#nine muses wild

[a9saga]

9muses - wild // because i've already posted figaro god dammit

[mercuryxbullet]

( ooc. ) tag dump.

[tweeds-rp-hub]

New Muse; Mangey Tails

[esamastation]

Part forty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty

-

"... So there's Natural Materia that grows and evolves and eventually spawns an offspring of exactly identical Materia that can then make the exact same journey - and then there's Artificial Materia that… doesn't?"

"You're really asking the wrong person - Genesis is the expert," Angeal sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "But yeah, that's basically it? Artificial Materia can still level up a bit, but it doesn't evolve or make a copy of itself."

Sephiroth nods, fascinated. "So Natural Materia basically does mitosis?"

"I… don't know what that is?" Angeal says, sounding lost.

They're walking through the forest, in between random encounters - following a wide old footpath towards the charcoal burner's house. The path has the signs of wheeled traffic where the dirt has really been compacted, but it was a while ago, and grasses have started taking real estate on the path. Still, it makes for easier walking than the wild, untamed forest.

"It's when something - a cell - splits into two identical copies," Sephiroth explains.

"Ah, then no, that's not exactly it - the offspring Materia is unleveled and undeveloped. It has to be matured anew," Angeal clarifies.

"Still. Eventually the offspring Materia becomes identical to the parent. It's asexual reproduction, at least," Sephiroth muses, fascinated by how organic it all sounds. Like Materia is actually a breed of organism doing what all living things do - eat and reproduce. And artificial versions are basically infertile! "I bet Artificial Materia still needs to be somehow seeded by the natural sort."

Angeal shrugs, helpless. "You'd really have better luck asking Genesis. Maybe you should send him a message, asking about it."

"Maybe I will," Sephiroth says, determined, and then looks up. "Heads up - bugs."

One random encounter later, they're back to walking.

"You know, you could actually just try using your Materia," Angeal comments. "Might give you some insight on how it works. Or do you not remember how?"

Sephiroth waves a hand. "You just push energy through the thing, it's not that hard."

"Then why not do it?"

Because MP is Qi, kinda, and using Materia basically burns it away. Or, well, transforms it. Part of it goes into the Materia being used, aiding its maturation, and the rest of it is transformed into whatever spell the Materia is for. It's very easy to use and very powerful and incredibly energy inefficient. And since Sephiroth still isn't sure whether he wants to take in ambient energy in the way of the locals, he isn't sure his MP actually replenishes? And sure, he could take an Ether, a potion that replenishes MP - but that's basically like drinking raw Qi, and the very idea is a bit alarming.

There's just a scary level of energy transference going on in this place, and his core is unstable enough!

Also Sephiroth would rather figure out how to consume the Materia itself, like you'd consume spirit stones - except he really doesn't need any extra Qi at this point.

"Maybe later," Sephiroth says and looks ahead for a distraction. "Oh, hey, is that the house?"

Angeal gives him a look, amused, but lets it go and looks ahead too.

The charcoal burner's house is built near to the side of a mountain wall, with three enormous charcoal kilns half carved into the stone of the mountain. The house is more of a homestead, with a large area cleared and fenced, with the house itself in the middle, a couple of storage huts, a stall, and a big shelter for wood.

It's a bit rundown, though. One of the storage houses has its rooftop caved in, and there's long grass growing everywhere. The charcoal kilns look not just cold, but like something had been nesting in one of them.

"That's strange," Angeal murmurs warily, looking around. "It… doesn't look like anyone's been living here for a good long while."

"Hmm," Sephiroth hums, crouching down to examine a footprint in the dirt. It's fresh. "Someone has been here very recently, though." Someone in modern footwear - with treaded soles. Not that he knows what kind of footwear the people of Wutai favour, but, still…

Angeal looks at the footprint and hums. "Be on your guard. There's something weird going on in here."

Cautious, they examine the place and find no signs of any monster attacks. What they do find is more footprints, all by the same set of shoes, going strong in the place and by all appearances checking out the buildings.

"Looking for something, maybe?" Angeal murmurs as they consider the footprints.

"Hmm. I don't see any signs of monsters," Sephiroth comments. "Didn't the mission files say the place was already attacked? Maybe we're in the wrong place."

"Maybe…"

While Angeal checks their mission files and coordinates to confirm they're actually in the right house, Sephiroth tries to figure out why it was abandoned in the first place. It wasn't sudden, that he can tell - whoever lived here had the time to pack up. Everything that's left was put away very neatly, too.

"Well, this is the right place," Angeal says, following him inside. "Either they got the coordinates wrong - or the intelligence."

"I guess it could be a trap," Sephiroth muses, poking around the charcoal burner's old office in search of any paperwork. "If this is really where an informant once lived, maybe that informant turned into a double agent and set a trap."

"You really think so?" Angeal asks, sounding more interested than alarmed.

"Not really," Sephiroth shrugs and picks up a crumpled piece of paper, someone's attempt at a letter that had gotten ruined by an ink smear. Gently he spreads it out on the office table to read. "Or else it's a terrible trap…"

The letter is addressed to someone's uncle, informing them of the charcoal burner's good fortune. Apparently their family had been invited by the emperor to live and work in the capital. Lucky guy.

"Maybe we should prepare for an ambush, just in case," Angeal comments thoughtfully, adjusting his gloves. "What do you think?"

"I think they would've revealed themselves already, if it was the case," Sephiroth says. "And this is a terrible place for an ambush anyway. It's far too open."

"Well, good thing it's not an ambush!" a voice calls from the outside before Angeal can answer.

"... Sounds like something an ambusher would say," Angeal mutters, clearly recognizing the voice, and Sephiroth chuckles.

Reno waits for them outside, lazily scratching at a bug bite on his arm. "Congratulations, you have been summarily recruited for a secret Turk mission," he says and motions around them. "Your station."

"Turk mission?" Angeal repeats. "It was you who sent out that mission file?"

"Yep," Reno agrees, shrugging unrepentantly.

Sephiroth watches him warily. He'd not interacted with Reno or Rude much, Angeal had kinda covered for him there. He'd not entirely sure why the Turks followed them to Wutai. Maybe this is it.

Maybe this is as far as he gets, before having to commit, one way or the other.

Sephiroth braces himself. "What's the mission?"

Reno grins and points a finger at him. "Your mission, starting right now, is to stay here," he says, "And get your shit together."

-

Man I've missed ff7 world so much. The whole magic system from Lifestream to Materia to summoning world ending Meteors from the sky is just 😗👌

I'm playing og ff7 while writing and none of the sequelsprequelsremakes come even close to comparing with how delicious Materia in the original game is.

[beenbaanbuun]

lord huron songs w/ateez

so listen…. i know i said nothing for a few days but sometimes your brain just thinks if something and then you have to do it because if you don’t you’ll forget about it!! anyway… i love lord huron so…

kim hongjoong - louisa

“i’m glad i met you,” hongjoong whispers to you one night as the two of you lie side by side on the hood of his car. whilst you lie watching the stars, distracted by the way the twinkle, hongjoong keeps his gaze firmly on you. the way the moonlight hits your skin has his heart beating at an unnatural rate; if he were to sit here and stare at you for much longer, he doesn’t doubt it would explode in his chest.

“yeah?” you murmur, voice sounding like a wind chime, bringing music and joy to his otherwise stormy life. he sighs, basking in the gentle sound for just a moment. “i’m glad i met you too,” you hum. hongjoong just shakes his head.

you’ll never know how he feels about you because you have a life outside of him. you have brightness and purpose; a job that you love and friends that care for you. you have happiness and passion; he has you and that’s all. monotony and routine take up his day to day, his simple nine to five slowly taking his resolve to pieces bit by bit. ‘good for nothing’ is how he sees himself and that’s how he’ll be remembered. he can only be glad that he met you when he did because now when he passes on in 60 years instead of just soon, loving husband will lie on his gravestone too.

he smiles at you brightly at the thought of you taking him by the hand and pulling him from the grave that he’s already dug for himself. your sweet words and gentle kisses helped him fill in the hole and pat the dirt back down. your tenderness and love spread the seeds and helped the grass grow back over the disturbed ground. it didn’t take long for that grave to become a thing of the past; a well kept secret that hongjoong would never share with another living soul.

he may have died, but your loving raised him.

park seonghwa - la belle fleur sauvage

the beat-up truck that sits outside of seonghwa’s stuffy office block sticks out like a sore thumb, the woman inside of it drawing the attention of each passer by. you don’t belong there, but perhaps that’s why people like to stop and stare. with beauty unmatched and a personality that even the strongest man couldn’t tame, you were nothing more than a fantasy to most of them. not to him, though. not to seonghwa.

he shrugs his suit jacket off and tosses it into the backseat through the open window. it’s lands with a thud, the expensive fabric all crumpled and disheveled. a year ago, the idea of treating his possessions so carelessly would’ve killed him, but as he crawls into the passenger seat, all he can think about is the woman sitting prettily behind the wheel.

“you know, you really don’t have to pick me up from work,” he chuckles as the door shuts behind him. “i appreciate the gesture, my little wildflower, but it’s a little far out of your way, isn’t it?”

you shrug as you start up the ignition, the rattly engine roaring to life.

“when has something being out of reach ever stopped me?” you muse, shifting the truck into gear, “you should know by now that it’ll take a lot more than a little car journey to keep me away from what i want.”

