting with his hands, he begins to crack his fingers.

“I know I was nasty yesterday.” He huffs out. He continues, “I don’t want things to end like this.”

End?

He steps closer,

He reaches towards you but flinches back, puts his hands in his pockets again.

“It’s not fair to you, and I’m...” he stops and you can see his hands ball into fists inside his pockets. “I’m sorry.” he weasels out. 

He looks at you now, straight into your eyes, and moves closer.

“I know I told you about being patient with me, but I wasn’t patient with you yesterday. I need to be patient with you as well.”

Your bottom lip starts to quiver and you hug him.

He feels terrible now, he never wanted to make you cry. His hands rub your back as he brings his head to yours.

“Please baby, I am really sorry. We can go to the party.”

You look up at him, and say softly “Why didn’t you want to go?”

You can see his eyebrows pinch together, he runs his fingers through his hair. It’s his turn to open up.

“I .... I have never been good with people, or conversations, or friendships. I know how to hunt people down, not keep a friendship.”

You can feel his heartbeat through his chest. Thumping fast, as his breath is uneven.

You bring him to the couch and sit on his lap.

“It wasn’t like you were going to be left alone, König.” you say softly. 

You think about the times that your friends would leave you alone at parties and you had to begin conversations with strangers. It came easy to you, but you hated that as well.

You start to blush, “I wanted people to meet you.”

He stares at you, exhaling, “I can do this for you... I want to do this for you.”

You smile, and place both hands on his face, kissing him through his mask.

"I promise I'll be there for you."

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

[shalotttower]

A Spoonful of Sugar

Title: A Spoonful of Sugar Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: Sweet? Cute? What you really are is deadly. Word count: 500+ Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader Notes: yandere Chrollo, captive Reader, blood, not very graphic description of murder aftermath, Reader kills a man.

There's a certain look Chrollo has when he's trying to figure something out, a quiet contemplative expression. He has beautiful eyes, but ironically they're also your least favourite part of his face. They seem bottomless at times and remind you of predatory insects – spiders or praying mantises – dark and equally unblinking. It makes you feel as though he can see straight through you, like you're nothing more than a thin layer of glass. Creepy.

Right now this gaze means he's thinking about you. You aren't sure why it bothers you so much. Maybe because it feels intrusive, maybe because there are things about yourself that you prefer to keep hidden, despite his persistent resolve to drag them out into the plain light.

"Well," he says slowly. "That's an interesting development, dear."

There's a man on your floor.

And a spoon, sticking out from the man's eye socket in the most inelegant fashion.

You have to admit it was a rather creative use of improvisation on your part, although you wish Chrollo wasn't here to witness the rest. It's embarrassing, having someone watching you struggle to pull a utensil out of a man's skull. Difficult and messy, especially since the spoon is wedged in pretty deep. The handle keeps slipping through your fingers each time you try to get a grip on it, making the task even more awkward.

"Are you going to help me or just stand there?" You grumble, trying to grab onto the wide part for the third time.

Your bathrobe is ruined, so is the carpet. The soft sound of Chrollo's footsteps is muted, and then he's suddenly against your back. Calm and steady heartbeat, warm breath on your cheek - that's what Chrollo is when his hand wraps around yours. "Like this," he guides your fingers into a better position. "Pull up and twist."

You do as instructed, tug hard and the spoon finally comes free with a wet squelch. It's a grisly mess, and you throw it into the sink. "Gross."

"Indeed."

He doesn't move from behind you, instead choosing to remain in your personal space. Of course. You can feel his eyes with the back of your head, and there's no need to turn around to know what they look like. Dark and intense and focused utterly on you.

You don't like the soap here, you think, squeezing a generous amount out of the bottle. Sharp and pungent, it smells a little too much like Chrollo's cologne and reminds you of long nights spent tangled under the soft silk sheets, his lips tracing patterns over the delicate skin of your throat.

He takes a sponge, rubs it across your fingers in gentle circular motions. It's a tender action, yet you feel nothing but irritation. "I'm perfectly capable of washing my hands."

"Of course," Chrollo agrees easily. His thumb digs into your hand until you relax the fist you weren't even aware of forming. He keeps doing his thing.

"I think there's a lot you'll have to explain, dear."

You sigh, watching pink water swirl down the drain.

"But first let's clean up this mess."

[sneepseverus]

Texting Snape Headcanons

Yeah, I know canonically technology doesn’t work in the wizarding world, but disrespectfully, I don’t care. Also this is obviously assuming Snape is living in today’s time.

Warning: NSFW under the cut (minors DNI)

SFW

Snape needs some time to get used to sending/receiving messages instantly. He’s gone his whole life not doing it, so he doesn’t see a need for it.

He values his peace and privacy, too, so hearing a buzzing phone or text notification can irritate him easily in the beginning.

But he learns how beneficial it can be. If he needs you to get something or vice versa, you can simply send a message instead of making each other come home and go back outside to get it.

He primarily texts to make sure you’re safe. If you’re not living together and he knows you went out late, he keeps checking his phone to see if you’ve texted that you’re home and can’t sleep until he knows you’re back.

He writes in full, grammatically correct sentences as he would in a letter. It takes him time to understand what certain acronyms mean, and he forgets them easily, so he has to be reminded multiple times.

Emojis also confuse him; why can’t you just use your words? But he finds certain ones like 🖕 funny.

He leaves you on read a lot unless you’re asking him a question or need something from him. He doesn’t understand that it can come across as rude or petty because do all messages really need a reply? But if it makes you feel better to not be left on read, then he might just say, “Okay,” or “Message received” or even send a 👍 emoji.

Will never argue or send a long message over text; that’s what face-to-face communication and letters are for.

Loves it when you send him sweet messages like, “I love you,” “Good morning,” “Good night,” etc. but doesn’t think to initiate those himself.

Once he discovers voice notes, he utilizes them frequently. He doesn’t listen to them back because he doesn’t like the sound of his own voice, but if he’s working on a potion or if his hands are just occupied, then he’ll use them. They’re not always concise like his texts, though; you’ll hear him mutter “fuck” if he’s dropped something or pause if he needs to shift his focus for a few seconds.

Even if he has a smartphone, he only uses it to communicate with you and maybe some other people. He has no interest in using the internet, apps, or social media.

NSFW

If you send him a nude or semi-nude photo, he’d throw his phone and wait until his heart rate becomes steady before picking it up, not because he doesn’t like you or want to look at it, but because it’d catch him off guard.

He’d type for a couple seconds but then undo everything because he’s at a loss for words. You might feel embarrassed, or maybe you knew that’s exactly the reaction he’d have.

Spicy texts detailing what you want to do with/to him (and honestly even mildly suggestive texts) make him equally flustered.

He has trouble reciprocating, but he eventually gets used to you sending these messages and even looks forward to them. He learns to keep his brightness low and incoming texts hidden unless he has unlocked his phone.

If you’re in a public setting and he’s horny, he’d text you to meet him somewhere more private (and leave it at that).

When he’s alone, he masturbates to your sexual pics/vids/messages.

Sometimes he purposely ignores your spicy texts just to rile you up. He types for a long time only to say, “Do you need anything? I’m going to the shops.”

If you have to be away from each other but you’re far too horny, he’d talk you through your orgasm. He’d have to resist masturbating himself because he’d want all of his attention on you. He’d send voice notes because he knows that his voice turns you on but only sparingly because he’d also want to tease you a bit.

He wants to keep all the hot photos and texts you send him, but he knows a thing or two about security, and he doesn’t know what he’d do if someone got their hands on them. Just the thought of it makes him angry, so he suggests keeping the photos to a minimum and physically coming to him when you’re in the mood. Yeah, it might distract him, but it’s not like the messages aren’t equally distracting, so might as well 😉

[leavemeslowly]

III. queen of peace

Pairing: Susie Glass x Edward Horniman

TV show: The Gentlemen (2024)

word count: 1472

warnings: angst, alcohol consumption, not-super-graphic smut, love/hate? relationship

„The queen of peace

Always does her best to please

Is it any use?

