#Second Person POV

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: I'm making a prologue to a couple of things. This will be remastered, but I will link the first chapter always before I can change it.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: A man finds himself where he shouldn't be...

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.

TW // Violence, Death.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Chapter 1} ⚠️Chapter 1 needs remastered.⚠️

His breath is broken; labored. He’s been running from the unknown in this damn foggy ass forest for so long that he’s unsure he could get out of it. He had lost his way a long time ago; that part was something he couldn't ignore. It feels like hes been in this forest for ages, when in reality it could have been only a couple hours. He hasn't slept, that means the day didn’t pass, right? …Where was his group? He was with a group of people he trusted with his life beforehand. He can't even find them anymore. They were close together, knowing how dangerous a foggy forest filled with things of shadows could be. Now there is nothing of them, no trace as if they had abandoned him. He definitely felt like it too: abandoned by his own brethren and sisters.

No, he can’t afford to even think right now. He knows something is pursuing him. Something smaller then huge, he's unsure. The… aura keeps shifting around him from all of his hairs on his body rising quickly up to the area feeling a lot more colder despite all of his running to keep him heated. It was… it was unusual. It feels otherworldly. Was he just getting hunted by two things or just one? Was he just imagining it with the shadows that move within the fog? He has to be. Nothing moves so quickly within the shadows like a damn phantom. He doesn't believe in ghosts!

He inhales, pausing his run to try and leave the accursed forest that looks like something out of a spooky horror movie: winding, leafless branches trying to block out the moon. The dead patches of grass here and there: creating puddles of mud. The thick fog that makes you think there is something with you, and maybe there is, for him. No, he knows there is, but he just can’t see it. He’s… he’s unable to. He doesn’t have… he doesn’t have something. He is not some apex predator like the thing hunting him.

His skin prickles at the coldness of the dark, twitching at the slightest sound. His eyes trying to see through the thickness of the fog and the night that’s only luminous by the moon. He swears he can see something small, human-sized before it’s replaced by a bigger figure a few feet away in the grayish fog, he swears it. Was this smaller figure running too? Was it a possible squad mate? If it was… he wasn’t keen on retracing his steps to just see if it was a squad mate or not. A coward he maybe called, but he really didn’t want to die to somebody else’s choices, even if it was his own.

Something snaps, echoing through the forest, and he immediately jumps back into action, not wasting his time. His legs carrying him in a direction, in any direction to get him to feel safe. He doesn’t care where at the moment. Not like he knows where he is, but he is afraid. He didn’t think he would die so soon. The age 37 didn’t play well in his heart nor mind to die at as he wished he could live until he was over a hundred. He wished he didn’t criticize the old for wanting to live that long when there was beauty left in the world he has never gotten access to see. He wished he was back a few hours ago, laughing with his squad mates. He wished he was back into the protection of his guardians.

He just fucking wishes he wasn’t in this damn spooky forest!

He lets out a quiet, dreading whimper while his own thoughts consume him for a moment. His boots thudding rhythmically; harshly into the ground. The metal decorations of his gear slightly giving a tink with each exhausting movement he does in order to keep his instincts alive. His head pounding way too fast, too loud in his head. He wants everything to stop! He doesn’t like this long feeling of fear draping over his shoulders, taunting him! Laughing at him! Urging him to—

The man yelps, falling to the ground, faceplating into the cold mud he had slipped on. The whole front of his gear and body now covered in the cold slick of the earth. His lips quivering as he looks up to the moon with glossy eyes and heaving breaths. The shine of the moon rays revealing an abandoned truck, troubled with vines and flora off to the left side of him, and he wonders… Maybe… the moon would lead him to safety? It’s the only thing that’s been helpful to him since he’s been in this damned forest of fear. Leading him to god knows where, but he follows the damn light like a kid running away with sugar they are not supposed to have.

Despite his belief of the moon saving him. He quietly whines to himself in frustration and dread. His hands grasping tightly at the mud that goes between his fingers with a squelch while he shimmy’s himself underneath the truck, taking it as a temporary safe haven until morning. If he can make it that far. His own heart is still pounding in his own ears while he tries to quiet down his whimpering breath. God! This forest is a fucking death trap! How was he supposed to get out?! Would he even get out at all? Was that possible at this point? Should he give up? 

No, he’s gotten this far—

His breathing stutters in his own lungs and stops. A whole new fear washing over him. His eyes staring at the boots that stand next to the truck, giving a little squish sound as this person shifts their weight. They were a bit small to be a male, and they seemed light, trying to be stealthy. Was this a squad mate of his? It can’t be, could it? No, they weren’t hiding like he was. They seemed more confident in their abilities… Were they… the hunter? Was this the person hunting him? This is what he was afraid of? A singular being?

Something cracks through the area again then, a low, rumbling growl as he closes his eyes briefly, expecting to be hit before slowly opening them again. It’s a warning call it sounds like, and the man takes quick note of how the persons boots… twitch at the sounds before quickly moving away, back into the shadows of the forest. That was not the person he was— should be afraid of. Something bigger is out there. Something that has complete control over the surrounding area.

He waits with bated breaths. Shifting his body onto his back. Eyes flickering up and down the underside of the truck, taking in its rusted form. Trying to calm his racing heart so he could finally hear what kind of beast was around him. Hunting him. He hopes the thing would leave him alone, forget about him, at least till the morning when he could see better. Maybe he could please the thing by giving it more of a challenge—

He lets out a scream. The truck he was hiding under was picked up and thrown away with ease. A cloud of rust eloping him, stinging his fearing eyes as he can hear the scrapped truck taking the trunks of tree’s down with a horrifying creak and rumbling thud that shook the ground. His form desperately scrabbling back with palms and boots; away from this– this dark creation of god! No, not even that. It wasn’t even a demon. This– this was something darker, something that a god didn’t– couldn’t create. This was– is a monster of pure evil. He was taught of these despicable creatures. They were not known for mercy, and he wasn't known to scream blood while the vibrant, red glare of the creature stares directly into his soul as if they were taking it out of him, collecting it for their own amusement while he chokes on his own battered body.

Perhaps… he should have never accepted the truth of these creatures. He should have stayed oblivious to their ways. Should have repented his hate as he wouldn’t be seeing the lifeless corpses up in the treetops, simply hanging there by their necks. Uselessly watching his own death come to play as if the dead knew all along that he would fall beneath their dull, blind eyes. It was a dangerous sign he realized before he took his last choking breath.

He dared to defy them and the creature would make him— them watch his death by their hand as they have died the same unfortunate fate.