“am i what you want?” he teases, voice lilting prettily as he watches you try to hide your smile. he knows that if you didn’t have to keep your eyes on the road, you’d be sending him a look sharp enough to kill. though, even with that wildness in your eyes, seonghwa can’t think of a more beautiful person on this earth.

jeong yunho - fool for love

there’s a knock at your door, three loud thuds and then silence. a brief look towards the clock tells you that it’s late, but you can’t find it in you to worry. the danger of whoever is behind your door seems to be outweighed by your curiosity; who could possibly be coming to see you at such an hour? you shuffle to the door with determination, pyjama pants dragging along your floorboards as you search for the answer to your question.

your hand finds the doorknob, tugging at it lightly until the door swings open, a dear friend of yours waiting behind it. with a grin on your face, you go to greet him, but before a single word can slip from your tongue, his lips press against yours. it takes you by surprise, and yet somehow you don’t mind it; all it takes is a second or two until you’re kissing him back.

and then he pulls back, chest heaving with each death breath he pulls through his swollen lips. you brush a thumb against them, wiping away your spit.

“i’m leaving,” he says, as if that explains everything, “i’m skipping town and i… i need you with me… please.”

it’s not hard for you to pack your bags. in fact you’d say it’s rather easy. perhaps too much so to say that you’re saying goodbye to everything you’ve ever known. and as yunho loads your belongings into the back seat of his car, you can’t help but smile as you lock your door for the final time.

kang yeosang - until the night turns

you wake up from a dreamless slumber to your boyfriend staring down at you, tears in the corners of his eyes and a rattled expression painted over his pretty features. you frown at him, wearily lifting a hand to wipe away the droplets that had begin to make a path down the side of his face. in your hazy state, there’s not much more you can convince yourself to do; you hope that your wordless comfort is enough to settle him a little.

“i had a bad dream,” he explains, deep voice wavering like a scared child, “the world was ending and i just,” he cuts himself off with a sigh, “it sounds silly but i wanted to spend my last few hours with you.”

you can’t help but give him an amused smile. only he would let such a silly dream get to him this much, your sweet boy. it’s clear he needs comfort, and even with your brain only working at half the speed it should, you’re quick to tug him close and wrap him up in your arms; if it’s comfort he wants, then it’s comfort he’ll get. your lips find his temple.

“we can stay awake until the sun rises,” you offer, voice gravelly with sleep. he hums in appreciation as he huddles in closer.

“but what if the world does end?” his voice is pitiful and weak. you give him one long squeeze with your arms.

“then at least we’ll be together when it does.”

choi san - the man who lives forever

“you know how people say that no one wants to live forever?” san murmurs to you one morning. the two of you have yet to move from his bed, despite the clock on the nightstand letting you know that moon is rapidly approaching. the alarm has rang through the room at least thrice, and yet neither of you have dared to slip from the other’s arms. perhaps its what you both need, a full day of nothing, drowning in one another’s love. “i think i’d want to if you were with me.”

the words make you lift your gaze, your head that rests on his bare chest pivoting until you can see his face. it’s set in stone, expression deadly serious as he declares his intentions to live forever with you by his side. a petite grin finds its way to your lips.

“oh yeah?” you taunt, “and why is that?”

a large hand finds its way to the top of your head, gentle fingers caressing your hair as the man they belong to mulls over his thoughts. his expression twists thoughtfully as he pieces together what he wants to say. he’s handsome like this, not that he isn’t all the time. its just that the way his nose scrunches and his lips purse make you realise just how cute he is. you could fall in love with him all over again.

“because i think i could live in this moment with you until the day i die, and i’d still think it was too short,” his nails scrape against your scalp in a way that makes you instantly relax. you curl up into his body with a hum. “i want to have you in my arms until the sun explodes and takes us with it, and i’m not even sure that’ll be long enough.”

song mingi - moonbeam

“i had a dream about you last night,” mingi hums as you pass him a bowl of popcorn in preparation for your bi-monthly movie marathon. you toss yourself down onto the couch beside him, leaning in close as you grab a fist-full of popcorn and begin to slowly feed yourself. he takes your silence as a gesture for him to continue, popping a piece of the snack between his lips first. “yeah, it started off as a nightmare and then you came along and made it all better.”

you snort at the idea of saving your best friend from whatever demons choose to haunt his nights. you can’t imagine it’s anything too frightening; the big baby gets intimidated by the smallest of things. it really wouldn’t take much for you to be his night in shining armour.

“and how did i make everything better?” your voice is teasing as it comes out, but you genuinely are curious about the answer. you let your gaze meet his, taking no notice of how close his face is to yours. if you thought about it for more than a millisecond, you might have registered the way you can feel his warm breath against your face, or the way his pupils keep flicking between looking you in the eye and looking down at your pink lips.

“you kissed me,” he whispers, and despite your proximity, you barely hear it. “and suddenly everything was okay. all my bad thoughts were gone and it was just… you.”

you look at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to say to his confession. of course, it’s a shock to hear something like that from your best friend, but that’s not to say it’s unwelcome. he chuckles lowly at the way you stare at him.

“oh, don’t look at me like that,” he inches even closer, lips barely grazing against your own, “you can’t tell me you can’t see how much i want to love you.”

jung wooyoung - cursed

wooyoung moans into the kiss that you press against his mouth. hot and mouth wateringly delicious, he can’t seem to get enough of the way your lips feel against him. it’s like you’ve laced your lipgloss with cocaine or something because at this point, it’s an addiction, and try as he might, he can’t seem to kick it.

at this point, he isn’t even sure he wants to.

“holy fuck,” he mumbles against you, opening his eyes for just a brief moment so he can take you in in all your glory. puffy wet lips, swollen from all the lust and passion wooyoung had put into the kiss. a pretty pink tongue darts out to lap at the layer of his spit that glazes them, and he feels his brain go foggy. “i think you’ve cast a spell on me or something, baby. it’s the only reasonable explanation for why i’m so fucking obsessed with you.”

his lips find yours once more, tongue intertwining easily with yours. they play with one another for a short while before he lets you take over, relaxing his jaw a little to let you lazily lick into his mouth. something about you taking him up on his offer of control has him groaning into your mouth. you’re so adorable, even when you’re in charge.

“i’ve not done anything,” you whisper against his open mouth, pulling away ever so slightly to catch your breath, “it’s hardly my fault you took one at me and decided to make it your life’s mission to worship me.”

“shut up, brat,” he chuckles against you, chasing your lips with his own, “i wouldn’t feel the need to worship you if you hadn’t laid some sort of curse on me.”

choi jongho - mine forever

“if you never want to see my face again, i’ll understand,” the weak voice warbles from the other side of your door. it hurts to listen to after the fight you had last night, the wounds still fresh and aching. it’s even worse to listen to when you know your boyfriend doesn’t so easily cry, and yet here he is, sobbing on your doorstep. you swallow the lump in your throat, wiping your own tears away in a desperate attempt to pull yourself together. “just please, give me closure so i know how you feel.”

if you weren’t so upset, the situation would’ve probably made you laugh. it had been less than 24 hours since you walked out of his apartment and walked it back to yours, and yet the poor boy was acting like you’d left him with nothing for weeks. even despite the pain that swims through your veins, you can’t help but find his dramatics adorable, and you find a small smile gracing your lips as you finally move to unlock the door.

he looks a state, red, puffy eyes, hair matted and stuck to his forehead, lips chapped and bloody. you want to hold him in your arms, comfort him through his suffering. then you remember he caused this suffering himself, as well as all the pain that resides in your own chest. you fold your arms in front of you.

“you look like shit,” are the first words to leave your lips. he just stares at you blankly.

“i can’t sleep without you,” is all he says in response.

“you mean you haven’t slept since last night?” he shakes his head, and you feel your heart crack just a little. so much for pulling yourself together.

“i can’t live without you, baby,” he whispers as you invite him into your arms, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, “and i’m too young to die.”

[nighttimeoracle]

PAC: how do you inspire your soulmate/FS?

In their heart, you’re their muse and bewitcher. When the voice quivers and words fail to express how much they admire you, the truth will always find your way.

Pile 1

Justice, Ten of Swords, The Emperor, Two of Cups, Six of pentacles

They like when you get all serious and grumpy after you’ve made your decision—to go to battle💀. Ha! JK, or not? You have an iron will and are a natural protector. No matter if you act cowardly at times as when it comes to protect your loved ones, you will turn fierce and basically into a mama bear ready to claw some baddies’s eyes out. Too early for a +18 mention? Maybe not 😏. Your aggressiveness turns this person on. They like this wild part of you and you releasing the control you hold so dearly (might not apply to everyone, but some of you definitely are huge control freaks). They also admire the fact you get your priorities and morals straight, and you can stick to your choices ‘till the end. You’re stubborn and they respect that. It’s appealing to them that someone as small and cute as you (in comparison to them or that’s how they view you like “their little one”) could fight thugs and manage problems they themselves would be afraid of. “How do you do it?”, I heard. You aim for doing everything on your own and refuse the help offered by those worried of you, which would ultimately lead you to sickness and feeling burn out. Your person appreciates greatly your independency and they would let you do anything you want, but they still worry a lot about you. You and this person are quite similar in character, so they have no right to chastise you for your excessiveness. They’re proud of you and you inspire them to keep going forward. By any chance did you thought of your soulmate when you picked this pile? You’re definitely going to marry your other half, darling. Congrats!

Hello💞 if you liked this reading and wish for a customized one, you can check my list of services here and my lastest offers here.