Somebody’s gotta lose"

Susie and Eddie become partners, tell each other some dark truths and well… Susie listens to him against her better judgement.

Susie and Eddie stumbled into his office, laughing about something that Freddie shouted after them when they left the party happening in the living room.

Eddie closed the doors behind them and moved to the front of his desk where he hid a certain document. He handed Susie a blue fountain pen and asked her to sign. Naturally, not with her real signature because that could prove their professional relationship to the authorities. She signed with a doodle of a gun. He then drew a middle finger next to it. Their deal was done. They were in business, together.

„So, now we are equals?”, Eddie asked after he put the document inside of a safe hidden behind one of many paintings purchased by his father. Susie smiled enigmatically.

„Ta, I suppose we are. I will miss giving you orders."

"I am sure you will continue giving them anyway.” Eddie moved to a mini bar and poured them drinks. She smiled at him, thinking that he was probably right. Susie also knew that he will be more than happy to take them.

“Any plans what you want to do first?” She asked when he gave her a full glass.

“No”, She lifted her eyebrows. “I mean I do, but not today. Anyone ever told you, you are a workaholic?”

That is why she appreciated his companionship. He wasn’t afraid to challenge her and say it as it was.

“No.” Her expression changed to a more serious one. "Everyone else is too scared to tell me the truth."

“I am not afraid of you.” He searched for her eyes and his voice softened as if there was another dimension to his words. „I know what you are capable of when I pushed you. I have learnt my lesson.”

Susie sat in an armchair behind his desk and looked very pleased with herself taking his place.

„When I told Gospel the truth about his brother what led to his visit on your estate, I did it because you lied to me. I was angry at you, Eddie. It was personal. Don’t betray me again.”

Eddie nodded and moved closer to her. He leaned on his desk when looking down on her and not knowing how to respond to her confession. Admittedly, he was surprised by it. She sounded hurt rather than angry but he didn’t pointed that out aloud.

„I told Johnston, back when I still considered his support that I do not want any of your family members hurt. Of course, you too, Susie.” He paused to catch her eye and ensure she understands. „I don’t want to fight.” She looked up and met his eyes with openness he wasn’t prepared for.

„Is there anything you want then?”

„You know I want a lot of things.” He answered vaguely but not without understanding the hints she was dropping. „And it is all your fault.”

„Oh, really? I don’t think it is, Edward. I think you have always wanted it all. Military, this whole protector of your family act were meant to conceal your ambition. You don’t have to hide from me. We have already showed each other our darkest colours.”

Eddie was blindsided by her words that caused all of his pretences to tumble and crush into pieces. She stripped him of his defences with few punctuated words. Susie knew it and couldn’t contain her smirk of satisfaction.

“Always so smug, aren’t you?” Eddie countered gracelessly. She rolled her eyes and raised from her seat. Her words were the first loud declaration of his deepest and most sinister thoughts. “You don’t what to hear what I have to say?”

“No, not particularly.”

Eddie knew better so raised to his height and looked down on her. Her perfume lingered around him and the truth was he was under her spell not other way around. Nevertheless, he will try to even out the odds.

“You have it all, right? You are immaculate in protecting your empire but not for yourself, not really. For your brother, your father. You have a fucked up notion of obligation from which you can’t free yourself. You should want something just for you, Susie. Something substantial because I know you are not easily satisfied. Is there anything you would want? Anything I can give you, perhaps?”

Susie’s expression changed but she still was almost rigid. She had her head slightly tilted so she could gaze on his face. Finally, she slowly leaned in. Her hand landed on his lapel.

“You have no idea what you are asking for.”

He inched closer to her face and slowly, testing the waters, placed his hand on her cheek. Susie shivered at his touch, probably because of a coldness of his signet. Her eyelashes fluttered when she felt his breath on her lips. Eddie wanted to ruin her perfectly painted red lipstick which tempted him so many times before. He knew it will happen but the wait was crushing.

“Come on, Susie, tell me. What is that you want?” He caressed her cheek trying to encourage her to relax. “Should I give you an idea?”

He noticed the way her throat bobbed trying to mute any unwanted sounds. It was satisfying, going exactly in the direction he imagined.

“You should just kiss me, Edward, and stop teasing. For your own good.” Susie regained her old self and an ounce of self-composure.

Her words were like a sound of a gun being fired. Eddie crushed his lips to her. She immediately responded with need he didn’t anticipate. Still, her taste, her small noises were like magic. Until this moment, he didn’t realise how much he missed closeness and simplicity of a touch. This need was pathetic. He called out Susie on her weaknesses but he wasn’t better when he turned them around and pinned her to his desk and manoeuvred her to sit on it.

„You do justice to your family name, Eddie” Susie mumbled between their kisses. If he could, he would roll his eyes but just laughed, too busy kissing down her throat. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it and he could not contain his moan. „So you like it like that? Not so tough anymore."

„You are talking too much, Susan.” Eddie raised his gaze to her stormy eyes. She slowly smiled but could not conceal desire looming there.

Her fingers slowly circled his tie and pulled it forcing him to kiss her again, but slower, according to her own want. She took it off and untucked first buttons of his shirt. Eddie's hands roamed over her back, then down her things and back up under he vest. Suddenly, she almost sobbed into his mouth. He discovered she wasn’t wearing anything under it so his cold fingers came into contact with her bare skin.

Her jacket dropped to the floor next. Before she could react, Eddie was moving her to stand in front of him and brace her palms on the desk. He wanted to evaporate her thoughts, end her worries and let her finally relax. He pressed himself to her back and she moaned feeling him tall and unyielding.

It was right how she fitted between his arms, almost a head lower and staring up into his eyes. Her own were glazed with pure want that if necessary would send Eddie to another war. He touched her jaw to draw her to him and kiss her thoroughly while his other hand embraced hers. Their fingers intertwined and she gasped when his hand slid down her throat to slowly embrace her breast and pleasure her with his touch. He observed her opened mouth and small cries she let out.

„Eddie, it is too much.”

„So do you know now what you want?” He was teasing but he needed her to voice her desires. Perhaps, it was not strictly necessary knowing his own desperate craving but he wanted her to have it burned in her memory. That it was her own decision to fuck him and let him close enough to see her vulnerability. He did not want regrets and another cause for war.

„Eddie...” She didn’t want to admit it aloud. Still, she tried to express it when he forced her to look at him and saw her eyelids half closed and felt her slow grinding against him.

„Say it, Susie, God, please say it.” He was slowly losing a fight he began when she on the other hand was regaining control. It was her turn to foreshadow all the things she could do to him. Against his better judgement, he clutched her thigh and finally pushed into her ass. Not expecting that, she abruptly tilted her head back onto his arm and thrusted back with more fierceness.

„Yes, Eddie, yes, do your worst."

[mazeinthemiroh]

Headcanon how skz would confess to their crush?

how stray kids would confess to their crush

genre: headcanons; fluff

word count: 1.7k

warnings: cursing, i got emotionally invested in hyunjin's and jeongin's so ignore me

pls like and reblog if you enjoy <3

bangchan

there's not a lot helping this man honestly

he spends days racking his brain for a good way to tell you that he is completely and utterly in love with you

should he make a grand gesture?

should he be smooth and nonchalant with it?

he's a libra so his indecisiveness is sort of a given lmao same bro

he even consults stays on his weekly channie's room live, only to be spammed with various ultra cheesy pick-up lines

if you were a transformer, you'd be Optimus fine

he ends up trying to do it on a whim

which is unlike him. he tends to plan everything to a T

but he feels that with feelings like love, there's not much to plan. he forces himself to be impulsive

and it works!

he makes it a casual affair: just two friends hanging out in a familiar setting (chan needed the familiarity to calm his nerves a bit)

and he just came out with it

"listen, i know we've been friends for a while. but i can't help the romantic feelings i now have."

he'd give a little shy smile, his eyes trying to look into yours but he can't hold your gaze for long enough.