[ladyymiisa]

PINCH ‘EM!

summary: katsuki just loves your cheeks!

tags: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader, fluff, katsuki and reader are still in high-school, katsuki is a tease

author’s note: starting the new year off strong with katsuki fluff!! i luv him sm

if there’s one thing about you that drives katsuki absolutely insane on a daily basis, it’s your cheeks.

those soft, round, ridiculously cute, rosy cheeks that make his brain glitch like an old vending machine. they give him such violent cuteness aggression that he’s genuinely considered throwing himself off a rooftop just to reset. it’s humiliating, really, how much power your dumb face has over him.

but watching you eat? that’s a whole other level of torture. the way your cheeks puff out with every bite, like you’re stockpiling food for winter, makes his eye twitch in equal parts annoyance and affection. he calls you chipmunk, because honestly, you might as well be one. it’s absurd, it’s irrational, and it’s ruining his life. but here he is, still watching, still obsessed, like the fool he is.

“kats—ow!” you whine mid food gulp, flinching as his fingers suddenly latch onto your cheeks like a crab on a mission. with zero warning, he starts squishing and pulling them, treating your face like it’s his own personal stress toy. “what the hell are you doing?”

you manage to gripe, trying to pry his hands off your poor, defenseless cheeks. your words are muffled as he stretches them in every direction, but he doesn’t bother answering. he’s far too focused on whatever weird satisfaction he’s getting from turning your face into putty in his hands.

“try that again,” he growls, giving your cheeks another firm pinch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “and i’ll squeeze ‘em even harder.”

you glare at him, your face still trapped in his grip. it’s hard to take him seriously when his smug smirk is stretched across his face like he just won the lottery. however, it’s clear that your discomfort is his entertainment, and it makes you want to bite back, but you can’t seem to muster the energy to do so.

meanwhile, katsuki is having the time of his life. it’s not his fault your skin is so damn malleable, like some kind of stress ball he can just squish and pull at his leisure. with every pinch, your face contorts in the most ridiculous ways, and it only makes his shit-eating smirk grow wider, as if he’s proud of the mess he’s making.

“y’look so stupid,” he mutters under his breath, loud enough for you to hear, though it sounds more like he’s speaking to himself. “stupid chipmunk,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost fond.

before you can even process what’s happening, his face is in front of yours, and with no warning, he plants a big, exaggerated smooch right on your lips. it’s awkward, considering how he’s still squishing your cheeks together, making your lips pucker out like a weird fish, but somehow, you can’t help but find it endearing.

then he does it again, this time a bit harder. and again. and again. each kiss lands wherever he can reach—your lips, your nose, your forehead, even your eyelids—like he’s trying to cover every inch of your face. you feel warmth spread across your chest from the tenderness of his gestures, even if they’re a little ridiculous. despite the absurdity of the situation, there’s something unexpectedly sweet about the way he’s so gentle with you, even when he’s teasing you relentlessly.

you’re about to tease him right back for being such a softie, ready to throw out a playful jab when, of course, he just has to ruin the moment.

“ew, katsuki!” you yelp, your voice high-pitched with surprise as he suddenly sinks his teeth into your right cheek. it’s not hard enough to hurt, more like a playful nip, but it’s wet and the way his tongue shamelessly flickers against the bite mark sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. you try to push him off, but he’s latched onto you like some feral animal.

“seriously?!” you gasp, squirming in his grip, but he remains completely unbothered. “this is disgusting! my cheek’s all wet now!” you cry, twisting and turning in his arms, trying to wipe the saliva off with your shoulder.

“serves you right for biting my shoulder earlier. y’thought i’d forget? hah.” he says with a wicked smirk, leaning back just enough to admire the mess he’s made of your face—flustered, pouty, and still glistening with the aftermath of his attack.

you groan, smacking his chest in frustration, but the bastard doesn’t even flinch. in fact, he looks proud of himself.

“you’re the absolute worst, katsuki bakugo.” you glare at him, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“yeah, i’m fuckin’ terrible,” he grins, clearly enjoying the annoyance in your voice. to emphasize his words—and to annoy you even further probably—he pinches the same cheek he just bit like an overbearing grandma checking to see if you had enough to eat.

yup, katsuki loves your cheeks, especially when they’re all flushed because of him.

[astrangerthatlovesyou]

“It’s okay to not be okay”

Unless it impacts your work performance…

Or your grades

Or how you act

Or if it causes you to say no

Or if you’re harder to be around

Or if you need time alone

Or if you talk about it

Or show symptoms

“It’s okay to not be okay”

Unless you have trauma

Unless you have one of those “scary” mental illnesses

Unless it inconveniences me

Unless you’re undiagnosed

Unless you cry or scream or make a scene

Unless you don’t keep that shit to yourself

Unless you make me uncomfortable

Unless I can’t infantilize or fetishize you

Unless you have hallucinations

Unless you have psychosis

Unless you get angry

Unless I think you’re cringe

Unless you can’t preform hygiene tasks

Unless you’re disabled, or trans, or gay, or not white, or fat, or AFAB, or intersex, or a man… so I guess anyone

“It’s okay to not be okay”

As long as nobody ever finds out.

Our society has a severe issue with performative activism, and mental health is a huge example of this. Every time someone considers reaching out, they run through this list mentally. This is why true activists and resources need to be loudly supportive of all the things on this list. Take the subtext out of your support.

[ashinbloom]

Elegy for a Boymoder

"No, no no!" you shout, "I don't need domesticated, Miss Favali! I'm fine!"

"Petal," she speaks slowly, "I need you to put the knife down."

Without even thinking, you wave the knife through the air. "Why? I'm fine. I'm FINE!"

"I don't think you're fine, little one."

"I'm fine!" Your hand trembles around the knife. "I don't need domesticated and I don't need fixed and I don't need you fucking with my head!"

"What do you need, then?"

"I need you to leave me the fuck alone!" You hold the knife out with a shaky hand. She's already seen the scars, she already knows you're a fuck-up.

"I can't do that, petal. Please, let me help you."

"I don't need your goddamn help!"

"Have you taken your ætherea today?"

"I don't need it! It's poison!" You spit your words like the poison that the Affini, that Miss Favali, had tried to make you take. "You just want to fuck with my head so you can domesticate me!"

"Dear, I think you'll feel better if you just--"

"No!"

A tense silence hangs over your hab, the room far too big for you but the perfect size for an affini, and Miss Favali just watches as you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"Can you put the knife down for me, petal?"

"No!" you shout, "I need it!"

"Whatever would you need that for, little one?"

"Need it! Gotta stay safe. Can't let you hurt me. Can't let anybody hurt me."

"Sweetie," her voice becomes a bit more stern, "I need you to put the knife down now and be a good girl."