Pila 2

The high priestess, seven of wands, two of pentacles, ace of swords, nine of wands

You have a dark feminine energy. Whether you’re female or male, you have this sultry and mysterious aura around you. You’re like a chameleon; ever changing and you can show people what you want them to see. You’re in charge here, wow. You remind your person of a female fatale, and they love it. When I said “ever changing”, I didn’t mean you had mood swings nor you’re volatile in nature. You’re smart and reflexive and you have many opinions, even views on one topic that are contradictory to each other. You always have something to say, but I’m under the impression you usually don’t speak more than necessary. You rather surprise people with an interesting comeback or sharp remark. You like to feed the mysterious reputation you have. If people say you’re a vampire, then you will put on an act for them with the goth clothes and dark makeup. You’re a show men or woman. Not like Leo or the rest of fire signs that are high key. You seek to entertain yourself, but you end up entertaining the one who is paying close attention to you—your lover. You’re their dark muse, a naughty one. You might start the tradition of inciting the other so an argument can break out. You two could play-fight and mock each other, until someone gets actually mad and you shut their mouth with a deep kiss. Your person loves heating arguments as they usually lead to a fiercer match in the sheets. However, what they admire the most about you is that anyone can talk to you about anything. You’ve been through a lot, dear, and that turned you into an empath and good listener. You don’t have to tell them anything as they know of your suffering, it certainly shows in your energy. You give them courage to talk about their nightmares and the most weird and random stuff. They would speak to you about camping stories as they probably were a scout and/or those experiences are both the best and worst they went through.

Hello💞 if you liked this reading and wish for a customized one, you can check my list of services here and my lastest offers here.

Pila 3

Four of pentacles, queen of cups, six of swords, nine of pentacles, the fool

Out of the three piles, you have the most feminine energy. For both female and males, your aura is luminous and pure. Your energy feels refreshing and… natural? You could remind your person of the water drops on the leaves after the rain has passed, the smell of petrichor, and the pleasant sound of a near stream. If you’ve played closed attention, I wrote about 3 out of the 5 human’s senses. Your person can’t ignore your presence when you’re around. “You´re too cute and have the charm of a child”, I heard. They mean you’re just like a maiden or little boy—innocent, carefree, and loving. They might not think you’re otherworldly, quite the opposite. You’re the definition of what human should be in their opinion. You set an example for those whose minds have been consumed by social media, capitalism, and wars. You’re incredible, thus a rare sight. I got a glimpse of someone smiling wide and proudly. They find themselves lucky to be your friend. Whether you picked this pile thinking of a soulmate or future spouse, you’re definitely starting off as just friends. It’s weird, I think your person might get obsessed with you but not in a romantic sense? Not at first. They could be an activist or fighter for human rights and they would idealize you for who you are, a conscious being. I’m hearing the following message, “thank God I’ve found you! I’m not crazy! I met a person that’s just like me”. It’s like they’re oblivious to the way they act around you, and you entering their life would put their world upside-down. They will treasure you and adore you and admire you immensely, the list of his favorite traits of yours is too long for this reading. However, they can't put a name to what you are to them. A friend? Nah, you make them go insane and they don’t want to share you with anyone. I feel a strong sense of protectiveness, possessiveness, and jealously. Oh boy, this person might make you wait around for a bit, but right after they realized they actually loved you; they might pounce on you. They might even scare you! I heard, “I want to drink in your essence”. This person who at first was a loving and seemly asexual friend to you would turn into a famish lion with an insane sex drive.

Hello💞 if you liked this reading and wish for a customized one, you can check my list of services here and my lastest offers here.

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Masterlist 

The Flip Side (on hiatus)

Part: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7, 8,  9, 10, 11,  12

Ao3

Silver Springs

Part: 1,  2 ,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9, 10, 11, 12 (completed)

Ao3 

Growing Pains (post mob-life fic -- in progress)

Part: 1,   2,   3,   4,   5,    6

Ao3

Silver Spring AU Drabbles

Ao3

Little Nat Adventures :)

Rescue ~ Adopting Boone 

Rivals ~ Y/n meets another mobster

Couched ~ Wanda gets in trouble

Recon ~ Wanda and y/n meet 

Sushi ~ First date

Burn out ~ Wanda gets sick

Faux pas ~ Pietro gets drunk

Midnight ~ Wanda visits after being away for work 

Surprise ~ Wanda gives Y/n a gift

Graduation ~ Wanda crashes a graduation party. (18+)

Decoy ~ Y/n and Wanda get a new addition to the family 

Bickering ~ Grocery shopping 

Nine lives ~ Fletcher visits the vet 

Don’t Blame Me ~ Y/n witnesses Wanda’s drug deal. (18+)

Sunrise ~ Proposal 

Crisis ~ Finding out we’re pregnant

Caught ~ Wanda gets in trouble…again

Dreams ~ Y/n deals with old demons 

Training ~Y/n and Wanda spar

K.O. ~ Y/n and Wanda spar part 2. (18+)

Trials ~ Navigating pregnancy and parenthood 

Not As Expected ~ Wanda has her baby

Role Reversal ~ Y/n, the mob boss

Intruder ~ Coming home to an unpleasant surprise 

Field work ~ Boone helps Wanda at work

Broke ~ Y/n is introduced to the darker side of Wanda’s job

Ambush ~ Y/n and Wanda have the odds stacked against them

Wrath ~ Wanda comes to Y/n’s rescue 

It ~ Movie night with Wanda

Birthday ~ Y/n celebrates a birthday

Minefield ~ Y/n meets Bucky

Aberration ~ Y/n meets Nat

Nerves ~ Y/n and Wanda get married 

Reunion ~ Y/n and Wanda go to a high school reunion

Reunion pt. 2 ~ Y/n sets things right with Wanda

Repair ~ Y/n fixes the dishwasher and Wanda is very grateful. (18+)

Ennui ~ Wanda comes out to her brother 

A Night Out ~ Y/n meets Pietro 

First Time ~ Y/n gets a tracker 

First Time pt. 2 ~ Y/n and Wanda begin to recover 

Troublemaker ~ The dogs’ babysitting skills are put to the test 

Anonymous ~ Pietro receives a disturbing letter 

Night In ~ Y/n is left in charge

Girls Trip ~ Y/n takes a trip to the beach with some friends

Serendipity ~ Y/n meets Wanda’s high school crush

Serendipity pt. 2 ~ Aftermath of Wanda’s reunion. 

Reminiscing ~ Wanda’s midnight musings 

Preparations ~ Y/n and Wanda get ready for their baby 

Infidelity ~ Wand realizes her wife is hiding something.

I Did Something Bad ~ Wanda carries out a hit

Abduction ~ An outing with Boone goes wrong  

Struggles ~ Real world attention problems

Traffic ~ Y/n and Wanda travel abroad

Mama ~ Just another weekly dinner with the fam

Cross The Line ~ Wanda takes her wife to a club

Anniversary ~ Y/n spends a special day with Wanda

Honeymoon ~ How Y/n and Wanda spend the last night of their honeymoon (18+)

Better Than Cake ~ Y/n and Wanda celebrate a birthday (18+)

Out of Commission ~ Wanda breaks her wrist 

Kinks ~ Pietro brings his sister a gift

Road Kill ~ Y/n learns something new about Wanda

Stealth ~ Y/n has a lapse in judgement

If Anyone Falls ~ Y/n and Wanda’s first time together ❤️ (18+)

Appreciation ~ A break from taking care of new baby Natalya

2, 4, 6, 8... ~ Pietro misunderstands his sister-in-law’s intentions 

Separation ~ Wanda makes a horrible mistake while arguing with her wife

Separation pt. 2 ~ Continuation of part 1  

Competition ~ Wanda catches her wife with another woman

Late Night ~ Wanda catches onto her wife’s sleepless nights

Coming home ~ Fletcher’s adoption

Feud ~ Wanda betrays her wife

Playdate ~ Boone and Fanny hang out at the compound

A Day in the Life ~ Y/n and Wanda go out

Nightmares ~ Wanda wakes up to an unpleasant surprise 

Cocaine Bear ~ Movie night

Wild ~ Y/n gets an unpleasant surprise 

Blackout ~ Y/n's first experience with expensive tequila

Phoenix ~ Lazy Sunday musings 

HBC ~ Y/n and Wanda take Boone to the farmer’s market

Brawl ~ Y/n trains with a recruit

Graze ~ Y/n finds herself in a shootout without Wanda

Decompress ~ Wanda helps her girlfriend relax after a hard day at work. 

Sick Leave ~ Y/n is forced to take some time off of work

Rainbow Bridge ~ Dog-centric drabble 

Trade off ~ Y/n saves Wanda’s life 

Breach ~ Natalya’s first break-in

Triage ~ Aftermath of Breach 

Stunts ~ Wanda makes a mistake 

Limbo ~ Important relationships landmarks 

Storms ~ Disruptive late night thunderstorms 

Karma ~ Family getaway

Negotiations~ Y/n sneaks out one night 

House call ~ Y/n receives an unconventional offer

Mile High Club ~ Y/n and Wanda fly to Europe

Better Help ~ Y/n goes to therapy 

Pretty Girls ~ Heart eyes 

Staying In ~ A lazy Sunday

The Sticks ~ Wanda needs a favor 

Something old, something new ~ New adventures 

Insomnia ~ Sleepless nights

Afterglow ~ Pillow talk

Let’s Groove ~ A night out 

Deprived ~ Sexting 

In The Night ~ Y/n getting into trouble

Routine ~ Wanda comes home 

Alternate endings

Too late ~ Y/n dies

Laid to rest ~ Y/n dies part 2  

Complications ~ Wanda dies 

Headcanons: (where I will ramble about my favorite alternate universe)

Silver Springs AU

[cxndiedvi0lets]

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Hi, Im Violet, and I'm 18+, Please ask for my age in DM. Thank you ! I'm a She/Her, but I'm comfortable with any pronouns. I'm also a founder of the band called 'The Nomads' and lead singer. I am an INFP-T, My house is Slytherin, My Cabin is Cabin 5 Ares, and my Zodiac Sign is a Gemini. I am also a Semi-Literate Roleplayer, and I'm dead. lol.