"so, i was thinking maybe we could... go out? i'd think we'd be really good together."

lee know

my gosh

it takes so freaking long for minho to confess to you it's actually frustrating

infuriating, even

you guys are practically dating anyway with the way you flirt and feel comfortable with each other

people see you guys together in public and assume that you're already dating

so YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE

but nothing was confirmed

no words solidified a definite bond

so things felt a bit uncertain, even with the definite mutual liking between you both

minho takes his sweet time that's for sure

he just wants to be certain that you like him the way he does too. sometimes he has a hard time differentiating between people who are being friendly compared with people who are actively taking a romantic interest

he wants to make sure his feelings are being reciprocated in a genuine way

it's hard to read people sometimes

once he's certain that you like him the way he does, he will just come out and say it

"hey, you wanna go out with me?"

he would say it with a little, shy side grin. i mean how can you say no to that??

changbin

changbin is not-so-subtle about his feelings for you

it's written all over his face from as soon as you walk in the room

he's wrapped around your finger

and he's confident in himself too

so there's nothing really stopping him from just going up and asking you out

but he needs to know where your heads at before he makes THE move

considering he hangs out with you a whole lot anyway, this comes quite easily to him

"are you interested in someone at the moment?"

he'd ask. and you'd answer, "yes actually." and his plan goes downhill from there.

does that mean you're interested in someone else or... or maybe it means you're interested in him??

"oh? who's that then?" he'd ask, a jealous tone not well-hidden

"oh i can't say," you'd shake your head playfully.

he's suddenly quiet when he figures out what you're trying to insinuate. he'd thought this'll be easier.

you'd give him some help at this point

"but he's got an outgoing personality. big muscles. and a handsome face, too." you'd smile at him knowingly, hoping he'd take the hint.

he almost laughs at himself for not realising before. that's all the reassurance he needs.

"well, from what i hear, he likes you too. a lot."

hyunjin

oh, my precious hyunne

this man would only ever fall for someone who is really close to him

i'm talking best friends, joint at the hip, couldn't live without the type of closeness you share

you're his no. 1

and you know it

spending a lot of time with hyunjin on a regular basis and you know that, just by the way you catch him looking at you, there is something much more than friendship taking place

one time you were sitting on the living room floor with him, laughing your heads off

it was late and night and obviously, the perfect time for hyunjin to do your makeup

because why the heck not

he's making you look like a clown. why did he choose that shade of eyeshadow? and why is lipstick on your cheeks

"you look so much better like this" hyunjin teased in between hysterical laughs

"shut uppp hwang hyunjin!" you tried to push him away and prevent him from doing any more. "just you wait until i do your makeup."

after the laughter settled down he looked at you with a loving gaze. that was when you both realised how close you were together. there was such an immense fondness in his eyes that told you everything you need to know

and soon, his lips were connected to yours

his confession.

han

being close to han is your gateway to his mind

it's hard to imagine that someone like han, who can be quite hesitant and awkward with getting too close to people despite being loud and usually the first one to break the ice

that he could be so naturally himself with you

even as a friend, he's quite touchy. usually reaching out to hold your hand or pulling you in for a cuddle on the sofa

that's how you know that he likes you before he even confesses

he's not like this with anyone

it'd be when you are cuddling up together, pizza all eaten and anime playing on the tv

this was perfect.

han would let out a big, content sigh and nuzzle into you

the absent-minded phrase of "i love you" would slip out in this peaceful moment

and suddenly you both forget how to breathe. you raised your head off his shoulder.

"huh?"

"huh?"

...

the silence was unbearable

"i mean uh... i love this anime. yeah. it's my favourite. i've actually watched the whole thing so i don't know why i'm watching it again. anyways *fake yawns* it's getting late, i might go to bed."

you just chuckled at him, feeling so relieved of his feelings for you.

very smooth, han. very smooth.

felix

i'm so on the fence about him

like i can totally see him being hella romantic and thinking the whole thing through

he'll end up buying you flowers and a box of chocolates, you know, the cliche things that a cute af

and he will knock on your door and present you with these things with a beaming smile and some sweet words to serenade you off to the land of romance

OR

he will confess to you all at once

no warning, no coherent reasoning, no thought behind those eyes

just felix's enfp brain going absolutely haywire, we love to see it

i usually go with the latter for him. because, while he is super duper romantic and wants his feelings to come out in a perfectly curated way, the likelihood is that his intense feelings for you will get the better of him

he can't hold himself back before he even thinks about it

"you're so gorgeous"

he'd say as he looked at you from across the kitchen. the both of you had just finished making brownies together and felix couldn't help but find you the most attractive you have ever been right now

"oh?" you'd say, taken aback by his forwardness

felix's heart dropped for a second. but that feeling was momentary. he soon felt light and happy, and a smile breezed over his face

"yeah" he'd reply, warmly, "so gorgeous, i might even give you a little kiss"

seungmin

seungmin is so precious CAN WE TAKE A MOMENT TO APPRECIATE THAT

he is just so ;-;

anyways he thinks long and hard about confessing to you

which, in other words, means he puts off confessing to you for like so many stupid-ass reasons

what's putting you off seungmin? the candles? the moonlight? the fact that your venus isn't in retrograde???

like JUST DO IT

he builds up to it though, bless him

it's just in his nature. he wants to pace himself STREAM MY PACE BTW

he might warm up to it. perhaps becoming more bolder with his compliments for you

"that colour really suits you"

"you should style your hair like that more often"

"i find it so easy to talk to you, which is a rare feeling for me, honestly"

and soon he's buying you cute little gifts

"i saw this and thought of you"

i mean that's code for 'i love you' anyways but whatever

he finally gives you a very personal gift for you, with a note attached to it: "to the person i love most. you deserve it"

why you gotta make us cry like that seungmin, gosh??

jeongin

jeongin found it harder talking to you in person

he can be a shy bean at times

an absolute cutie-pie

but he didn't want you to just know him for his shyer side. he didn't want his social hesitance to push you away from getting to know the real him

luckily, you had each other's numbers

and the texting was constant

staying up all night just talking to each other. you both got zero sleep but the rush, the joy, the familiarity of these texts were more tempting than any type of sleep was

you got to see his witty, intelligent personality. his sense of humour. you got used to the way he teased you, and boy did you like it

these interactions made it ten times easier to talk to each other in person

but one night, jeongin confessed to you

"i fucking love you btw"

he wasn't drunk. he supposed he was sort of... caught up in the moment. it came out of nowhere.

waiting for your response was torture

he waited, and waited

and waited some more

nothing.

until the next time you met face to face. he was dreading this interaction until you grabbed him swiftly. your lips connected in passionate bliss until you both pulled away

"i fucking love you too"

[takenbypeter]

First Impressions

Bucky Barnes x reader

Words: 540

Number 8: “She’s so pretty it makes me want to punch myself.”

The question came out of nowhere like a left hook, though to be fair Bucky probably would’ve been more prepared, with a left hook.

“What was the first thought you had when you first saw me?”

You and Bucky had gone through a lot together, both before and also during your relationship. Being with them and for so long you knew that certain conversations weren’t always easy for Bucky whether it be because he couldn’t find the right words, or because he’s still getting used to letting people in after all those years. But, despite what it may have seemed to others, Bucky actually enjoyed those conversations. It was a special talk shared between only the two of you. But like always he was never prepared.

You wait patiently, the seconds going by. With each tick that passed on the clock, Bucky could feel himself overthinking the question and you could tell too.

“I know you don’t always particularly enjoy these conversations, and I’m not trying to hear a cute answer, I want you to honestly tell me, what was the first thing that you thought when you saw me?”

Buck’s cheeks tug a little, proving him to remember something as he thought about that first time, but his head shook from side to side as he made an expression one could only call bashful.

“Here, I’ll go first,” you’re already grinning like a kid who has candy hidden somewhere in their room. “I remember the first time I saw you, you were making that stoic expression that you do, the one where your eyebrow creases in the middle, and I just remember thinking, ‘wow, that is one handsome guy,’ and I immediately thought you were the most attractive man I have ever laid eyes on.”

If only you could turn a mental image into an actual photo, because then you could always get to look at the expression he was making as he shook his head in absolute embarrassment, but you continued. “And then I met you and you ruined it by being a dick. But then I learned you had a tiny good reason to being a dick but that didn’t change how good looking you were. And then you calmed down and we got closer and I’m grateful that we did,” you say, pressing your mouth against the scratchy stubble that outlined his cheek.