'I'm-- I'm--" Your head swims with those words. 'Put the knife down', 'Be a good girl'. Your chest rises and falls inside your oversized hoodie and the knife falls from your trembling hand with a clatter. You collapse to the ground, muttering over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

You shiver as a shadow grows over you, and by the time you look up Miss Favali is bending down to scoop you into her vines.

"Shh, shh, I know you are, dear. It's okay," she tells you as you feel a gentle pinprick in your arm. You look down to see one of her flowers stuck to your arm.

You feel lighter in an instant, and only feel lighter by the second. You can't even remember why you had the knife, why you're crying. Miss Favali continues to coo softly and pulls you further into her vines as she gently removes your clothes from your body. You can see a light inside of her, singing to you and pulsating as her form writhes in an oddly pleasing way.

Your entire body feels amazing as her vines massages your bare chest and shoulders. You don't feel the usual sting of disgust when somebody touches you for the first time since you can't remember when.

"You don't have to be afraid ever again," she assure you in her melodic, soothing voice even though you don't know what you were even scared of in the first place. "I'll take care of you now."

"You will?" Your voice comes out muffled through the pink flower she has pressed to your face. A soft mist coats your mouth and nose, and when you breathe in it smells like cotton candy bubblegum.

"Now and forever, darling. Now, take a deep breath. Growing girls like you need their Class-Gs."

[myblogforeverandalways]

𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘎𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵- 𝘒𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨

u guys making me feel special with all these likes gahhh. I'll edit this a little later, but I have a small one-shot for you lovely :)

Köing was not only nervous but also a caring man. At the start of your relationship, he only cared about you and what you craved and truly desired. This touched your heart, a giant prioritizing your wants and needs, even in the bedroom.

Köing never went too rough, constantly checking if you were okay as he kissed you softly, thrusting slowly into your glistening cunt, wetness dripping down your thighs mixed with his thick cum. Ready to be cleaned off by him later as he groaned your name in a mess of English and German, his voice lustful and loving. Your whimpers would echo in the bedroom; you had never adjusted to his size, not with a cock that big, stretching your gummy walls each time you fucked, only to feel like your first time all over again.

Köing was indeed everything you could ever want. His soft touch and alluring eyes, his tall, possessive figure that would make you wetter just looking at him as he held your hand in public, fingers intertwined—he was all yours.

Your sex drive was already at a painful high, and Köing adored it, never wasting a second as those eyes that would flutter every time he pushed into you harder with pure ease, legs over his shoulders, shaking while he eyed you in pure lust, panting like a worn dog, just in pure admiration for your body. Your tiny hands that dug into his biceps as he begged to go faster, a primal urge that tried to control him before he filled your swollen pussy up but;

"No, not just yet, my love. You get to cum when I want you to~." You smirked, hands caressing his hair back, fingers intertwining, knowing this got to him.

You liked to see him beg, to struggle to hold his leaking cum.

Sensitive, aren't you König?

Sensitive to your silky folds, the squelching, sloppy noises as his strength diminished under you.

And poor König, trying so hard to pull himself together as he grunted, kissing your neck in desperation, his stubble tickling against your tender skin, a yearning desire that he craved every night. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively as you mumbled sweet words into his ear because he deserved it. He deserved to feel special.

And as he couldn't hold it any longer, sinking into you, seed spilling into your pretty pussy, your greedy fingers circled your clit, begging for a release in return.

Edit: Thank you for the reblogs on my last 2 posts! I'm forever grateful to every one of you! I've reached, somehow, 50+ likes!? Insane work, thank you, luvs <3

[leighsartworks216]

You Hate Me

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Sooooo I wrote this one morning when even just laying down had my knees hurting and I was like,, well what if Tav had that too? Also inspired by the fact I get to campus an hour early and still try to rush to the (empty) classroom instead of, ya know, taking advantage of the huge time buffer I give myself

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of joint pain, insecurity, crying, possibly OOC, clown mention

Word Count: 1,545

Masterlist

AO3

Just a bit further. A little further and then you could rest. If you make it to that tree - make it to that tree and you can sit down. Just a bit left to go.

It started almost a week ago. Unable to cope with all the traveling, your right knee started bothering you. With every step you could feel your kneecap shifting back and forth with a dull click. Then, it started to hurt. Nothing serious. If you walked slow enough, you could avoid it. But now every step sent shocks of pain up your entire leg. Your left knee joined the party this morning, removing any sense of relief you had while walking. Even sitting down didn't remove the pain, but you couldn't afford a day off.

Your companions noticed the changes, despite your best effort not to show any outward discomfort. You moved slower, the occasional grimace slipped through, they weren't traveling quite as far. You consider asking Shadowheart for anything that could ease the pain, but you already knew there was little she could do to help. So you grit your teeth and kept going.

Your foot stepped on uneven ground and you nearly dropped from the agony that shot through your whole body. Karlach worried you might actually just collapse. But you kept going.

Astarion couldn't bear it. None of them could - they hated seeing their intrepid leader fight their own body just to go a few more feet - but your struggle settled like a boulder in his stomach. Every time your face scrunched up, every hiss of your sharp inhales, felt like someone had stabbed a knife in his chest and was twisting it ever deeper. He hated the feeling.

With only a few long strides, he slipped from the back of the group to the front, walking alongside you. He had to change his normal gait just so he didn't surpass you. "Darling," he hummed quietly, just loud enough to keep the conversation between you two, "you should rest."

You shook your head. You didn't even spare him a glance. Your eyes didn't shift from the tree. "We're almost there," you dismiss. It's slightly breathless. Despite needing to walk slow to avoid the pain, you were pushing to go faster.

He tsked. "And how far do we still have left to go?" He tilted his head as he looked at you, already knowing whatever distance you said would be too far.

You nodded to a tree dead ahead. "Once we reach that birch, we can rest."

"That birch?" He pointed. "The birch tree that's nearly half a mile away?"

He could feel you bristle with his incredulous tone, but you didn't say anything.

He scoffed. "My dear, I can be stubborn at the best of times, but this is ridiculous! You're barely staying upright as it is."

"I'm fine-"

"No, you're not," he sharply cuts you off. He grabs your arm and pulls you to a stop, holding you there with enough force that you wouldn't slip out and keep going. You refuse to look at him even now. "You're wincing, your hands have been clenched for the last mile, and you keep stumbling. The tree will still be there if you just sit down for a minute."

The rest of the party watches from a distance. Far enough away they can just make out what Astarion's saying, especially as his voice rises in pitch the more frustrated he gets.

Standing still hurts. It's hard to say if it hurts more or less than walking; it just hurts. Your face is pinched as sharp jolts run up through your joints, like someone is poking you with a sewing needle. Walking, you decide, must be better than this.

"It's not that far," you insist, voice low. "And when we get there, we can-"

"Gods above, you're impossible! Fine. Fine! You want to get to that tree, fine." He lets go of your arm.