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[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER NINE: FOWL

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm

This is chronologically the ninth chapter in the series. Author's note: the timeline of this AU is vague, being that some events in season two has happened, implied to be a year ago, but neither Will or Hannibal have been to jail.

-‐-

“So,” says Hannibal, pouring scarlet wine into Will's proffered glass. “How much closer are you to establishing the identity of the Silicone Lover?”

The three of you are in the living room, as is customary on Will's frequent visits. The men sit so near to one another as to be almost touching, sensual in the incline of each listening ear and dancing strand of conversation.

You, conversely, inch as far into a corner as you can afford to without reprimand, your fist to your chin, a flimsy artifice of feigned disinterest in their chatter.

By this time, you are sobering into shame of your despair in Will's grudging embrace. He, for his part, seems near sick with regret of it, swallowing and rubbing at his temples like a poet over some gloomy work. Not once has he looked at or spoken to you since you slipped, cringing, from his lap, but you know that he thinks of you, his contemplation extending outwards on a phantasmal limb.

Still, it is of his case alone that he speaks aloud, dredging words up from a cistern in himself with a halting effort.

“I’ve been so deep inside the Lover’s head that I could almost... be him,” he says, through a wince. “Not a place I’d like to be for long. He’s looking for the perfect doll. None of his creations so far have lived up to the idealisation he has in his mind. That’s why he uses the silicone, and cuts the abducted women down to size. He wants them small. Biddable.”

Will sips at his wine. A red bead of it is a winter berry on his lips before he wipes it away with his rough thumb, spoiling the brevity of its mite beauty.

“Either the Lover is trying to form the girl of his dreams,” he says, “or recreate someone that already exists who, for whatever reason, he can’t have.”

“So they are substitutes,” says Hannibal. “As several young women were for Abigail Hobbs. Could the girl on this new pedestal also be a killer’s daughter?”

You glance up at the mention of the familiar name, and Dr Lecter meets your gaze, granting you silent entry into the discussion. He's had half an eye on you since your collapse into Will’s bitter mercy, intrigued by your burgeoning alliance.

Evidently his antiphon is to consent where his friend would deny you, and though you know yourself a tool in Hannibal's craft you allow such use, sensing it may benefit your cause.

“The Lover’s attachment to his muse isn’t incestuous,” says Will. “Not by blood. She’s inaccessible either because his proximity to her would make it too suspicious if he abducted her, or because to ravage her the way he does his other victims would destroy her, and that isn’t what the Lover wants.”

“What does he want?” you ask, and Will starts, a furrow creasing his brow.

“I was talking to Dr Lecter,” he says, shortly; he doesn’t turn to address you. “Don’t interrupt. It’s rude.”

The urge to laugh has you twisting your lips in towards your teeth, afraid to release the sound, lest you crack his scarce tolerance of your presence. The cinder of Will’s palm across your cheek is charred in memory, the impulse of his anger.

Hannibal says, “Perhaps it isn’t that the Lover’s paramour cannot be touched, but that to consummate that initial contact is a frontier that could never be reversed.”

Coaxed back into debate, Will considers the notion.

“He’s afraid he’ll kill her.”

“Perhaps he believes he will have no choice. A wild animal, having fled from its menagerie, is often destroyed to prevent what it may unleash upon those it encounters.”

“The only danger she poses is to the Lover,” says Will, and drains his glass. “He can’t stand the thought of giving up his profession.”

Dr Lecter’s face tilts rather dotingly aside.

“If our murderer had his betrothed in his arms, then perhaps he would practice another trade. Killing is a mere formality to the Lover. A means of disposal, not his preferred indulgence.”

Hannibal stands to walk the length of the room; Will’s head turns with a near imperceptible movement to follow, entranced, through his scepticism. Unable to look away.

“Consider the labour spent upon sexual assault and mutilation,” says Dr Lecter. “The comparative carelessness with which the Lover evicts his darlings when he exhausts their use.”

“That carelessness is their punishment,” says Will, “for daring to be anything but her.”

You lean forward in your chair, scarcely cognizant of what you do.

“Who is she?” you ask, and Will grimaces, his visage taking on a tuberculous cast.

“I– I don’t know,” he admits. “I can’t see her yet. She’s the only doll without a face.”

You are fascinated by the disquiet that has come over him, a reflection of what it is to wear the wants of killers until they feel almost his own. Hannibal, returning to his seat, decants another glass of wine, holding it in his own hand a moment as he examines his friend over the rim.

“How have your episodes been, Will?” he asks. “Have there been any more instances of you waking outdoors without knowing where you are?”

Hannibal’s gaze rests briefly upon you, and you realise, at once, that the topic has been raised partially for your benefit.

Will takes his glass with a terse fist, his eyes lowered.

“I’d rather not go into that while your patient is present.”

Patient. He is forcing distance between you, armouring himself against his illness, and your potential use of such knowledge.

Hannibal does not allow it.

“After all the ways in which you’ve held our guest, can you fairly exclude her from family matters?”

Will sneers, finally looking at you with as much ire as he can muster in his dishevelment.

“Is this a family?”

“No,” you whisper.

Hannibal says, “It’s becoming one. Time is required for the covenant to form.”

The younger man emits a sardonic laugh.

“If you say so.”

You find yourself struck by something far too like betrayal for your liking.

“Do you think she is a substitute for what might have been with Abigail Hobbs?” asks Hannibal.

“No,” says Will, firmly. “This is something else. I see the parallels you’re making, Dr Lecter, but they don’t align.”

Stung, you interject, “Yeah, because you wouldn’t have fucked this Abigail, right?"

The younger man almost writhes in discomfort, and shakes his head.

“No,” says Hannibal, coolly, more jarred by your coarse phrasing than by the question itself. “That wasn’t what she needed from us.”

The subtle emphasis on the pronoun discourages you from objection, being that you know what he has seen, in your house. What you have watched, while touching yourself in restless hours, your own hand to your throat.

“On the subject of your requirements,” Dr Lecter continues. “You don’t have to join us for dinner tonight, little one. I’ll prepare you a light lunch of seared fish and vegetables, and then you may retire from company early.”

Both you and Will turn to Hannibal, briefly united in your surprise.

“So we’re encouraging her, now,” Will says, and Dr Lecter chuckles, all loving indulgence.

“Far from it. Fasting can be practised in a healthy manner. Self-discipline need not be punitive. Our little one should learn this for herself.”

Considering the statement, you attempt, without success, to understand the machinations of his reprieve.

You cannot find it in you to thank him for the coal with which he has stoked the old flame of starving. But you are grateful for that fuel, no matter its source, and do not know which God of many to kneel to in acknowledgement.

Hannibal would think himself such a lord, with you and Will as his parishioners. Yet again, it may be that Dr Lecter is the churchgoer between the two men, the one who, as in your dream, may acquiesce, hands clasped, to a lover’s word.

“Am I allowed to do what he says or not, daddy?” you ask of Will, in the end, who tsks and all but flounces in defeat.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I’m not qualified to oppose Dr Lecter’s care. But when you regret it, I won’t be there to comfort you.”

You no longer believe him. Like Jack, Will has a partiality for the vulnerable, and though he may deride your other qualities, he aches for you in your suffering even as he worsens its sting.

*

In the auburn night you attempt The Idiot again, tearing through one chapter to the next as hunger rides you like death on horseback, a test against the grindstone of will. You’ve gone longer than this without eating, before, a day or two on water alone, and only sips of it, at that.

But the new frequency of meals in Hannibal’s home has reawakened your appetite, and your gut wails in craving of all that you abjure.

You think of descending the staircase and asking sheepishly for an invitation to dinner, but you would rather see the grave than the humiliation of admitting such hunger before your jailors.

Sleep is an impenetrable country, food the geographic distance between you and its gentle hold. By two in the morning you’re marching the room, yearning to weary yourself beyond appetite. Knowing that after the assaults and the erasure of your outside self you haven’t the mettle to maintain the long walk as once you could.

As you do every night around this time you try your bedroom door, a routine of soothing repetition. Again you find it open, which you have known in your soul that it would be since Hannibal had made his golden offer to you that afternoon.

Surely this, like the time before, is an experiment in what you will do in the slumbering house. You daren’t try for an escape— Hannibal will start from his bed at the sound of a window shattered, a door forced at the lock, and will catch you, barefoot in your lace nightgown amidst the night damp of fallen leaves.

Perhaps, knowing this, he thinks you’ll creep to him or Will instead for want of a love of which they’re bereft. The notion of familial synergy is the absinthe dream that Hannibal chases, shared blood in the appetite of lust rather than parenthood. 

You should remain abed, deny the doctor and his accomplice their entertainment. But hunger shoves you by both shoulders down the staircase, towards the kitchen door, and it lies open.

As in a fairytale you enter, thoughtless, moth-drawn to the flame that is food, in Hannibal’s refrigerator, prising back the hinge to reveal the luxuries within. Pretty displays of fresh vegetables and salad, labelled bottles of milk and cream, truckles of cheese, sliced meat—chicken, beef, ham—

You sway in the song of your hunger, attempting to bid yourself away with thoughts of how firmly you’ve stood against it, thus far, how strong you are, how in control.

In a moment your hand is on the shelf and unwrapping a pale slab of chicken, and then it’s in your mouth, and sectioned between your teeth, and swallowed. The taste of it isn’t chicken, but something else, and you don’t care until you see your face reflected in the refrigerator door, and realise the beast you are. What you have done.