“Okay I told you my silly version, now what about yours?”

Grin still present on his lips he rolled his eyes before letting out a little breath. “When I first met you I didn’t think anything. You were a short moment in my life and I honestly didn’t care if I ever saw you again,” he paused while you gave him a winced smile, “ouch, little harsh.”

“But then I saw you again. And again and then the thought came to mind that you’re so pretty it made me want to punch myself. And I remember being so terrified of that thought,” Bucky paused again feeling the soft contact of your hand resting against his hand.

“But now I’m not so terrified.”

“Buck you are too precious, do you know that?”

There it was again, that precious smile that you loved so much.

-

Dialogue Prompts

[360iris]

POV: dating boris pavlikovsky as teenagers

You have to be outside to catch the school bus by 5:55am, so the term is full of sleepy mornings. The two of you sitting towards the back of the bus, huddled together for warmth after having to wait outside in the chilling, desert cold by yourselves in the dark.

Heads leaning against one another, your cheek presses into the soft fabric of his overcoat on his shoulder as you dose off almost immediately, blanketed in the tinted night blue, glad to gain even a meager ten minutes of sleep before you’re forced to start the day. Boris gently fiddles with your fingertips as he looks down at your form and out towards the passing scenery.

You eat the school provided breakfast in the cafeteria, listening to Boris and Theo’s early morning banter and chiming in at certain points as you gain energy. These mornings were filled with Theo’s infectiously mischievous smiles and Boris’ playful grins. Their laughter never failed to provoke pools of serotonin, no matter how despondent you previously were, you’d always find yourself feeling better in their company.

Teasing kisses that were one-thirds sharing a breath, one-thirds your mouth accepting his almost inaudible laughs as he gently nudged your head back while your lips pressed forward again, self-consciously seeking out his own. Notes of peach chapstick, the bitter tang of cigarette tobacco and the sweet taste of sprite spreading between the two of you. A small reminder of the soda passed between yourself, Boris and Theo at lunch- your odd group each chipping in what you had to buy it from the snack stand.

Boris is black jeans ripped and fraying at the knees, swiping greedy swigs from opened bottles in your parent’s alcohol cabinets and sentences with Russian and English chopped and screwed together.

Being with him is like staining your tongues red and blue with gas station slushies and feeling immensely pleased with the vibrant purple you both end the afternoon with.

It’s sweltering hot Vegas nights unable to turn the air conditioner on, so the evening is spent clad in your undergarments, splashing around in a tub filled with cool water- a dingy, plastic white box fan placed in the doorway.

And weekends sprawled out on the couch in front of the television, laughing too loudly at the seven o-clock sitcoms and piddling around in the kitchen searching for something to eat even though you already know there isn’t anything good hidden in the cabinets.

Summers spent sticking as much of your torsos as you can fit into the fridge to enjoy the coolness before grabbing an ice-pop.

Winters plopped down at the dinner table, happily failing at making mini gingerbread houses, feeling utterly pleased with the monstrosities you create. “What the fuck is that, Potter?” “Uh guys.. Popchyk ate my fourth gingerbread wall- I think I’m going to have to settle for a gingerbread hut.”

Boris tends to just know things with you, and those he spends a lot of time with and cares about. It’s mostly the eyes that give themselves away to him, thoughts and feelings becoming tangible with a simple glance. He’s able to pick up on when you’re upset or disappointed. And in the moments when you swear you’re just looking at him, (whether he’s taking a sip of his drink, knocking the ashes from a cigarette or brushing his hair from his eyes) he knows that you love him, without even having to say the words- though he always smiles when you do just for the sake of it.

He’s all hands. Whether he’s ghosting the pads of his fingers against your lower back as you’re walking, cupping your neck or sneakily pinching your thighs from under the table- his hands practically have a mind of their own.

And sometimes you think he’s all mouth. Pink lips nipping at the exposed skin of your neck, subconsciously biting your shoulder or indulgently kissing every inch of your face just because. Theo teasingly referring to you as Boris’ personal chew toy with how often he can be found softly gnawing on you in some way, shape or form.

[fatuismooches]

Ohhh my gaddd I've just read one of your ask and something just came in my mind like a freaking meteor. So in one of your fanfic where you mention that we might not remember a man with a big hat but surely he did. What if we are the reason why Scaramouche trusted dottore in the first place (sorry I don't know a lot about Scaramouche lore 😭😭😭) like what if Scaramouche saw us sleeping in a hidden room of Dottore's palace, he's just wandering until he stumble at the door where Dottore always go often which is weird because as far as he know Dottore never spend his time on anything other than his experiment and he has an entire basement(or palace even) to have an another one 3 floor above his main lab, so to answer his question he open the door and there he saw a body of someone in a bed like contraption that has some strange enchantment (this enchantment helps your body to not rot or age as the time past, it will be a bother some if it's some preserving liquid because Dottores likes to cuddle with your sleeping body as a stress relieved) he looked at the entire room and he sees all the picture of you and Dottore when you both are still in the akademiya, he saw how Dottore's eyes have become warmer and softer until he stumble to the last picture, this is the last picture he took before you fall to a long coma, he look at you with care and sadness and he knew damn well what the eye of a wishing, wanting man looks like and he can see it clearly in the akademiya Dottore' eyes. He looks more in the room stumbling into some trinkets, letters, paintings, poetry and different instruments that he's sure damn well that it didn't belong to Dottore judging with the clean writing and heart doodles. He looked more until he heard Dottore opening the door Both were shocked to see each other in this place, a lot of confronting and Dottore being angry and frustrated to see a coworker experiment being at the same room with his beloved the love of his life, his only life, the only humanity inside of him, his obsession, his beloved, did I say love of his life? But Scaramouche's curiosity is stronger and he asked him who's this human and he's shocked, because Dottore' speaks so fondly about you, for the very first time he saw an actual emotion in Dottore's word, it's very weird but at the same time it solidifies the trust he wants to give to Dottore because despite everything he is, he is still a human~♡

YES I THINK ABOUT THIS TOO EXCEPT MY INTERPRETATION IS A BIT DIFFERENT...

Human emotions are the thing Scaramouche believes to be his downfall, his weakness that he despises. And he knows for a fact Dottore was the same way, lacking obvious empathy for his test subjects and people in general, Scara included. In fact, Dottore was worse than him, at least he still held a certain fondness for kids and the elderly... Dottore on the other hand did not have anything of the sort. So for him to find out Dottore had a lover... comes as a shock to him. Though I doubt Scara would be able to find your room (Dot keeps that highly guarded and shi 😭) he might overhear some murmurs of your name from the segments. And while normally he wouldn't care at all... they don't speak of you as if you're a test subject. Scaramouche knows well very, after all, of their tone with their... experiments. However if he did happen to find you or evidence of you, he'd be met with a sharp, cutting tone and no information whatsoever. Dottore wouldn't let a mere experiment pry into his personal affairs.

If you happen to wake up while he's still in the Fatui, he really wouldn't understand Dottore's obsession with you. You are nothing special. You're really just another mere human, trying to fight the fate of mortality that you were born with. No particular outstanding qualities... he doesn't understand what Dottore sees in you. The moment Scaramouche walked into the lab and he wasn't immediately harassed by one of the clones, he knew something was up. Usually, they had already prepared everything so that they could do those... "experiments" torture on him. Yet there wasn't any of that today. Because, as he found out, there was another guest in the lab of far more importance. You had woken up. Usually the segments would be scattered throughout the lab, but in this rare occurrence, they were all practically crowding you. You're the first one to notice the puppet, and you oh so casually tug on one of the segment's sleeves to alert him. He's met with the entirely disinterested expressions of the clones and "you are not needed now." Scara scoffs and leaves, but the sight leaves questions in his mind that he doesn't necessarily need answers to... but it's something to ponder.