Before you can even take a step, he's sweeping you into his arms, supporting you with one arm under your back and the other hooked under your knees. The pressure hurts for a moment, but it quickly fades away. The lingering aches are from pushing yourself too hard. He begins marching once more toward your end goal.

You want to shout, to demand he put you down. But when you look up at his face, his eyes are sharper than usual, lips pulled into a tight frown and crease forming between his eyebrows. He's angry.

He's angry with you.

The words die in your throat. You hate being so dependent. You were the leader - you needed to be strong and fearless and without weakness. To receive help feels like someone plunging their hand between your ribs and stealing away a chunk of your worth. But seeing Astarion upset, upset with you, that stings far worse.

You avoid looking over his shoulder. You could just imagine their faces. How Lae'zel would scowl at you for being weak. How Gale's face would turn somber when he realizes you're not as capable as he thought. You couldn't bear it. So you press your forehead to Astarion's neck and stare at your lap.

There's an unwelcome burn at the back of your eyes. Shame floods your chest and crawls up your throat until it chokes you. Water pools along your lower lids and blurs your vision. You can't walk and now you're going to cry. Just how fucking pathetic can you be?

Astarion's head shifts and you can tell he's trying to look down at you. He's trying to see your face. Because he can feel you shaking in his arms. He can hear your lungs quivering as your breaths become uneven and choppy. You press your closed eyes against his throat and he can feel the hot tears against his skin.

His frown softens, though you can't see it. He slows down to a stop and tells the others to go on ahead, to the birch tree just there, and start working on setting up camp, but all you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. Their faces become fraught with worry; Karlach is the last to go. She still looks back once or twice. Astarion finds a suitable rock and he sits.

"Shh, sweet thing," he cooes, voice no louder than a whisper. His arm around your back pulls you into his shoulder, hand tangling in your hair as he cradles you. His other hand rubs soothing circles along your thigh. You gasp around a sob, body curling further into itself, into him, as you release your emotions. "It's alright."

You strangle out an apology. It's wet and croaky and painful.

"Whatever for?" he asks.

"You're mad at me," you whimper.

He huffs. The frustration from before rises in him again just thinking about it. "Yes, I am."

He feels your breath catch in your throat, and the heaving breath you take after. "You hate me."

Astarion laughs, short and sharp. "Why would I hate you, dear? Because you're too stubborn for your own good?" You don't have a response for him. He kisses your head, wherever he can reach. "I'm mad because you put yourself out trying to solve all of our issues, but the moment you have one of your own, you refuse any help. You're going to tear yourself apart."

He sighs and rests his cheek atop your head. His fingers rub the nape of your neck, gently tugging at the hair there. You carry so much tension, it's a wonder your muscles haven't locked up from the stress.

Time passes slowly in his arms. It seems to take forever before you start to calm down, and even longer before your eyes have dried. He does nothing to speed the process aside from gently hush you when you try to choke out apologies.

You sniffle quietly. Your eyes are raw, and you're all too aware of the stain of water you've left on the vampire's neck. When you speak, it's a painful creak in your vocal chords. "You don't hate me?"

He presses another kiss to your head. "No, love, I don't hate you. Not unless you've done something truly horrific, like invite a clown to show up at camp in the middle of the night." You chuckle weakly. It's such sweet music. "Gods forbid you start donating to charity." You laugh this time, and Astarion's chuckle vibrates against your ear.

His fingers detangle themselves from your hair with one last gentle tug, and his arm wraps around your back once more. As though you weigh no more than one of his pillows, he stands once more with you in his safe grasp, and begins heading for camp. He can see Karlach up ahead light up when she sees you're finally on your way.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I just feel so... useless, like this."

"Please, stop apologizing," he begs, dramatically. "Just say 'thank you' and we can move on."

You peel your face from his skin, dried tears sticking you together. You wince at how disgusting this must be for him. You lean up and kiss his cheek. He smiles at the affection. "Thank you."

Softer, he says, "Of course, my love."

[fanfics-for-you]

what's in a name? || Patrick Verona (TTIHAY) x gn!reader (Modern!College!AU)

AVAILABLE ON AO3 (SOON)

Inspiration: ✨️Patrick Verona✨️

Summary: Patrick Verona is apparently the most intimidating guy on campus. You just want to get by, pass your classes, and get to your actual dreams. When you casually approach him one day and decidedly are not scared of him, Patrick has some questions.

TWs: light language, use of Y/N (only like twice), second person POV (you, yours).

[[A/N: This is basically under the concept that you approach Patrick first, and aren't really as afraid of him as anybody else. He's intrigued. Also this is a college AU, because I am in college and I think it's weird to write about high school lmao. ALSO,,, I know this is incredibly niche and a dead tag, but... I watched the movie recently and was violently possessed to write this. The parasites in me what to continue this universe, but idk. Anyway. Enjoy :)]]

You were exhausted. Totally and completely exhausted.

You'd stayed up all night for your chem quiz, and still, didn't think you did great on it. Which made your day ever so worse. So, when you went to the library, and someone was sitting in the spot you always sat in, you halfway wanted to cry and halfway wanted to rip your hair out. Normally, such a thing wouldn't be a big deal, but today it was. So, with a certainty that rivaled a lawyer in court, you stomped over to the chair.

For a moment, the guy didn't even look at you. He kept staring at his friend, a surprisingly 'metal' dressing guy who was talking avidly about something.

You cleared your throat.

That's when they both looked at you.

You were entirely focused on the one in your seat. A taller guy with built shoulders, curly hair and a sharp jaw. In normal circumstances, you'd probably think he was hot. Today was not normal circumstances.

The man raised an eyebrow.

Okay, so maybe it was a little normal circumstances, but that wasn't relevant.

"What are you doing?"

The man answered, simply -maybe a little confused, "Sitting?"

"That's my spot," you clarified, pointedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry-" the man pretended to start getting up before pausing -speaking sarcastically, "-Oh wait, I've just remembered, this is public property."

Mindlessly noting that he had an accent that you couldn't quite place, you rolled your eyes, "I sit there everyday. Just give me the spot."

"You weren't sitting here all day," he pointed out, "-or else I wouldn't be here."

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, "I was busy failing a chem test, now get up."

His eyes skimmed over your face, thoughtfully, "Do you know who I am?"

"Why-" you sighed out, frustrated, "-would I know who you are?"

Even despite the comment, he did seem familiar somehow but you weren't going to tell him that.

He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, and didn't say anything. You felt like you were going to explode in fiery flames.

You groaned, "Oh my god. There are thousands of seats on campus, just go sit somewhere else."

"Exactly," the man countered, "-why don't you sit somewhere else?"