You clutch your throat, attempting to calculate the calories—seventy, a hundred, a hundred and fifty, small numbers to a person not possessed by the spirit of disorder, but to you a devastation, the shattering of your sturdy fast.

It is Will and Hannibal’s fault, you decide, both having pinched you in a vice of brick with its store of feasts, intentional, evil. They have pushed you to break this vow of hunger you have made to yourself, and in that second of despair you thirst to be avenged.

Across the kitchen sits the knife rack, blades of ranging sizes and uses, each ground to a killing edge. You seize one from the middle and return to the stairs, pausing on the landing to consider the closed doors beyond.

Hannibal, you know, would overpower you with flippant ease, but Will, for all his protestations, is fragile. Breakable.

You approach his room and try the door handle with caution. Another left unlocked— fate has passed through the house before you, a goddess on gossamer feet.

In reverential silence you cross the room to Will’s sleeping hump on the bed and stoop over him, the knife raised in both hands, watching him twitch through unpleasant dreams.

In the dark Will’s face is corpse-like, ailing; you almost marvel to think this same man capable of the savage acts you’ve come here to kill him for. Perhaps his death will rinse you of the filth and pain that braids you into so gruesome a shape as you find yourself in. Perhaps his death will distract Hannibal enough that he tends to the cadaver rather than pursues you from his door—

You know not whether to slash Will’s bobbing throat or stake his chest, nor how hard to strike to ensure his death over injury. A mistake may be your end, not his, yet you lean with one knee upon the bed, the knife like a steel flame igniting the dark.

You contemplate how it will feel to kill, whether your form will throb with joy in excelsis, or if you’ll merely recoil, sickened by the blood, by the sounds and the many smells of dying.

But what of afterwards, when you have run, and Hannibal has turned to the police? He has the force in his pocket, and being that there is no mark of Will’s crimes upon your person you will surely be imprisoned for murder.

Tattle Crime will call gleefully of the act: “ANOREXIC CHARGED WITH STABBING RECLUSIVE SPECIAL AGENT IN SHOCKING ATTACK”.

Your family, your parents, stained and shunned for having raised a killer—

The reluctant knife withdraws, and you make to climb down off the bed. Disturbed by the lifting of weight from the mattress, Will stirs, muttering, then takes a seizing breath that jolts him suddenly awake. His eyes roll, glazed, before fixing upon you, a gothic figure in a pallid nightdress, holding a blade.

He tussles upright, rigidly alert. His expression is terror and fury, disbelieving.

“What are you doing?” Will demand, and snapping from the spell that holds you fast, you break for the door, thinking, even as you run, how few places there are in the house for you to hide that he will not find you.

Will follows in a sleep-numbed stagger, a corpse revived from the grave. He ought to be slow, but he is on you before you’ve gone further than the nearest corridor, shouldering you against a wall so hard that a shelf of ornaments jingles in ominous response to the collision.

You think nothing, only the animal blank of facing the bolt gun, the huntsman’s cur.

The knife rises, erect, between you, and Will folds your arm against the wall. His other hand wraps across your mouth, cupping your rising scream like the sea in a shell.

“Do you want Hannibal to wake up and find out what you did?” asks Will, in a coarse semi-whisper. “No? Then be quiet.”

His stare flenses the tallow darkness with a nocturnal literacy. He’s no longer trembling. The danger in him is well lived in, inherited from the killers whose minds he’s made his crown, and from his friend, in all his tutorship.

It’s what makes them so close, Will and Hannibal, almost one, synonyms of a pagan death.

You turn your jaw from your attacker’s hand and coax him down from his ire in a pleading moan.

“I’m sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was upset. I don’t know why I did it. I wasn’t really going to—”

“Oh, I know you were never going to go through with it,” Will spits. “You’re not capable. Killing isn’t in your nature. You’re too soft for that. Aware of the consequences.”

He looks you up and down with a sour leer.

“You wish that you were a murderer. You held that knife and prayed for something to come over you, a holy, righteous need for revenge. But it didn’t. Couldn’t, because you don’t believe that you deserve to be released from what others have done to you.”

His grip squeezes your wrist, and you gasp into his hand, smothered by your own breath.

“Next time you pull a knife on someone, you’d better hope that you’ve gained enough self-esteem by then to see it through,” says Will. “I don’t plan to kill you tonight, but someone else might. Maybe that’s what you were hoping for, after all.”

He leans into you, curls falling in dark links across his brow. He smells of bed, the damp pelt of animal, and bottled scent. His white t-shirt is nearly black with night sweat, his stale breath metallic against you.

There is a joist of firm flesh at your thigh.

He likes this. The chase and capture, even the knife meshed between the bones of your slippery fingers and his, the knowing that he could make a gushing rose of your throat with the most delicate turn of it— he loves it all, the rut-hunger of all creatures that look death in the eye and survive.

You look sideways at the blade, and with leaden reluctance, Will turns to a nearby bookcase to set it down.

“Little girls shouldn’t play with knives,” he says, and you give a hysterical laugh.

“Hannibal isn’t here. You don’t have to try and impress him.”

The young man chuckles softly.

“What makes you think Dr Lecter isn’t trying to impress me?”

“I guess he is. He brought me here for you.”

Will sneers.

“An unwanted gift. You make it difficult not to be ungrateful.”

Mirroring the cruel twist of his expression you attempt to glide away from him, along the wall.

Will’s arm shoots out, blocking your path.

“Let go of me!” you cry, but your voice has no force to it, only mounting fear.

“You think I’ll just let you go to bed after threatening to kill me?” asks Will, incredulously.

“Why not? You deserve it. You even said so. And maybe you’re wrong about why I didn’t do it. Maybe I don’t want to be like you and Dr Lecter.”

Something shifts in Will’s expression, a murky wind of silhouette.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re murderers,” you spit. “You killed somebody. Garret something.”

“Garret Jacob Hobbs was the Minnesota Shrike,” says Will, almost defensively. “He killed and mutilated girls all over the state. His wife became his victim, and he slit his own daughter’s throat. I had no choice but to shoot Hobbs. I acted. It had to be done.”

“And Hannibal?” you ask, trembling in Will’s hold. “He’s killed before. I know he has. I know. Please don’t lie to me.”

For a beat you think that Will won’t answer, his eyes shifting to some point down the hall.

Then he says, “It was self-defence. A serial killer named Tobias Budge. He broke into Dr Lecter’s house. Would have killed him if Hannibal hadn’t overpowered him. How do you know about that? He didn’t tell you.”

“Self-defence,” you repeat, ignoring the question. “I bet Dr Lecter liked it. I bet you both liked it. That’s why I’m here. So whatever you feel when you murder people you can feel with me all the time.”

You grope along the wall for the knife, half-heartedly, knowing your captor will never let you take it. He pins your hand down with a scrambling clumsiness, damp fingers locked into yours.

“Is that how it feels?” Will snarls. “Like we’re killing you? Because it should remind you that after all you’ve done to your body you’re still here.”

Then, as he speaks again, he invokes your dream, as though by psychic synthesis you conceive the same thought at once.

“It should remind you that Hannibal and I are the reason you’re still alive.”

You let out a cry of fear, involuntary and absolute, and again Will binds your mouth with his palm until you taste the dirt of his sweat, and cannot breathe.

Suddenly the heart of shadow that is Will’s face is mud and thunder, and he lets go of your arms to rustle your nightdress to your waist in an tenor of cotton and ribbons.

You struggle and strain against the wall, knotting your legs over each other against him. With ease Will parts them again and runs two fingers beneath the trim of your panties until they are buried in your satin angst.

They move with skill, with spite, with will to wound; tears start from you like a spring from mountain rock, and the cruel young man observes as they fall without sympathy, still playing your cunt with his hand.

He does not strike you as a man that beds women often, yet he has done so, to know how to smith such pleasure from even unwilling flesh. You can do nothing but submit to him, a blót to such gods as have taken you to bleed.

Sensation, salt-sweet, unburdens you of pain, and you find you can only stand through Will’s hold upon you. Cannot speak, cannot scream, as he cuts his pleasure from you. Like a sorcerer beneath the waves he has stolen your voice, as well.

Will widens your legs with the jut of a knee, loosening himself from his undergarments as he may take some drill from its hellacious box. You stare into his eyes, begging, without words, for him to revoke his darkness. The dark stares back, the mouth beneath like something dreamt of by heathens in its fathomless cruelty.

“You’ve earned this,” says Will. “Take it with grace.”

He lifts your right leg and clips it to his waist, unlatching access to your heat. With his sneer close to your cheek he runs you through, his cock a barbarous girth to which you cannot acclimatise, cannot accept as a thing that must be.

The bones of your back bruise against the cool wall, and your breath, beneath Will’s palm, is a simian pant-hoot of woe and suffering lust.

You do not want him, but to be propulsed into this place without agency is your liberty: what you feel is his fault, and you come apart like a snarl of soot in the working of his evil.

Will’s hand impresses its print upon your hip. His mouth comes to the crook of your neck in a bite, a kiss, or something worse. His slim body snaps like a birch switch against you, and he opens your centre to his girth until your mind is a vapour of fright and climax, wetting your legs in the rotten release of it.

Your captor feels the quake of your orgasm and, in recognition, follows, his groan muffled by your neck, his frame a trap against you, shaking into stillness.

Then he steps away from you, turning his head as you rearrange your dress, oddly chaste.

You look at him in numb silence, unable to move from the wall without his word.

At last Will picks up the knife again and nods towards the staircase.