After all of that, I still don't think he'd trust you or Dottore one bit. He doesn't trust anyone in general for that matter. You might be just as bad as the Doctor... he doesn't know, because there is no opportunity to talk to you as you are never alone. And Dottore is a whole other person normally. But Scara does think, human emotions are truly one of the worse things there are, for even the Doctor is affected by them... which may lead to his downfall, one day.

[lefluoritesys]

So I, as an alter in a semiverbal system and therefore sermiverbal myself, will! :D

Welcome to ways our system communicates that are not voices!

@dei-rising

Music. One of the first ways we learned to communicate was through music, songs, and beats! Sometimes certain melodies and lyrics help us communicate what we feel better than words do. Obvious enough, but when it comes to communicating through music, it's a bit more complicated than that. We have music channels with everybody who we talk to so we could "call each other out" or send songs to each other that we think others might relate to, which is our way of saying "we hear and see you." Our alters also associate with songs, and sometimes, when one of them is coming over, we can hear the song play in our head. Or sometimes even whole backstories and memories can be explained in songs and work the same! Our robots are, by far, the most interesting. Our co-host, also an alexithymia holder, has a feature "installed" in them that plays songs that explain their emotions since they can't do it on their own. Not out loud, only they can hear it, but it's effective and helpful for them to identify what they feel. We express whole stories and personalities through music.

Feelings. Easy one, or so it seems, but still needs to be explained to a lot of people as we figured it out. For us, it feels like feelings are being passed on, and as though you got the opportunity to, say... touch a ball with something inside, but there's a capsule that doesn't let you touch it or feel it on your hands. We're dissociated from the feeling and would forget it when it's taken away, but we won't forget the understanding that we got as to what it is. Sometimes, that capsule breaks, and we're covered in sticky emotions that are not ours, and it's hard to get it all off, especially since it breaks in so many pieces. Like pieces of slime that you keep finding all over the apartment and clothes after you drop it. Some of it may never go away, hidden in the darkest corners of your mind, but there nonetheless. A lot of the times, the feelings we get from other alters help us identify who's coming. Some of their energies feel cold, dark, and low for some reason, some are completely different. Those same energies, but mixed with feelings of excitement and satisfaction come when we're scrolling through same Tumblr and see something that alter likes. They basically go, "Reblog this! Save this one for me!!"

Images. The amount of times I was talking to someone in the system or outside of it and had images shoved into my head for one reason or another... I can't express just how much lmao. Whether it be memories or images of inner world places... sometimes, when one alter fronts, they ask for memories of what happened before they fronted and have them shoved in their head by the previous fronter. We don't communicate via images much. But there are definitely times when it's easier to just shove something in another alter's head than have to explain it, especially if you already explained it once.

Videogames. Don't even get me started on how much we used FNaF as a way to communicate and understand the world around us. It wasn't even about making others understand it as much as it was for us to understand ourselves. Explain the world around us to ourselves when nobody else seemed to be able to. We always felt different from others and had a different langauge than others, our favorite games, especially FNaF, became that language that helped us describe to ourselves the things we couldn't describe verbally. All those "silly made-up storylines" that typical people would enjoy as a show and move on, but that we would put in our own small world (which we now know as our language and our inner world).

Inner world sign language. Or just simple inner world language that is inaudible or impossible to translate to the outer world. We have our own sign language and regular made-up languages, and for both, we don't hear voices! Actually for the most part, we feel emotions, since our main inner world langauge is very much emotion-based. We can't hear what another alter is saying, but we understand them perfectly clear. It's an amazing way to communicate emotions. Same with sign-language, except we also have movements that we also may not see but understand. Many times, when I was mute in literally every way possible, somebody else would watch me sign and translate it for others around me. Some inner world (including ours) also have telepathy, which technically counts as voices since the perosn is making their voice known in your head, but some may count it as nonverbal communication.

Looks and body language. You know those action movies or books where the main character and their sidekick give each other those "special looks" and silently understand each other? Some of us who have spent a very long time around each other in the inner world do the same! It's probably only happening because we share a head, but it's really effective when you're talking to someone outside the system. I (host) could give our co-host The Look,a nd they'd know exactly what I want from or want to say to them.

Co-consciousness/co-fronting. The co-con feeling of sharing memories, feelings, and emotions (and others). That passive influence that you get from another perosn in co. That's also, at least for us, nonverbal communication! Cause when it does come to talking to someone outside the system, or even isnide, you may sometimes need to know the other person's boundaries or limits or memories. What best way to find that out than to aks that person to step in co and feel waht they're feeling or remember what they remember and better understand how to go about the situation or what to say, amr?

Continue if you have any more ideas!! I'd love to hear other's methods of communication that are not voices!! /g

-host

[ahsxual]

So if you're still up for some Matthew Lillard requests I think I have one :)) (Ps, I literally love your writing! It's awesome!)

Could you possibly do Dennis Rafkin x a trans masc reader who is insecure about their body due to dysphoria?

A/N: I'm so sorry for taking so long to write this! I'm so happy to know that you enjoy my writing, hun🥺 I hope you like this and I apologize if I wasn't very specific about your request, but I tried my best! Ty for requesting 🤗

Pairing: Dennis Rafkin x GN!Reader

You and Dennis have a very close and intimate relationship in every aspect, in which you both understand each other like genuine soulmates. By just a simple glance, you already knew what was going on in each other's minds and what you were feeling inside your big, delicate hearts

Dennis himself has a lot of insecurities, so he completely understands and supports you whenever you feel down because of your appearance insecurities as well

Over time, you realize he's actually a very clingy and attentive boyfriend, always needing your approval, support and care, and he's more than willing to do the same for his lover

"Stop thinking and saying those bad things about yourself, Y/N! It's not true! You're the most amazing and beautiful/handsome human being I've ever laid my eyes upon and I'm so glad that you love me as much as I love you, sweetie." he would say to reassure you while gripping your forearms firmly

"You're so perfect in my eyes, honey... I know this sounds cliche, but I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, because you'd never feel that way about yourself anymore."

You usually cry when you see his tenderness towards you, how caring and affectionate he is with you in those fragile moments. Watching your tears fall from your eyes makes him cry too, as you're both so vulnerable and open with your feelings towards each other

"You helped me see something worthy in myself and it's only my job as your boyfriend to do the same for my sweetheart. I never liked anything about myself before I met you, and I'm so grateful for that... so I won't give up until you see your true worth and your beauty... I promise you, Y/N." he confessed between soft sobs, his lips trembling from how emotional he was feeling in that moment

And he always made you feel better about yourself afterwards, never failing in his reassuring promises to make you love youself more each day

At the beginning of your relationship, he was too scared to touch you and so were you, because you didn't want to hurt him by being the reason of his painful migraines

But as your relationship developed, he began to crave your touch and affection, even if it meant that he had to see some bad visions from your past

Until there was a moment where he already knew all about your past, more specifically your darkest moments, so his visions about your life stopped "hurting" him at certain point only his heart lol

Since then, your relationship had grown stronger, as he knows every insecurity you have and vice-versa. Besides being romantic partners, you are also best friends, which has made everything so much better and natural for you, with no hidden secrets between you

That being said, whenever you're feeling insecure, Dennis tends to hug you and gently kiss every piece of soft skin on your body that you don't like until you're a giggling mess.

Sometimes you even fall asleep in his arms, your last memory being of him kissing you so lovingly and his big hands caressing the part of your body you felt insecure about

If you don't want him to touch you in those vulnerable moments, he'll respect you as he sits by your side while saying the things he loves the most about you and how you don't need to feel insecure about anything, because in his eyes you're perfection

He's so attentive and careful with his words, struggling to think which words and compliments he should say to help you feel better

He gets very nervous and stressed if his praises and loving touches don't soothe you, so most of those times you need to calm him down, even if it was you who felt bad and sensitive in the first place

At the end of the day, with all his efforts to make you feel incredible, you see yourself a little differently, in a positive way for sure, and you feel so much better because of your sweet boyfriend who loves you dearly and would do anything to make you feel happy by his side

[y-so-hungry]

Hungry Boy: Chapter 2

Summary: Adam has been hearing Joseph's poor belly growling all through his shift at the diner, and Adam finally asked if Joseph wanted to come to his place so he could feed him. Here's how that goes...