"Because-" you huffed out a breath, "-that's my spot."

"And why is this spot so important to you?" He shuffled slightly, moving his hands along the cracks of the seat, "-You got something good stashed in 'ere?"

"Dear god," you huffed out a breath in defeat, "-Whatever. Enjoy your seat, asshole."

And with that, you spun on your heel and pulled yourself deeper into the library. Taking a breath in, you pulled yourself into a seat not too far from the original, but you were around the corner so you wouldn't have to look at his stupid face. You soured just at the thought.

You pulled open your chem book, and read through it -trying to figure out which ones you definitely missed, that way you could get the ballpark for what your grade might be. You really needed to know, to make sure your GPA stayed in the range for your dream university.

But, in the middle of it, you heard someone plop into the chair in front of you (it was a group of chairs, like for a group of people if necessary).

Before looking up, you spoke -sharply, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Your eyes shot up at that familiar accent, and you frowned.

"You got the seat," you pointed out, bitterly, "-What the hell do you want now?"

"Your name," he answered simply.

You blinked, (what?) before settling back into your seat and flipping to the next page, "Yeah, no."

The man seemed to move forward, and unwillingly your eyes flickered to him (his curls moving with the motion), "Why not?"

"I don't give my name out to strangers," you retorted -flicking your eyes down to your book, "-especially not assholes."

"Don't know if I can change who I am," he smirked, "-but, I can work on the stranger part."

You frowned, eyeing him particularly, "Seriously, what do you want?"

"I already told you," he replied, fidgeting with something in his hands (you weren't paying attention), "-I'm Patrick, by the way."

"Well," you exhaled, sharply, and ignored his name, "-you're not getting it."

"Well," he repeated with the same sort of grin, "-I'll just have to work on that too, then."

You looked up at him again and squinted at him -trying to read him somehow. All he did was grin at you, a charming kind, of course, that made crinkles on his cheeks. You ignored the flutter in your chest that it gave you and darted your eyes back down to your book.

The next day, you were in better spirits. After studying for an entirely different class, you were pretty sure you aced that test. So, you weren't as pissed, thankfully. Until you went into the library to sit between classes like you always did.

You paused in your step and frowned.

The guy (Patrick, your mind treacherously noted) was sitting by your chair, mindlessly tapping his fingers along the arm of the chair. He wasn't in your chair, thankfully, but still, he was in the one beside it. Pointedly close.

You huffed out a breath, and moved toward the chairs, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," he repeated.

You raised an eyebrow.

He seemed to take that as a repeat of the question -before saying, confidently (too confidently), "I'm studying for a test."

"You don't seem like the studying type," you retorted, throwing yourself into the chair and pulling out your laptop -realizing it was no use to try and get him to leave.

Patrick pointed out, "You don't even know me."

"And I don't intend to," you replied with ease, flicking your eyes to meet his, "-your point?"

He grinned the same bright one from before, amused maybe. Your heart skipped a beat, so you dropped your eyes back down to your laptop. He, on the other hand, didn't seem to look away.

"What's your major?" He asked, thoughtfully.

"I won't tell you my name," you leveled, scrolling through your online schedule for homework, "-but you think I'll tell you my major?"

"Well," he reasoned, "-a name is much more identifiable, but your major," he shrugged, "-not so much."

You eyed him again for a second, before saying, "What if you just want to look up my classes and hunt me down?"

Patrick smiled again, before asking, "What is your next class?"

"Why?" You ask, pointedly, "-So you can force me into talking to you again?"

"Preferably," he replied, grinning cheekily.

You raised an eyebrow, and bit your lip to pull down a smile that begged to quirk up, "I'm not telling you that either."

"What if I just follow you when you leave?" He questioned, curiously, "-Figure it out myself?"

"And what if I-" you smiled at him -patronizingly, "-call the campus police?"

He raised both eyebrows as if to say 'touché' without saying it out loud. You bit down another smile and moved back to your computer -pulling out your planner and jotting down dates.

"Your pissiness," he suddenly spoke, "-Are you often filled with boiling hatred?"

"No," you sigh out, before shooting him another patronizing smile, "-that's special just for you."

He laughed then, and something warm zinged down to your toes (you ignored it), "Do you seriously not know me?"

"Do you know how many Patricks exist in the world?" you point out, "-No, I don't know you."

"So you do remember my name," he smirked, patting along his lap with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes but didn't say a word.

It ended up like that for the rest of the time, Patrick shooting questions now and then, and you shutting them down. His stupid smirk and low, rumbly, accented voice, you hated that he actually seemed kinda nice -all things considered.

But, as you stood up to leave, you decided on something.

"Literature," you said simply, gathering up everything into your bag.

He paused, shooting up his eyebrows, "What?"

"My next class," you answered, nonchalantly pulling your bag onto your shoulder, "-Intro to Literature."

Patrick grinned, bright and shiny, "Gen Ed?"

"Yeah," you answered, moving to put the last few things in your bag.

"Can I walk you?"

Your eyes snapped to him then, curiously -detailing the rather honest look, before answering solidly, "No."

He burst into laughter then, throwing his head back against the chair -you mindlessly watched his curls fall back with the motion and then snapped your eyes away.

"Same time tomorrow then?" He asked, still laughing a little bit (something in you twinkled).

"Nope," you exhale a breath, ignoring the disappointment that swirled into your chest, "-I'm not on campus tomorrow."

He seemed to falter for a second, "Do you live on campus?"

You raised a solid eyebrow, you really think I'd tell you that?

"Right, yeah, okay," Patrick conceded, holding up his hands in faux surrender, "-What days are you on campus?"

You paused, pressing your lips together, but something in you did it, "Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays."

He grinned a little brighter, "Are you here around the same time on Mondays?"

Something in your chest flipped, but even still, you answered, "That's what you have to figure out. Not me."

And then, you spun on your heel and walked out of the library. His laughter trailed out behind you, and if you had a small little smile on your face at the noise, that was only for you to know.

Monday came, and you woke up early and made your way to campus -the first class of the day was at the crack of dawn. You physically despised it, but so is the schedule of a college student. Plus, you still worked, so the earlier the better for your schedule -didn't mean it didn't suck though.

Sipping on your drink, you wandered back toward the cafeteria -crossing the main connecting area, where everything led to. There was a baseball game going on, not an official one by the looks of it, in the grass. Your eyes hinged on the game for a few seconds, the echoes of laughter shooting toward your ears. It looked fun, but you weren't too invested in being outside for that long. Before you could look away though, your eyes caught on a familiar frame.

Patrick.

His hair was tied back, and he was wearing a pretty bland tank top (just grey), with some typical jeans. With his hair pulled back, you could see his jaw more distinctively -the sharp lines clear from even this far away. (Not that you were looking.) The sun bore down on them but all of the players seemed to be happily distracted. And you kinda were too.