“Let’s put this back in the kitchen,” he says, “before Hannibal gets up and notices that it’s missing.”

You follow him downstairs, soundless as a wraith, close to his side, as though by hurting you he has somehow bound you to his flank. Will returns the knife to its rack with meticulous care, considering it for a long time before he speaks again.

“I doubt this’ll be the last time you contemplate murdering one of us. That’s as far as I recommend you go.”

You search yourself for the ability to answer him.

“Why?”

“Wolves kill their rivals' pups to keep them in check,” says Will, “and Dr Lecter is not above emulating that behaviour if he thinks it’ll keep you in line.”

As usual, you cannot tell if he’s being literal or not. You settle to nod, and Will glances around the kitchen, his eyes falling on the refrigerator door where a greasy smear remains in the autumn moonlight.

“Your handprints?” he asks. “So you stole food. Should have asked to join us for dinner.”

You lean against a countertop, your head hanging, truly ashamed.

“I messed up.”

Will picks up a hand towel and rubs at the door until your fingerprints vanish.

“You live here,” he says, grudgingly. “It’s not exactly a capital offence to eat from the fridge.”

“No,” you say, in a piteous wail. “I mean I shouldn’t have eaten at all. I gave in. I ate. No self-control.”

You see Will’s shoulders drop, and he says, with pained neutrality, “That isn’t true. You gave your body what it needed.”

Half-sobbing, you pull at your flesh through your nightdress, gathering up handfuls of skin.

“I don’t know why you even want to touch me. I’m so disgusting.”

“No,” says Will, and this time he speaks firmly. “You’re a lot of things, but that isn’t one of them. I don’t want to hear you say that again.”

He passes a hand across his face, an exhausted reflex.

“Go to bed, One,” he mumbles. “And tomorrow you’re going eat again. I’ll see that you do.”

The next morning, red-eyed over coffee, Will watches you attempt your breakfast. He makes no comment, only waits as you masticate each scrap of beetroot and artfully scrambled egg twenty times until the slow process meets its finish.

Hannibal turns Will an unreadable look across the table.

“You look weary, this morning,” he says. “I thought I heard you wandering the house last night. Was anything the matter?”

You drop your fork with a frightened loss of coordination, expecting to be handed over to him for further hurt. Yet Will only puts down his coffee cup, folds his arms across his chest, and says, quite casually, “She was hungry, just like I knew she’d be. She went looking for food. I sent her back to her room. Nothing to write home about.”

It’s only when Hannibal carries your dirty plate back to the kitchen that you look up at Will, softening your eyes against the flint of hatred within you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

An almost smile turns the edges of Will's mouth.

“I’ll tell him, someday. Just not now.”

[astvrook]

sloman | lee heeseung.

genre/au: yandere x reader.

There has been a lot of talk surrounding "Sloman," the bizarre being that surface from the sewers in South Korea.

Lee Heeseung.

Throughout his school days, Heeseung had to endure the taunts of his peers, all because of his poor vision and reliance on spectacles. Heeseung's extreme shyness made him vulnerable to his peers' merciless taunts and physical assaults, often leaving him on the groud with injuries.

You observed his introverted and insecure nature, and could sense his anxiety towards his surroundings, ultimately leading to the awakening of his homicidal tendencies. Heeseung's submissive and obedient nature did not prevent the constant bullying from slowly chipping away at his dignity.

Ever since Heeseung met you, his once vibrant life has become dull. His enthusiasm for group activities, social events, and even the meetings of his favorite Computer Club has faded away. Interacting with exceptionally skilled students in his school, which he once found pleasurable, cannot inspire him in the slightest.

Within just a month, unverified rumors concerning Heeseung participating in unlawful acts such as stealing vehicles, causing disturbances in public, driving while intoxicated, and disobeying authority, rapidly circulated throughout the campus.

Heeseung was arrested after two weeks for assaulting a man with an alcohol bottle during a dispute. Your former classmate.

According to what you said, Heeseung experienced his first orgasm while briefly holding you from behind. As his intense orgasmic heat washed over your legs.

At first, you were just a fleeting thought, but for him, you became an all-consuming fixation.

You could see him in action as a clown, bringing happiness to children at parties and hospitals during charitable occasions. Throughout that period, Heeseung stood out with his distinctive combination of a buoyant personality and introverted tendencies. Despite his lack of ability to choose the right words to impress you.

Through his reserved behavior and often degrading experiences, Heeseung discovered comfort in participating in passionate sexual encounters with you as a means of quieting the inner turmoil within his mind.

Heeseung looked utterly drained, the scratches on his back telling the tale of his wild indulgence. He noticed that you constantly gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"You vicious little bitch, for you, I would attack anyone and gouge his eyes out."

Heeseung's burning desire would engulf him as he moves with fervor, relishing every part of your body with every deep movement.

The sensation of Heeseung's forceful kiss, which left you gasping for breath, remains etched in your memory with striking clarity. Indulge in the delightful feeling of his gentle tongue softly exploring your mouth, passionately entwining with yours as if he truly cherished your presence.

Heeseung felt truly alive whenever he was close to you. Your presence in his life was crucial, akin to the skin that covers his body.

He embodies the idea of an internal danger, a skilled and psychopathic individual.

By the end of the year, the officials found an alarming scene in his basement: nine bodies being devoured by hordes of maggots. Every person present had some sort of interaction with you.

While a young woman watched attentively, a young man rudely interrupted you to ask for your phone number. Lee Heeseung saw every person as a potential danger.

Many investigations have been conducted to unravel the motives behind "Sloman's" crimes, but none have effectively delved into the malevolent inclinations of the murderer.

You were the source of his inspiration, his muse. You never mentioned it.

Half a decade has passed.

As you slowly come to consciousness, you realize the merciless grip of the chair beneath you.

As your eyes slowly acclimate to the darkness, a horrifying sight unfolds before you: a wall that was once pristine white is now marred by a dense, clotted bloodstain, serving as evidence of a terrible wrongdoing from the distant past.

While examining the barren chamber, you notice some barely visible traces of blood from before, which sends chills down your spine.

You are currently facing a set of challenges.

The sound of a laugh in a grim environment is a clear sign that there is something amiss.

The distinctive laughter of Lee Heeseung.

Have you ever experienced how your breathing becomes faster, and a flood of panic takes over you with unimaginable intensity?

"Every individual, no matter how repulsive, has the entitlement to lawful representation and a final feast that offers them solace. I would opt for a delectable feast, relished with my beloved… (y/n)."

Your eyes turn towards Heeseung, and although you don't recognize him at first, a wave of memories hits you with intense force.

Heeseung's looks are still as stunning as they have always been. Since you last saw him, he has undergone a noticeable physical transformation, with an increase in both height and muscle mass. There is a noticeable increase in the definition and prominence of his muscles. He emanates a higher level of maturity from his appearance, and his countenance now exhibits a gravity that was previously absent.

In addition, he showcases his outstanding artistic skills through the use of non-traditional materials such as kerosene wax to recreate his famous clown makeup.

A wave of negative emotions washes over you.

The mere presence of Heeseung sent shivers down your spine.

As his words linger in your mind, Heeseung leans in to kiss you, and the simulated blood streaming from the wounds close to his eyes smears over your face. Gradually, your thoughts become muddled.

Heeseung's passionate and relentless kisses overwhelm your mind, leaving no room for anything else. The sensation of his hand sliding up your inner thigh sends an electric jolt through your body, forcing you to confront a painful reality.

"Your striking beauty and the fear you invoke within me drive me to behave in a manner that is less than desirable, (y/n). "

Your anxiety is so intense that it's causing an intense tingling and aching sensation throughout your body. The unbearable pain is so intense that it feels like your whole existence is about to burst into flames.

Heeseung felt an intense fury welling up from within, making his hands tingle with heat. He felt an intense desire to unsheathe his knife and pierce everyone's heart, a desire as powerful as the urge to take your next breath.

A fiery rage that made his ears ring consumed him, his chest burn, and a red mist cloud his vision.

"I was driven to complete madness in your absence, yet now that you're back, I feel whole again, (y/n)"

With bended knee, Heeseung's soft kisses caressed the contours of your legs. His rapid breaths muddled your thoughts.

You felt an instant tightening in your stomach when his thumb brushed against your pelvis.

You feel a fiery warmth spreading through your core, trickling down in a rolling wave that tightens your thighs. Likewise, you're overwhelmed by the pulsation of your heartbeat and the shuddering of your legs while you watch him moving his lips across your body.

You gasped as his tongue contacted your glistening sex. Your throat emitted a fierce growl, causing a sensation of passion to surge through Heeseung and spread to your toes.

Passionately, Heeseung ran his hand down your silky legs and raised your thighs up to rest on his strong shoulders. You had the strength to withhold from succumbing to the immense pleasure that almost consumed you.

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you have two men standing behind you? Their appearance is impossible to overlook. It's amusing how individuals can appear more appealing solely because of their use of similar cosmetics. This is quite peculiar.

You can discern them.

Jay and Jake are observing you intently with a composed demeanor.

All three of them were available at this specific location.

The Trifecta of Failures.

"Darling, dining together as a family of three is… such a tradition."

Nowhere was safe enough for you to hide from Heeseung indefinitely.

ENHYPEN MASTERLIST.

[sunflowersteves]

Sending hugs and wishes for a speedy recovery!

Prompt: “surprise .   send  an  unexpected  nsfw  image  to  my  muse” with Marc Spector

thank you, love!!! heheh I hope you enjoy <3

warnings || nudes, SMUT THEMES, dom marc, 18+ only

Marc makes his way into the small convenience store near your flat. After his patrols as moon knight with Steven and Jake, he always made a routined last minute stop to the store.