Notes: Hey everyone! This is a RP I did with someone, who wishes to remain anonymous, but was happy to share with you all our story! There will be 6 chapters, they're all part of a single rp and I had to break it into chapters to avoid the story being WAY too long for one post. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Tags (for the whole story, not just this chapter): hunger, stuffing, starved to stuffed, stomach growling, belly rubs, light bondage, masturbation, cooking, friends to lovers, M/M

Read on AO3

"Actually... I was wondering if maybe you would like to spend the evening at my place? You can eat there, we could talk... Maybe I could feed you?"

That last phrase had a certain amount of lust in it that Adam had not entirely meant for it to have, but at this point he couldn't take pretending for much longer.

If the diner were empty, Joseph swears he would’ve heard a pin drop at that exact moment. Did…he hear that right? Did Adam really say that? Oh God, does that mean he could see through him the entire time? He couldn’t have, he didn’t say anything to hint at it– his cheeks start to grow redder and his neck tingles with nerves and sweat.

It’s not just that Adam suggested it… it’s the fact that Joseph has thought about it more than once.

“…um…” he chokes out, mouth completely dry. “Can I– can I get back to you on that? I need the bathroom–”

His legs start moving before he’s even able to finish the sentence.

Adam opened his mouth, but once again Joseph had sped away before he could get a word out. Damn, did he mess up? It was hard to tell, Joseph was flustered certainly, but Adam wasn't sure if it was in a good way or not. His belly gurgled just then, annoyed at there being food in front of him and having only a fry to digest so far. He quickly started to dig into his food, his stomach grumbling hungrily with each swallow.

If Joseph wasn't out by the time he was done with his burger he'd go check on him.

Hurrying past the other employees, making sure not to make eye contact with any of them, Joseph slid into the employee bathrooms and promptly locked the door. He leans against the wall with a sigh, only to tense up as his stomach let loose many rumbling gurgles one after another. He cups his hands around it and closes his eyes.

“Fuck…” he sighs, feeling his legs cross over. “It feels so good…”

Only in his dreams could he imagine Adam asking him such a thing. Even the mere idea seemed foreign. To be fed by the person he’d been dreaming of kissing for months, especially with a stomach as empty and hollow as his, almost feels like a prank with some hidden camera that he has yet to find. God forbid it’s in the stall, this imaginary audience doesn’t need to see Joseph get off to his own belly making noises.

Just a few minutes, he thinks, letting the grumbles come out freely and biting back a moan. Just a bit longer and you can go out and tell him yes, you’d love to try that.

Adam meant to go back and check on Joseph once he was finished with his burger, but that didn't exactly go to plan. He'd been so hungry he kind of got lost in it, inhaling his burger and fries so quickly it took him a second to realize they were gone once he finished. By then he didn't want to stop, so he ate the chicken strips too, and was sucking down his milkshake before he remembered he'd meant to check on Joseph. 

His stomach felt much better however, and very suddenly he seemed to have a lot more energy to be thinking about how hungry Joseph was right now, being that he was no longer distracted by the noises in his own belly. Gods how all he wanted was to rub his belly and feel it rumbling under his fingers, kiss him while his stomach growled. He wanted to feed him and stuff him full, make hunger and fullness feel equally amazing.... 

Jeez I hope my face isn't too red right now.

A few minutes pass, and with a calmer mind and (finally) a calmer belly, Joseph unlocks the door and steps back into the diner, heading straight for Adam's table once again.

"Hey Ad–" he begins, before doing a double take at the empty plates sat upon the table. Had Adam really eaten everything already? God, he must have been famished. Joseph is quick to recover, however. "Hey Adam. Um, so...I-I'm sorry for just leaving you like that, I just… had to think… and I think I'd like to give it a try."

"Really?" Adam says excitedly. "You want to? You're sure? Sorry if I was too forward, I was starving and I--Well honestly it's hard to think straight around you even when I'm not running on empty."

You're rambling. Pull it together Adam, he thought to himself.

Though he doesn't mean to, Joseph can't help but smile hopefully at Adam's words. Can't think straight? Is he confessing something? he thinks. He can think more about it later, now he has questions to answer.

"Y-you're fine, I promise. I just- I wasn't expecting it is all. Um, if you don't mind waiting until my shift is over, we could leave at the same time...if you want?"

"Of course! And hey, think about what you want to eat, yeah? Whether it's diner food or something homemade by your favorite chef," Adam gives an overly charming wink, "I'm happy to give that belly of yours whatever it wants."

The wink sends small shockwaves along Joseph's back, reaching right up to his neck. If his cheeks became any redder, he would look sunburnt. Not only that, his stomach gives off another grumble, only this time it's a lot calmer, still empty but not strong enough to make him wriggle. As silly as the idea sounds, he considers the possibility that it too is yearning for Adam in some way.

"That… that would be nice," he mumbles shyly. "Okay, um, I'll get back to serving the other customers. Don't want to leave them with empty bellies, heh. S-see you soon."

As he walks away, he feels a mental palm slap his forehead. Why did you say that?! Don't think about the other customers! he yells at himself. Maybe his hunger is still just as strong as earlier...

Adam smiles at the small grumble Joseph's stomach makes, enjoying knowing that it's grumbling for food that Adam will be feeding it now. "See you soon," he replies. He spends the rest of Joseph's shift gazing at him dreamily as he takes more orders, serves more food. His stomach gurgles a few more times as he passes Adam, and once again all Adam can think about is taking him home and feeling that hungry belly in his hands.

The last half an hour feels like forever to Joseph, despite there being fewer and fewer tables to serve. Maybe the hunger is starting to make him slow down? Or maybe he's just too eager to go back to Adam's place and be fed something– either way, Joseph lets out a relieved sigh as he slips into the back and unties his apron, placing the notebook and pen away and wrapping himself in his coat. Thankfully it's a lot thicker than his uniform, so the rumbles from his belly are muffled underneath. He practically sprints to Adam's table when he's back in the diner.

"You ready?" he asks eagerly.

Adam jumps up with a grin. 

"Always. Want me to drive us there? Unless you'd rather drive yourself?" Part of him hoped he'd come with him, just so he could hear Joseph's belly grumbling along the way...

"Honestly, I think it's best if you drive–" Joseph places a hand on his belly absentmindedly, and surprisingly, it stays quiet. "I'm so hungry I don't think I'll be able to focus on the road."

"Aw you poor thing," Adam hums. He puts an arm around Joseph's waist as they walk out of the diner, his fingertips resting on the side of Joseph's stomach. "Is this alright?" he says in a low voice.

Joseph gasps, eyes darting down. It's happening, it's really happening- "Y-yes, yes, it's–k-keep it there, yes."

Suddenly, an idea pops into Joseph's head. With Adam's hand there, maybe he could… he quickly glances at Adam and, making sure to be as discreet as possible, he attempts to swallow a bubble of air and clench his stomach at the same time. The technique's worked before, maybe it'll work now?

"I'll get started on making you something to eat as soon as we get home," Adam says as they walk to his car. "I have plenty of ingredients for anything you might want, pasta, burgers, soup--" Suddenly Joseph's stomach interrupts him with a long, absolutely ravenous growl. He could feel the organ vibrating against his fingers, even through Joseph's coat, and before Adam could stop himself, his other hand had come out of his pocket and was resting against the front of Joseph's belly, feeling it rumbling under his hand. 

"Man," Adam said a little breathlessly. "You're really starved aren't you? You sound so empty...."

The vibrations from his stomach against his ribs, along with Adam's hands pressing into his gut, makes Joseph's eyes slowly slip closed, or at least enough to where he could still see. Holy shit, that felt great. Depending on how hungry he feels on the way to Adam's house, he's unsure if he'll even make it.

"I am… I'm so empty…” he drawls, tensing slightly when he and Adam step outside. "...um, when we get to your car, can I tell you something?"