You pursed your lips, for a moment, and looked forward again after a breath, heading toward the cafeteria again confidently.

Before you could get very far, though, you heard a familiar accent.

"Hey!" He yelled, a little distant -footsteps following his voice, "-Hey!"

At first, you weren't sure if he was talking to you, so you kept moving.

"Shit, I don't know what to call you," he called out, breathless and much, much closer.

You spun on your heels with furrowed brows, and met his eyes over a few people's heads. The grin that swallowed his face whole should've been criminal, bright and twinkly and... charming.

Before you could say anything, he was by your side with heavy breaths -assumedly from playing baseball and getting over to you. Leaning over slightly, he leveled out heavy breaths. You were almost concerned enough to offer him water, but he seemed to settle himself before you could.

"Hi," he echoed, "-'Ve been looking for you all morning, what time did you get here?"

You blinked, all morning?

"I get here early, 7, and immediately go to class," you answered, a little blankly (looking for you, looking for you, looking for you).

"Oh," he paused, "-I got here at 8. There's classes at 7?"

"Obviously," you respond, because you did in fact just say it.

"Did you-" Patrick started, before pursing his lips together, "-Are you going to the library now?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "No, I'm going to the cafeteria to eat between classes. Why?"

"I'm actually quite hungry myself," he avoided the question, "-Do you mind if I tag along?"

"What about your game?" You furrowed your eyebrows even further -eyeing him curiously.

"'S just to fill time," he explained, "-It's nothing serious. They're sure to find someone to fill in for me."

You flicker your eyes along his face, trying to read him. What's your prerogative?

After a moment, you come up with nothing and instead, just turn on your heel -leading the way to the cafeteria.

"I'm taking that as a yes, then?" Patrick called out from behind you, catching up and matching your stride with ease (despite you making no move to slow down).

You decidedly don't answer him, and say something focused elsewhere -eyeing him as you walk forward, "Do you always stalk people this much?"

Patrick laughed, catching your eye with his warm brown ones (they were almost sparkly under the sun of the day), "Only the ones that blindly hate me."

You pressed your lips together in a flat line (trying not to give anything away), "I didn't say that I hated you."

His face lit up at the words (and you couldn't decide if you regretted it or not), "Well, you could've convinced me."

You roll your eyes, and keep walking forward, "Not telling you my personal information isn't... hating you."

"I'm not sure not introducing yourself is exactly anything but hatred," he argued back, fluidly.

"I just told you that I don't hate you," you point out, "-so it isn't."

"Does that mean you'll eventually tell me your name?" Patrick asked, curiously.

You turned to him, flicked your eyes over him, and then looked forward again, "Maybe on good behavior."

He burst into laughter, brown eyes set on your face, "You're quite an enigma, you know that?"

"And you're not half the mystery you portray," you fire back, naturally, with the flow of the conversation.

He grinned at that, eyes shining with something you couldn't quite label, "You know, I don't think I've met a person like you. You're fearless in like a-" he motioned with his hands, "-casual way."

"I'm not fearless," you argue, approaching the door to the cafeteria, "-I'm just confident."

"Do they not go hand-in-hand?" Patrick offers, getting to the door before you and promptly holding it open for you -unflinchingly.

Something warm stirs in your stomach at the gesture (and his woodsy scent that brushes your nose as you walk past him), but you ignore it, "You can be certain and still be afraid."

"But knowing you're right doesn't necessarily mean-" Patrick followed you in, matching your stride again, as if it's natural, "-that you're confident."

You furrow your eyebrows, genuinely intrigued, "What do you mean?"

He paused, maybe a little shocked by your attentiveness, "Plenty of people know they're right and still concede to someone else because they don't want to fight it. You-" he pointed at you, "-will fight it."

"Well," you purse your lips, avoiding his eye contact, "-maybe I'm only like this with you."

"You," Patrick paused, "-You're not this fiery ball of rage with anyone else?"

You eye him for a second, before saying flatly, "Maybe."

"All of this seething hatred and impressive indifference just for me?" He grins, the big teeth-showing kind, "-I'm touched really. Because I am special to you in some weird kinda twisted way-"

Before you can stop yourself, you let out a laugh at his words -just a quick one. Barely there.

But you could still see the delight smooth along his face, and just knew he caught it.

"How much of that have you been holding back?" He tilted his head curiously, before continuing to push it, smirking, "-Oh I bet you think I'm hilarious."

Your heart skipped a beat at the smirk, and you simply pressed your lips together and turned on your heel to the food counter. There wasn't even a second before you heard footsteps following you.

"You're not denying it, you know," he called after you, close on your tail.

You peer over the selection of food, eyeing the different items thoughtfully, "But I didn't confirm it either."

"Still not denying it," Patrick hummed, sing-songy.

"You know," you turn to him (mindlessly noting that he is very close), sharply, "-someone can have one good joke and still be unfunny."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes set on yours -challenging, "Then tell me why it came out like you were holding it back?"

You blinked at him, once and then twice, the sudden closeness sent a shock through your brain and the challenging tone of his voice nearly gave you full-body shivers. You can't find words to say, and you can nearly see it processing on Patrick's face (the way that he had made your mind melt for a moment), so you turn to the counter and point at something random for them to pick out for you.

The woman eyes the two of you suspiciously, but still diligently pulls out a to-go plate and piles the... mashed potatoes onto it.

"Oh my god," he finally says after a moment (you ignore it).

You go through a few other items, and the woman gathers them onto the plate. You pay, grab your plate-

"You like me," Patrick retorts, and you're not even looking at him but you can tell he's got a shit-eating grin.

Your brain malfunctions for a moment, but you step toward the tables and fire back (on autopilot), "I won't even tell you my name."

He's hot on your trail, following you diligently, "You're avoiding the question."

You spin to him, and reply -sharply, "You didn't ask a question."

His eyes flicker along your face, taking you in (you want to squirm but you steel yourself in place -your eyes now challenging), and then he grins so bright that you'd need sunglasses in any other scenario.

"Oh, you're really into me," he continues, low, gravelly, accented voice rumbling through your ears.

You screw up your face into something defiant, roll your eyes, and turn back to slide into a table. Patrick follows you like a lost puppy. Well, an incredibly arrogant lost puppy.

"You're still not denying it," he slides into the chair beside you and you hate the way your brain swims at the woodsy smell that brushes your nose.

"'Thought you were hungry," you say, simply (avoiding the question and decidedly not denying).

"It was very obviously a ploy," Patrick chimed back, with natural ease -tilting his head slightly and looking at you with twinkling eyes, "-They had pizza out there for all the players. I've already eaten."