He picked up a couple of items that you needed, and making sure to grab some of your favorite ice cream that you had forgotten on the list.

His lips curled slightly at the long list of different chocolates and caramel on the label, affection blooming inside his chest.

His concentration stops when he feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket. He picked it up, immediately knowing it was you.

He expected some kind of message saying that you forgot something on the list or telling him to get home faster. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was a picture of you—brightly smiling—with a perfect view of your breasts.

His eyes comically widened, and he felt himself choke on air. “Jesus fucking—” He fumbled his phone, grabbing it quickly and smacking it against his chest.

He was breathing heavily, before practically sprinting to the checkout line. He stops, hurriedly placing the items onto the conveyer

belt. He impatiently thumped his index finger against his thigh as the old woman in front of him. She shakily, and at a snail’s pace, scans one of her items. His eyes flickered to her basket and sees that there’s still about nine more items.

He sighs, a hand over his mouth as the ache of his raging hard on sets in. He felt his cock twitch at another vibration of his phone.

Bed’s getting cold, Marcy :(

Oh, fuck. Another picture of you. This time, you were spread out on your shared bed. You wore his favorite lingerie—a deep red that caressed each and every curve.

He could feel his chest spark, a flush of lust against his cheeks. His eyes flickered once again to the woman filling ip her basket, just now on item five.

“Fuck this.” He muttered, taking the object out of the woman’s hand and scanning it quickly. She gasps, but he pays no mind, scanning all of the items at lightening speed.

“Thank you, kind sir.” He nodded, short and sharp. He scans his own items, cursing left and right before bolting out the door.

By the time he got home, it had been well over fifteen minutes. You were perched on the bed, patiently waiting for Marc to burst through the door.

You smirked to yourself as you pictured his disheveled figure, hands running through his raven hair—eyes wild with a certain gleam in them as he sprinted through the streets of London.

You hear the jostling of keys and a certain click of the lock before Marc busts through the door. His face was in a usual frown, maybe one a bit deeper than normal.

"Hi, baby." You say, almost purred it out of your plump lips. Marc doesn't say anything back, just pants. His chest heaved up and down as he took in your almost naked for.

He made long strides across the flat and onto the bed, not wasting any time to put his arms around you. "Did you think you could send that and get away with it, sweetheart?"

His voice was dripping in anything but sweetness. Instead, it was drowning in a promise. He presses a harsh bite to your collar bone, making you jump. "Marc—"

He doesn't give you time to react, hands squeezing your breasts and his lips kissing every part of your supple skin, making his down to your aching core.

He laughed at the high-pitched whine that escapes your throat. "You shouldn't have done that, sweet girl." He looks up at you, a stray curl springing in front of his face.

He knew you weren't sorry what so ever, despite the sheepish look that you conjured on top of your face. It was cute, that he'd have to admit.

He pried open your thighs, pressing a kiss to your clothed center. You gasped, jolting your hips forward. You could feel the wet patch almost becoming more as he rubs small circles against your clit with his thumb. "Marc!"

"God, are you getting dumb on me already?" He chuckled, already knowing the answer.

"I'm gonna eat you out until I say so, okay?" He paused for a only a second, running a hand up and down your thigh, "I mean it, sweet girl. I don't think i'm going to be able to stop."

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding, head dizzy from the quick contrast of Marc barely even touching you.

He smirked, "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He shoved your lingerie aside, relishing in the glistening of your sweet pussy. "I should get started then, shouldn't I, sweetheart?"

God, Marc could be such a cocky asshole sometimes, but you would be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.

[whumpndump]

CW: Blood, Amputation

"From now on, you will do as I say if you value your life." Whumper snarled menacingly.

"I'm nice though, so I'll give you ten chances. Your first order is this: kneel before me."

Whumpee stared defiantly from the floor where they lay crumpled. They sneered at their captor, narrowing their eyes.

"Oh, yes, you're so nice, kidnapping me and everything. Real stand-up behaviour from you there!" They spat, eyes darkening, "I will never follow your commands, you monster."

Whumper's aura of confidence shifted to one of slight frustration, glaring at Whumper like they were a particularly petulant child.

"Fine, you want to test your boundaries? I know mutts like you tend to do that under new masters." They grabbed Whumpee harshly by the wrist, yanking them over to a wooden table hidden in the shadowy corner of the room. There, they strapped Whumpee's hand in place by the wrist, palm down, tightening the leather buckle they used until their captive's flesh burnt red from pressure. They then locked it shut, to prevent any unwanted tampering.

"Ten chances, I suppose one of those would end up being wasted on a learning experience hm?" Whumper mused light-heartedly, rummaging through a storage box next to the table. Whumpee took the time to experimentatively pull against the strap, working the buckle with their hand.

"Oh, I'd move that other hand out of the way if I were you!"

Before Whumpee could fully grasp what that could mean, Whumper spun around, cleaver knife in hand. Quick as a flash they grabbed the little finger on Whumpee's restrained hand, pulled it away from the rest of them, and brough the cleaver down on it with a sickening crunch.

For a second, Whumpee felt nothing. Then, the white hot pain hit them with the force of a truck, and they screamed like a wild animal, their body going limp as they fell to their knees in agony.

Whumper doused the nub left behind in a sterile saline solution, tightly wrapping it in gauze, halting the bleeding. They picked up the quickly cooling amputated finger and crouched down, holding it in Whumpee's face.

"That's one chance gone, ok? I'm sure you understand not to waste the remaining nine."

Whumpee weakly nodded.

[chainofhyrule]

Under the Starry Night Sky

“Is there truly anything more relaxing than watching the world go up in flames? Name one thing, I’ll bet you can’t.”

“Being the one to strike the flint.”

Eyes of similar shades of blue and green all turned to look at you as the sound of your blade striking the flint in your hand echoed across the small clearing they’d found for a camp. There’d been an eerie glow to follow after as you set the campfire ablaze, and you met nine mismatched gazes with an innocently deranged glint in your eye. You only smiled, and put the flint back into your bag with a little chuckle.

“Have neither of you heathens heard of tea? Or maybe fishing?” Legend made an interesting gesture of holding a cup, looking at Wild incredulously. “Reading a book, even?”

Wild shared with you a doubtful look, and he cackled, speaking through his laughter.

“We’ll take an energising elixir and shock arrows over tea and a fishing line any day, thanks.”

You caught several members of the group rolling their eyes, some laughing, as you took the cooking pot out of Wild’s Sheikah Slate.

“As far as reading goes, Vet,” you mused, adding fuel to the fire (literally, and metaphorically,) “I’m not even sure Wild would use a book as anything more than a fire starter.”

Said hero only shrugged as a few members of the group, mostly Warriors, as he was currently reading a book, started poking fun. Wild only raised his hands in defence as he began walking over to you to get his slate back to start swiping through inventory.

“I’m just saying, they’re nice and flammable! Who cares about reading when you’re cold and in the wild?”

Time set down a piece of his armour that he’d been cleaning, and sat forward with his elbow on his knee. The whole image screamed ‘tired dad energy.’

“What of your warming potions, or layers?”

“Or those ruby earrings Y/n wears, or the diadem?” Hyrule asked, sitting back against the tree he’d collapsed against earlier. You only shrugged, peeking over at Wild as he handed you a few things to start prepping for dinner.

“I didn’t have them yet,” the hero said simply, looking over at you almost fondly, watching your hands as they worked. “It was early in my journey, anyways. Didn’t even know potions were a thing yet.”

Some of the group nodded in understanding. It was rare for them to hear about a time in Wild’s journey from before he met you, or Wolfie. They thought little of it, though. You, however, were close enough beside him that you noticed a twinge of remembrance in his dulled blue eyes. From the slight twitch in his expression—too small for any to have seen or acknowledged but you—it was something bad.

On your journey together, Wild had told you about everything he’d remember as he recalled it. When it was something good, there’d be a slight smile on his face when he came back from blankly staring into space. When it wasn’t, his eyes would cast themselves down in the dirt. Either way, you were always there for him. Just as you intended to be now.

“I’m lucky I found Y/n when I did, though,” Wild said softly, and his expression turned to that of joy. Everyone looked back up at him to see it. “I doubt I’d even be here if it wasn’t for them.”

Shoving the hero’s shoulder lightly, you couldn't help but groan in annoyance and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, lucky I didn’t kill you before I saw that Hinox!”

Wild barked out a laugh, surprising the others. Some of them laughed along, while others smiled happily. It was rare to see the champion so at ease, and until they’d picked you up from Wild’s Hyrule, they honestly thought such an expression on him was impossible. Whatever the two of you had gone through, at least Wild hadn’t had to go through it alone.

You were just as wild, crazy, and recklessly daring as he was. It was frightening. You were good for him though. That much they knew.

Twilight was your biggest advocate, though.

After a full dinner of prime meat and rice bowls (courtesy of yours and Wild’s superior hunting skills and Warriors’ rupees two towns back,) the group was quick to fall asleep. You offered to take first watch, as you were always more of a night person. Wild agreed to take second, and Twilight third.

So far in the night, the only sounds to keep you company were that of the crickets, the breeze, the crackling fire, and the boys’ snoring. It almost reminded you of your travels before meeting the group, where you’d often been alone under these kinds of stars. Until you heard Warriors grunt in his sleep, and remembered you were practically babysitting nine irresponsible heroes at the moment. Some liked to say that Time was responsible and grown, but you knew the truth. He was just as much a gremlin as Wind and Wild, if you gave him the chance. Which you often did.