"Of-Of course!" Adam says, and he takes his hand away as they want to his car, a cold breeze in the air. Once they reach it he has to take his other hand away too, slightly disappointed he wouldn't be touching Joseph's belly anymore. When they got inside Adam turned on the car to warm it up and then turned to Joseph. "What's up? Everything alright?"

Joseph takes his seat and pulls the seatbelt over, taking a deep breath. This is what he's been waiting for… well, partially.

"Okay, so...this is gonna sound weird, but...since we're already planning on going back to your house, I figured now would be a good time to tell you, heh. Um… I-I kind of… like it when my stomach rumbles. Like, a lot. I-I don't know if I made it obvious in the diner, but–that's kinda why I was acting so weird. I felt like if I didn't go somewhere to calm down, I would've… well, y'know."

It's definitely embarrassing to talk about, but Joseph can't deny the weight that's been lifted. In fact, the relief causes his stomach to groan loudly again, long and drawn out, but he doesn't hold back his pleasured humming.

"But fuck, does it feel good…” he moans, eyes closed in bliss.

Adam blinks, staring wide eyed at Joseph for a moment, hearing his words but having a hard time believing them. It feels a bit too good to be true.

Adam reaches over and places his hand on Joseph's stomach as it rumbles again, and he smiles.

"Feels good to me too," he says. He laughs at the surprise on Joseph's face and continues. "I actually have the same thing oddly enough. Usually I like it when other people's stomachs are rumbling though. Sometimes it's nice when I'm hungry--I mean when both our bellies were growling back in the diner I could barely keep it together--but something about seeing you so hungry… I don't know what it is but I can't get enough of it."

Adam’s hand on his belly makes Joseph bite his lower lip, unable to keep his eyes off of it. God, if only he were alone right now; he’d have so much material to work with in his head. For now, he’s okay with simply wriggling around in his seat as Adam’s fingers press deeper into his rumbling gut.

“I’ve… definitely got a loud stomach, that’s for sure,” he hums. “You know, I don’t know if this is weird to admit but… when our stomachs were rumbling in the diner, it was like I was living one of my fantasies. I don’t know if I, uh, still need to admit it at this point but… I think about you sometimes. When my belly growls.”

"Oh yeah?" Adam says, his voice growing low as he began to rub slow circles into Joseph's middle. "What do you think about?"

“Oh God–” Joseph’s voice wavers as Adam’s hand works in circles across his stomach. This is the dream. “Well…I think about you overhearing it and… asking if I’m hungry. I think about you rubbing it, and poking it when it growls… I… I think about you sitting on it and… mhh…”

His stomach gently whines, and his legs become a little tighter.

"Aww, hungry boy," Adam purrs. "Getting so worked up already, and we haven't even started the night yet." He pats Joseph's belly and moves his hand away with a smile as he puts the car into drive. "Wait til I get you home, I'll tease that hungry belly all you want."

Joseph feels a shiver run up his back at the thought. Pull yourself together, he thinks to himself. You don't want to waste it all in his car; you'll get even more at his house.

"Thank you..." Joseph says, feels much more relaxed than earlier. "Maybe I'll work up a few growls on the way there. Might try that air swallowing thing again..."

"Air swallowing thing--hang on, have you figured out how to make your stomach growl?" Adam says, a laugh of surprise and delight in his chest. "Damn you're a fuckin dream come true."

Joseph feels a chuckle rise out of him. "That huge one you felt in the diner? That was… yeah, heh. Hold on–"

He leans back, closing his eyes in preparation, and starts gulping continuously. After about six swallows, he clenches his stomach in and manages to put out one long, ear splitting grumble that lasts for a few seconds. Even when he relaxes his stomach continues to gurgle.

"God…” he sighs dreamily. "I'd teach you how to do it, but...if you did it now I think you'd just end up burping, heh."

"Jesus--you sound so hungry it's making me lose my mind, I can't wait to get home and make you even hungrier…” He leans his head back, still looking at the road, but finding he needs to shift in his seat a bit due to the sounds of Joseph's stomach. "What do you want me to feed you, hungry boy?"

"Hm..." Joseph licks his lips, a few ideas coming to mind. "You know, I don't know if this sounds weird, but… when I saw what you ordered sitting right in front of you, I couldn't help but think about what it'd feel like sitting in your stomach– how nice it would feel. Then you mentioned cooking for me and–"

The thought makes his stomach rumble deeply.

"...would you be able to cook the same meal for me? At least, whatever you have the ingredients for."

Adam smiled. "You got it. I bet your belly will be growling so much from the smell of the burgers… Poor thing will be ravenous by the time everything is ready."

A moment later they pulled into Adam's driveway and they got out of the car. Adam unlocked his door and opened it, giving a dramatic gesture for Joseph to go inside. "After you, dearest."

The gesture makes Joseph roll his eyes playfully, but he can't deny that Adam's new pet name sends shockwaves through his heart. "You're too kind, honey," he teases back, stepping inside.

[chezzabellesworld]

The relationship of Winona Ryder and Brittany Murphy

So I did the industry of these two and it was very interesting if I have the correct information for Brittany, so what we going by is there both Scorpio stallions yes, Scorpio sons for Britney and Winona, where were known as a Scorpio, Venus, mercury and sun. Britney is a Scorpio son, Scorpio moon, Scorpio Venus mercury and Uranus in my video on TikTok. I said this is where her image changed may have come from. It’s suggests that she’s a Leo rising and some of the way she behaves as she got older before her just before her death and a few years before then she was doing like really weird like stances and stuff and she lost loads of weight and people are worried about her cause she was so little She was an amazing actress and I’m not just saying that because everybody says the same but she was very underrated. so going into their charts anyway let’s dive in like I said they’re both Scorpio which shows their connection with each other which I’ve put in the picture. There’s one picture I’ve put up there of her looking down they’re holding hands and they look like a really happy couple, and also Scorpio gets down like that and it will but their Scorpio VS were different because they sat in different houses and all the Scorpio. I’m sorry so society like the third house Gemini ruled but in her chart it is Scorpio/Libra because it’s placid so either way the third house had an impact on her image in her industry. Where third house represents short journeys your neighbours and your siblings and while you are nurses in this house, mixing everything up. This could’ve been where her weird partner choice came in not with Winona, but with the guys you married before she passed, it could also be why she lost so much weight so suddenly and  changed .as we look she could’ve well win by the people around her to lose weight and fit in because that time the night late 90s and the early 2000s were very fat phobic and you had to look a certain way and all of her colleagues were shocked by the way she looked even coming from Stacey – she pretends to be white., anyway, let’s dive into the Mars signs, so we’re known as a Mars and Aquarius say a lot of this in celebrities which would explain the whole androgyny of Aquarius. Think David Bowie and things like that people like that Justin Bieber like he looked like a young lesbian when he first came out excuse the pun not, and Britney‘s Mars was in opposition in Leo. If the house is alright, these two are going to have a really intense strong physical bond. Having your opposition in your mouth sign the sex is going to be amazing from experience, but even on a but also, if there’s a Mars in the seventh house position, you platonic level, which I don’t believe from these pictures that it was, they can bring in a lot of closeness, somebody you don’t feel scared of it to get close to in a physical way where you might with other people, they feel good to you oppositions can bring out the best in a person.