Your fork froze for a millisecond (even still, you were sure he caught it), and after a moment, you pulled it to your lips. Maybe conquering both of your lack of response and the way your mind lit up at the idea of 'he just wanted to see me'.

His smile and eyes seemed to soften slightly, as he leaned his head down to catch your eye and guide it back up to your natural gaze (your heart skipped a beat). His brown eyes were soft and if you were honest, maybe a little affectionate.

"What's your name?" He finally said after a soft few moments.

And just like that, for you, the moment snapped, and you rolled your eyes -turning back to your food.

"Oh, come on," Patrick tried to catch your gaze again, "-Look, I'll tell you. Patrick Verona. That's my name-"

You bit down a smile, as he motioned to you with his hands.

"-Now, your turn, tell me yours."

You raised an eyebrow.

Patrick let out a half-laugh, before leaning forward slightly on the table -not quite a breath away, but certainly closer.

"You're so stubborn," he laughed, "-I'll beg. You want me to beg?"

You can't help but let the smile slip onto your lips then, "Why would you beg for my name?"

"Because I want it," he pointed out, still grinning "-Because I want to know you, and personally, I think it should start with a name."

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you let your fork hang there on the path to your face. You took a moment, scampered your eyes along his face (dark brown eyes so incredibly soft, curls coming down from where he put them up in individual tendrils). Your resolve was weakening, it was really and truly broken under Patrick Verona's hand.

Stupid pretty boys-

"Y/N," you said finally (quieter than intended), immediately pulling a bite to your mouth.

Patrick blinked, "What?"

"'S my name," you explain -shortly, moving a hand in front of your mouth as you chew, "-Y/N."

His eyes lit up at the words, that stupid charming grin smoothing onto his face as he repeated, softer than expected, "Y/N."

You shove down the fluster that begs to climb up your cheeks at his accented voice saying your name. It's something you'd never really thought about but now that it's said, you probably should've thought about it.

Patrick leaned back in his chair, eyes still set on you. He was still grinning, as he said simply, "Suits you."

You furrow your eyebrows, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He raises his hands in faux surrender, laughing to himself, "Jesus, you're a true ball of rage, you know 'at?"

"I'm not-" you huff out, and take a deep breath in, "-I'm not mad."

"Defensive then," he mends, "-You act as though I'm about to strike any minute."

You pursed your lips, "Whose to say you aren't?"

"Me," Patrick laughs, "-This entire conversation. The way I've acted around you since the beginning-"

"Oh, shut up," you roll your eyes, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your lips, "-you were an asshole once."

He groaned, but something like amusement was twinkling in his eyes, "You are the most stubborn human being on this earth-"

"You took my spot," you interrupt, sturdy.

"-It's public property," Patrick argued back, "-and how was I supposed to know it was yours before I sat in it?"

You paused, for a moment, before saying, "You couldn't. But, you could have given it to me when I asked."

"And then we wouldn't be here," he explained, now fully grinning, "-and wouldn't that just be such a bore."

Your eyes swam over his face a moment, Patrick Verona. And his dumb persistence. And his stupid handsome face-

God.

You let out a long sigh, picking around at your food. Eyes watching the swirl of your fork, you debate a few different things to say. Finally, after a few spare seconds, you made up your mind.

"Yeah," you hum, flickering your eyes up to his, "-it would."

Patrick grinned, big and bright and twinkly (you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest). His eyes, the deep brown that if you weren't careful you could stare at for way too long, were soft but still sort of happy, eager. Definitely eager.

And maybe, just maybe, you could get used to-

"I told you I could work on the 'stranger' thing," he suddenly said, smirking, "-You never should've doubted me."

"What?" You raised an eyebrow, confused.

"You said-" Patrick explained, "-you don't give your name out to strangers. And I said I could work on that part-"

You level a look at him.

"-And look, I did," he continued, before adding with a smirk, "-I have successfully escaped the cavernous barrier, deeper than the ocean I'd say, that walls you off from any poor soul who wishes to know you-"

"You're really pushing it, Verona," you chime back, fiery (but not quite all the way).

"What?" He raised his eyebrows, like he said nothing at all to warrant the reaction, "-You can't tell me that it's not like pulling teeth getting to know you. Or trying to anyway-"

You press your lips onto a flat line, "Wow, you must be a sort of masochist, then?

He faltered for a second, before laughing a little, "Oh absolutely, I chase the high of you ignoring me for 2 hours straight every day."

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile, "I despise you."

"Better that than indifferent," he responded with ease, "-I prefer you feeling something rather than nothing at all."

"Oh my god-"

It continued like that, a back and forth, as you finish eating your mediocre cafeteria lunch. The silence is sparse but not uncomfortable when Patrick isn't running his mouth, that is. It was nice. Insanely nice. You'd probably never had as much fun on this campus as you did with him, just in general, but...

"Same time Wednesday?" He poses with a cheeky grin, leaning onto one hand against the table -closer to you than before.

You felt something warm swirl into your stomach, as your eyes flickered over his face. He was still smiling, like he wasn't able to stop when he was here with you. And something in you never wanted to see it go away anyway.

So, with a slight head tilt and a brighter grin than what you'd let slip past all day, you repeated.

"Same time Wednesday."

[intestinalemphasis]

You expected the pred's roommate to have just a little more sympathy for you. You were eaten against your will, after all.

Through the echo of groaning made by your new pink prison, you could hear them, conversing with the pred currently holding you captive. You were sure they were trying to question them, and that the pred was just as likely spinning the story, to seem like you were long gone and turned to soup now, that there was no way that you could be spit up. An excuse to let them keep you for good.

You had to state your disagreement. You protested against their tall tale, pressing and kicking against the walls of their stomach. The pred belched, inadvertently squeezing you tighter in their stomach, until your outline was just visible across their plump midsection for you to wriggle with livelihood. The proof was less in the pudding so much as it was in the pudge.

There was a pause of silence between them both, and you wondered if their roommate was contemplating their decision. It wasn't like you had anything else to tell their emotions by, aside from the muffled conversation.

"They still seem pretty alive, if you ask me."

"I- ...well, I mean, uh..."

"They sure are trying to put up quite a fight in there..."

You couldn't see their faces, but you knew the roommate had bent closer to you, because another pair of hands squished into the sides of your slimy chamber, as their voice rumbled,

"Just the way I like it..."

There was another wet gurgle around you, as the pred burped again. You groaned as you were sloshed against the stomach walls by a pair of hands.

"So feisty and tough...you're a keeper, that's for sure. I'm gonna have so much fun watching them make a meal out of you..."

Hands were poking and prodding and jiggling you around, and you were sure, with a sinking feeling in your chest, that neither one of them had any intention of letting you go...