It was almost an hour to Wild’s shift when you started to feel your eyes growing heavy, and had to shake your head a couple times to keep yourself awake and (somewhat) alert. However, just after shaking your head for something like the twentieth time, you felt hands grip your shoulders from behind. On a normal occasion you would have jumped or swung, but you recognised the way their fingers pressed into your muscles.

“Trouble staying awake, Y/n?”

Nodding wordlessly, you made room for your partner on the log he’d dragged over to the fire earlier, welcoming his company.

“You’re not supposed to be up for another half hour,” you mumbled, giving in to his arm wrapping around you to pull you in. You soon felt his cloak being wrapped over you, too, and a kiss was pressed to your temple.

“I guess I didn’t want to leave you all alone out here,” he said in a faux suave voice, wriggling his brows as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. You bit your lip to keep yourself from laughing out loud.

“That was disgusting,” you teased, and Wild quieted his laughter into your neck. “Did you learn that one from Warriors?”

“Am I that transparent?”

You raised a brow and looked up at him, smiling.

“You want me to be honest?”

Dropping his jaw in feigned offence, he slapped a hand over his chest and looked at you in fake hurt.

“My own partner in crime and life,” he said dramatically, “has hurt me so that I cannot bear to take to heart her offence!”

“Oh my goddess, Link,” you managed between hushed laughter, slapping your own hands over your mouth to lower the risk of waking any of the others.

“If I cannot maintain my unpredictability, then whoever shall I be?”

“Link, for the love of the goddess—”

“Oh, how you have hurt me so, my beloved,” he continued, threatening to crack with every word. “Have I not been faithful to you, my love?” He dramatically stood before you and kneeled to take one of your hands, and you fought the laughter until there were tears in your eyes.

“Link.”

The hero finally broke down, and his face flopped forward into your lap to muffle the sound of his laughter. You fell forward onto his back, trying so hard not to wake the others.

It was nice to feel so carefree, but if yours and his combined laughter woke anyone—goddess forbid Warriors or Time—you’d never hear the end of it. However, you couldn't bring yourself to care much about the risk. If Wild was happy sharing new moments like this with you, then you were ecstatic.

(Tap here to return to Masterlist)

[sunnified]

THERE SHE GOES !

synopsis. being guards of phoenix drop means not a lot of time with one another, however after a bumping into one another during work hours, you come up with a solution to fix that.

pairing. mcd!katelyn x gn!reader

content. established relationship, katelyn’s pov, one moan, a teeny bit of touching, really not that spicy just some light flirting and kissing

word count. 0.9k

a/n. wrote a lil request today after my exam, for this absolute cutie !!

the day is growing old, and the horizon dips into a paling orange as the sun sinks beneath the tops of pines. light streaks through the branches in brilliant, shadowed beams; they’re golden, shimmering across illuminated greens as a gift from the warm season. katelyn sighs as her boots continue to trudge along untrodden paths, flattening the wilderness as she patrols the surrounding forest outside of phoenix drop.

in her mind, the forest is where it’s easiest to breathe, expanding her lungs as air flows to the brain and soul. there’s a sense of kinship with the wild flowers, a feeling of belonging as her unnaturally iced eyes glaze over the surrounding areas. it’s beginning to get dark, and she should head back soon, but everything in the village has been so hectic lately and the calm atmosphere of the forest is too good to pass up.

her mind drifts from original thought, thinking of the first time she had ever docked in the place she know called home. it had been when she was still a member of the jury of the nine, investigating the whereabouts of a man she cared deeply for. back then, she’d been more willing to fight, living up to her title as the infamous ‘fire fist’ and executing her orders to the highest degree under who she know considered to be the enemy.

when she changed sides, pledging absolute loyalty to the lord of phoenix drop and becoming a protector for the village, it’d been a long time for any of the villagers to trust her. they’d tried to make peace with the fact a defected lived amongst them, but she knew that she’d never belonged amongst them. at least, not then.

she knows she bares the appearance of a warrior. her face is covered in scuffs, a noticeable scar cutting through her brow and leaving the permanent mark of battle upon her skin. she understands she must be intimidating, even just walking past the crops and towards the market.

a branch snapped behind her, and katelyn was quickly unsheathing the sword from her side, jerking her body to stare into the trees. her eyes narrowed, jaw clenching, as she went completely silent, waiting to see if the being sneaking up on her would show themselves. when there was no sign of any intruder, her steely voice called out into the branch coverage, “show yourself.” her leg moved back into a fighting stance, chin jutting out to make herself seem more threatening.

there was a beat of silence, the forest air still with thick tension.

then, you stumbled out of the foliage, hands in the air with shaky laughter trembling in your shoulders, “‘s just me.” you mused, raising a playful brow, “don’t hit, i might not survive.”

katelyn lowered her raised hands, sheathing the rusting sword back into the halter strapped to her hip, “you should be back by now.” she stated, surveying your armour clad body for any noticeable signs of trouble; she knew that you could handle yourself, but it never hurt to check.

“i came to find you.” she raised a brow at that, “lady katelyn.”

a scoff resounded from the back of her throat, and she recalled that out of the village’s custodians, you were by far the most unserious. in fact, she could probably write a longwinded script about how you seemed to be so carefree, especially in such tense times, “i asked you not to call me that.”

“well, i think it suits you.”

“ever the charmer, huh?”

“the garrison’s finest.”

she cracked a smile at that, shaking her head at your replies as though the world wasn’t experiencing tense times, “you’re unmanageable.” she sighed warmly, “come, the sun is beginning to set.”

the charming grin you returned was amusing, “what’s the rush?” your steps are light as you walk towards katelyn in the small clearing, despite the metal you wear weighting you down, “we have time. the village will still be there when we get back.”

as you near her, getting close enough to touch, her hand reaches out first, roughly pulling you closer. the metal plates fastened tight to both of your torso’s makes a nasty noise upon impact, but it’s forgotten rather quickly as you make quick work of pressing your lips against hers.

“mph—!” she protests, jaw slack as you pull away, “warn me next time, you nuisance.” she muttered under her breath, but her lips seek yours out once more.

her hands, scarred with the years of battle, landed on your waist, before she grew increasingly upset with the iron covering protecting your supple skin. her hands dug under the secured straps, chain mail clinking before she managed to lay her palms flat against the curve of your spine.

your arms find perch on katelyn’s shoulders, and she guides you backwards until your bumping into the bark of a pine tree. yet, your lips never disconnect, the obnoxious smacking fading into the air of the forest. your gasps are swallowed up by her, each cute noise that leaves you she selfishly commits to memory.

the sun is setting but dark has yet to appear over the horizon, and katelyn thinks she could spare a few moments here, in your arms.

it’s not like the village is going anywhere.

a sweet moan blesses her ears.

yeah, she can stay here a while.

[anodyne-sunflower]

I love the dynamic I've made between my recent male character (half elf oathbreaker) and Astarion so, I'm writing their story for myself ha. Just a little piece I'm working on, will post to Ao3 when done, hopefully.

He had a plan. A nice, simple plan.

And his plans usually tend to go his way. There's no fuss, no kinks in the threads of it...Astarion is just that well-versed in following through with them. Of course, it helps when your life depends on executing them with perfection, but then...what's his excuse for them falling apart now?

"Ow!" Astarion flinches back from a slight knock to his forehead, rubbing the area even though it really didn't hurt him all that much, given how gentle the flick actually was.

"Pay attention."

"You little--"

"Well, wouldn't need to resort to violent measures if you actually paid attention to me."

Astarion wants to say he always pays attention to him, that's the damned problem. Instead, he opts for a scowl, rolling his eyes at his current lover, because involving the theatrics was more fun (and safe) than being vulnerable.

Or admitting the truth. Which he has unfortunately come to accept--only to himself, of course. He wasn't that smitten...yet.

"I am paying attention."

"Then repeat what I just said."

"I--," a sigh, long and very drawn out because he was caught deep inside his thoughts just seconds ago. No one can blame him, he was dealing with a very life-altering fact at the moment. One that involved a very tall man, with cute half-point ears and all the build of a leaned, muscled human. Astarion kind of hates the man's parents for making him. What in the nine hells were they thinking creating such a divine mix of traits? Now he remembers using such a line on him months ago, when all were fast asleep in their camp and Astarion was craving his touch more than he cared to admit.

It's as if the gods made you just to ruin me.

It was a silly little game then, where words were just that--words, and any form of pleasure he took from him was strictly for transactional purposes. At least, to his knowledge and even that turned out to be quite the lie towards himself.

"Ow--gods dammit! Stop that." Astarion pouts now, though he hopes it still holds a menacing sneer to it. Judging by the snort of amusement thrown his way, however, he fears not.

"You're doing it again."

"Ugh, gods below--what?" It comes out frustrated, desperate even, because he's too busy musing over a man who is too pretty to pay attention to. That kind of beauty only begs for daydreaming, not reality. He'd apologize for such a vain display of thought but...well, look at him. Anyone would, and have much to his chagrin, stop for a moment to let their imagination run wild.

"That thing where you get this far off look and then proceed to ignore me." It isn't spiteful, more playful and half-amused. Of course, the idiot doesn't take offense to being ignored. He's too damn nice, too easy-going, too...annoyingly perfect. "Astarion, I swear to all the gods--"

Astarion sees it before he gets the chance to flick his forehead again, dodging at the last second and returning the favor twice over with a soft nip to his jawline. Sometimes he's quite content with the little bit of speed and reflex his unfortunate gift has given him.

"Little shit." Kye rubs the area, the site reddening from the trauma but nowhere near deep enough to draw blood. Astarion would never do so when squabbling, it'd be a waste.