As we look at were known as Venus and mercury sun, Lilith stallion in the 11th cussing it into the 12th house we can show that those areas of her life are very important. A lot of celebrities will have this northern hemisphere planet showing because that is how we like seen on the outside world, what is seen and what is below the 12th house is your hidden enemies. You’re seventh house is your open enemies I’m telling you if these two were together they were like gonna be a fire repair, but a picture. Tell us 1000 words. and the connection is there without even going into it you can see how close they were. You can see how much they love each other. There’s so many pictures of them together and for when she was better at hiding her profile in the public guy, where is when Brittany got older and she changed her look many pictures of her acting a bit not out there but a little bit little bit crazy with people She came into her own when she took the role in 8 mile with Marshall Mather sa.k.a. Eminem.

 if this is gonna upset you don’t even bother reading it. I will put this in block Capitals at the end because I know Taylor Swift fans get annoyed about the fact that she is completely gay but just like a picture and you say

So like I said, Brittany is Mars is going to fall into Winona’s eighth house there’s gonna be a lot of growth there and then we known as Venus I mean Mars is going to be in in Britney‘s seventh house of relationship, it’s gonna show the open enemies of the moles and mazes at your energy is tax drive and your passion and how you get things done so it can’t be all bad and this is how I read the charts together and also were known as rising for sign fools into Brittany‘s fifth house of attraction for Leo risings conjunct the Neptune conjunct tinge her Neptune so whatever Neptune is in your chart, it can create delusions in that area of your life. The fifth house is a Leo house which was creativity acting being famous children. Maybe she really wanted a child often rising have trouble conceiving I had once Gemini and Leo were Baron, but there you go that are nutshell

[adnauseum11]

Emotions so Comfortably Mixed

Logan x Reader

A side piece to my fic Northern Attitude, written from reader POV. I enjoyed mixing up the POV from the main work and may do another one. No previous knowledge of the fic or series necessary. Reader female coded but nothing explicit.

advice on how to tag better (properly?) welcome

1.5K words (no smut here but there is in the main fic if ya wanna check it out)

When Logan looks at you like this, with heated intensity behind his sharp blue eyes, you can feel the flush creeping over your cheeks.

He can be hard to read, but every day you feel like you get more adept at it. Right now, you would gladly bet on him being turned on and debating with himself about giving in to temptation. Namely, you and your mouth. He likes it when you pick at him, something your ex hated. You can’t help it, spent most of your life immersed in hockey culture. Chirping at people comes second hand, and nicknames are innate to how you operate with people you care about. Logan inherently seems to grasp these things, understands it comes from affection. You understand now too, having met the people who know him best, that nicknames aren’t something Logan does often. He’s had the same code name for decades, and only tolerates variations on it from certain people. He answers to the annoying one you gave him now without the grumbling that used to accompany it. The terms of the deal unspoken but understood amongst yourselves: reveal to no one the meaning and he will tolerate your continued use of it. You barely realize you’ve said it aloud until his attention fully swings your way. 

“mm?”

His big calloused palm comes up to cup the back of your neck, the warmth bleeding into your body. He always seems to have a hand on you when he’s in your orbit. You can’t say that you mind, his energy calm and steady when so often lately you feel unmoored and uncertain. He squeezes your delicate muscles gently to prompt you, and you find yourself getting caught in his gaze again. 

Pale blue irises are tracing the contours of your face, looking for something hidden in the slope of your nose or slant of your lips. You don’t know why you called for him, honestly. Probably just drawn by the latent heat in his gaze before your brain could get into gear. You know you’ve been asking a lot of his frayed patience today, and a warm affection for the gruff man surges through you. Now that he’s here...

“Will you kiss me before we leave?”

“Thought I told ya we can’t stay overnight?”

He answers with his own question, reeling you in with that big palm on your neck. The smirk that raises the corner of your mouth meets a matching one on his lips as he kisses you gently. He’s teasing you, but the truth is you both get greedy and engrossed in each other more regularly than is probably appropriate for people in your age bracket. Or his. You can’t say you really give a shit, and normally you’d be confident Logan feels the same but he’s wearing a few different hats on this courtesy run. The consideration being partially for you and partially for Tony Stark, owner of your transportation and invoker of the hard deadline you are now up against. 

“Yeah, you did. Just trying to make some nicer memories.”

The admission comes out before you can think it through, a touch more solemn than you had intended. It gets his attention immediately. 

When he kisses you this time, your brain whites out, unable to focus on anything beyond the sensations he’s creating. His fingers cup the back of your head, threading into your hair and making goosebumps sweep down your neck. His lips are firm and demanding, taking charge of the moment and catching you off-kilter with his sudden intensity. His tongue sweeps over yours, the heat and familiar taste of him addicting. A whimper slips out before you can get control, his sensory onslaught creating a flare of desire in the pit of your belly that demands some form of release. No thoughts come but your body arches itself into his, melting against the solid tension of his wide chest. Gripping the thick muscle of his neck only urges him on, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you break away to suck in an unsteady breath. 

He's breathing heavily against your neck, nosing along your jaw bone. Shivers run up your spine, the draw of his breath over your skin making goosebumps rise. You can feel your heart thumping alongside his even through all the layers of clothing, the beat mirrored in the low throb between your legs. You can’t help saying his nickname again, this time with a breathy quality that you know from experience makes him hard. The answering growl is nearly instantaneous, and you feel the edges of his teeth as he lightly bites the juncture of your neck. His big body crowds against you, and you let him push a thigh in between yours with a pleased hum.

“Behave yerself ya menace. Can’t even give an inch without ya taking a mile.”

He grumbles but you can hear the thread of amusement buried in his grump. 

“You’re only going to give me an inch?”

The words are out of your mouth before your brain can stop them and Logan huffs a laugh against your shoulder, his palm sliding down your spine to land on your mid-back. You tilt your head, lips brushing over the sensitive shell of his ear before he can answer. 

“So, just the tip then babe?”

You purr into his ear, sliding your palm over the back of his neck to tangle your fingers in his hair. He swats your ass lightly, the flare of pain dulling immediately into a pleasurable burn. Before you can put your mouth on his skin, he’s leaning back to get a good look at your flushed face and cupping your chin in the hollow between his thumb and fingers. When your eyes meet, he murmurs something in another language before kissing you several times in quick succession.

“Don’t tempt me. Tony has cameras all over the bird, yer gonna hav’ta wait a few hours before we can play that game darlin’.”

He switches back to English and part of you wonders if he even realizes he was just speaking another language. The corners of his eyes are crinkled in good humour and his eyes trace your lips before returning to your own. 

“mm, I’ll do my best, no promises.”

You shoot back with a smirk, tugging on his hair to pull him closer again. His face softens and he obliges, the heat of his lips descending on yours with delicious precision. You suck on his tongue when it swipes between your lips and the groan it elicits from him is filthy. The flare of desire in your belly leaps at his response, sending a thrill of anticipation spiralling through you. You feel him corral you into the wall of your cabin, pressing into your welcoming body. His thigh snugs up against the apex of your thighs, pinning you between him and the wall.

“Think I’m gonna need a promise ya menace.”

His voice is low and grinding and you mindlessly rock against his thigh in response to the shivers it sends down your spine. You can’t help staring as his pupils dilate, inches from your face. He sucks a breath in through his teeth but doesn’t move, slowly catching your chin in his grip again. He’s moving like he’s underwater – slow, with telegraphed movements. 

“I dunno if those cameras are live, and I’ll destroy that jet before I let anyone film us. Behave for the next few hours and I’ll make it worth yer while, darlin’.”

He rumbles as he moves, his hands dropping to explore your body. The gentle squeezes and strokes paired with his deep velvet voice make your brain go fuzzy, and you’re suddenly grateful to be caged into his muscular body. His presence is suddenly disorienting, like a magnet beside a compass. You grip his thick bicep as he presses kisses over your jawline, shifting back to assess your reaction to his proposal. You look at him from under your lashes, and the bolt of desire that slams through you when your eyes meet again makes you bite your bottom lip. His Adams apple bobs as he swallows hard but he maintains eye contact, his hands squeezing your hips before sliding upwards again. 

“mm fine, you drive a hard bargain, Pidge. I promise to behave myself on the trip back. I should remind you though -.”

You wiggle on his thigh, your own trapped thigh brushing against his bulge as you squeeze his bicep. His hissed curse turns the corners of your lips up in a smirk again. 

“Christ. Remind me o’ what, darlin’?”

He’s humouring your babbling, as he does when you get turned on and your brain detaches from the rest of your body. Your addiction to his voice means you’ll keep talking nonsense if it means he’ll respond. So he isn’t expecting you to be coherent then, when you reply. 

“You already owe me a favour, now it’s two. Better be good, whatever you’re planning.”

You taunt him, dropping your hand to his chest and letting it slide down his hard abs. The shock on his face elicits a quiet laugh in response from you, and then he’s gripping your wrist before you can cop a proper feel.

“Don’t worry darlin’, we’ll make some memories ya won’t forget. Just gimmie a few hours.”