[darknights04]

Sensing You

Pairings: Ominis Gaunt x reader

Summary: You and Ominis have been friends for as long as you've been at Hogwarts. He's felt more for you for almost just as long. He's never thought about telling you, but that was until the new fifth year put you in great danger.

Warnings: Spoils for Hogwarts Legacy (obviously), pain, cruciatus curse, unedited, not proof read. Reader is not mc

Masterlist

When it came to you, Ominis was no stranger to the idea of the long game. You, Ominis, Sebastian, and Anne had been friends for as long as you could all remember. Ominis has had a crush on you for almost just as long. It was worst this year. With Anne staying home all your attention was turned to the two boys. Usually you would turn to Anne some days and have girl time between the two of you. Now, Ominis had nothing but time to grow more and more infatuated with you. 

Ever since the new fifth year beat him in a duel, Sebastian had been mostly with them, giving you and Ominis even more time alone together. It was driving him crazy. Every time you laughed in the way that he loved, rested your chin on his shoulder to look at what we was doing, leaned your arm against his to whisper something during class. He had to hold himself back so he didn’t just grab you and slam his lips onto yours. One of the only parts of you he has yet to be able to identify. As children you would play games, Ominis feeling all of his friends’ faces and guess who was who, so he knew the general idea of what your face looked like. But your lips was a mystery to him. A mystery he badly wanted solved. 

Today, you were sitting with Ominis in a corridor near the slytherin common room. You had spent most of the day trying to cheer him up after Sebastian repeatedly would bother him about Salazar Slytherin’s Sciptorium. You knew that he wanted nothing to do with dark magic after the hold it has had no his family for generations. Sure, Ominis had been exaggerating his hurt feelings just a bit, but if all it took was a little pouting to get you this close to him, then you best believe he was about to win an oscar for this performance. 

“He just doesn’t understand how dangerous it is!” he complained with a dramitic sigh, smiling internally due to the hand you had running soothing circles across his back.

“He’s just trying to do anything he can to help Anne,” you replied, wanting to defend him. 

“I know. I don’t like seeing Anne suffer either, same as you. But I know where this path leads, and it’s never a good place.”

Ominis’s internal smile fell as he heard you greet the new student Sebastian had befriended. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked them with a small scoff.

That scoff, of course, resulting in a small smack on the shoulder from you, muttering a small “Manners,” in his ear. Ominis rolled his eyes, but the smile he had inside, reserve just for you, came back once more. 

“Do you have a moment?” the new student spoke up. 

Ominis didn’t want to, but he heard them out. After lying about Sebastian showing them the undercroft, Ominis has been wary about this student. Even so, he was feeling at ease due to your presence, and in turn agreed to show them where Salazar’s Scriptorum was located. 

“I hope we don’t regret this,” he said with a sigh as he revealed how to access the door. 

“We’ve just been sitting outside of it?” you asked with a chuckle, noticing you didn’t have to even move to be at the door. 

Ominis shrugged, his internal smile showing through just a bit on the outside. “It was the first place I thought of.” 

“First place you thought of to go and complain about the scriptorium?” 

“Precisely.” 

Before any of you knew it, Sebastian and his new friend had opened the door, ushering each other inside. 

“I just hope we’re ready for this,” Ominis continued to sigh. 

“We’ll be fine,” you tried to reassure. 

“We?” Ominis had repeated. “You’re not coming.” 

“What? Ominis you can’t possibly expect me to stay behind.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“If you’re going, I’m going,” was all you said, standing your ground. 

“Y/n…” he had tried to coax. You didn’t say anything, hands finding their way to your hips. Ominis sighed. He knew you were stubborn, so he also knew there was no talking you out of this. “Fine.” 

Your stubborn glare quickly faded into a cheek to cheek grin as you almost skipped next to Ominis, linking your arms together before making your way into the door, following behind Sebastian and the fifth-year who had already found their way inside. 

Not that you would ever admit it, but hearing Ominis speak Parsetounge did something to you. Yes, the language often ties a witch or wizard to dark magic, and for Ominis it serves only as a reminder to his family, but that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate how attractive it was when he spoke it. 

“It worked!” the fifth year spoke as the door opened. “Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed.” 

“It’s nothing,” he brushed off, retreating back towards you and linking your arms once more. 

“Truly,” you agreed. “It’s fascinating.”

If you weren’t near positive that Ominis would never think about you in a romantic way whatsoever, you would have sword you saw a small tinge of red grace his cheeks at your comment. But it was probably just the lighting. 

Once the door was open, the other two were fast to start figuring out the puzzles and the maze in order to get through the scriptorium. You and Ominis had stayed behind. Ominis wanted nothing to do with this, his job was just to open the door. You were curious about the area, yes, but Ominis was more important. You wanted to make sure he was okay. Usually throughout the days he would have plenty of distraction from his family and their legacy. But now? In the heart of Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium? All that surrounded him were reminders. 

As the doors opened one by one, you all moved further and further until you reached a black door. 

“Looks troubling,” was all Sebastian had said. 

Ominis scoffed. “This whole place is troubling.” 

As the other two went into the strange room, you didn’t budge. As Ominis was stopped from the firm grasp you still had on him, he turned towards you confused. 

“I don’t like the looks of this room,” you whispered. “I have a bad feeling about it.” 

“So do I,” he responded,his hand finding the top of yours to comfort you. “But for my aunt’s sake, we cannot stop now.” 

“You’re right,” you nodded, taking a deep breath. “We’ll be okay.” 

As soon as you stepped into the new room, the door closed behind you. 

“The gate!” Sebastian called out, “We’re locked in… again.” 

“Then Salazar Slytherin is not yet finished with us,” Ominis sneered. At this point, you began to panic. There was no clear way out. You began to lose even more hope when you looked in the corner and noticed-

“A skeleton,” the new student pointed out. “And Noctora’s last journal entry. She mentions being trapped here. Trapped by… and unforgivable curse.” 

Your eyes widened. The incantation “crucio” etched into the floor suddenly making sense. 

“No,” you said in a slight panic. “No there has to be some other way out of here. Another puzzle? Another brazier to light?”

“What?” Ominis asked, confused. “What are you talking about? What is it?”

“They know what we need to do,” Sebastian said plainly. “One of us needs to cast crucio.” 

Sebastian turned to his friend by the door, discussing the curse with them while Ominis began to pace. 

“Ominis,” you called to him. “Ominis relax, we will figure something out.” 

“No,” he said simply. “No this all could have been avoided. I could have refused, we could have just gone to dinner. I could have protested more to you joining.” 

“Ominis none of this is your fault.”

“Yes it is! Don’t you see? I put you in danger.”

“I chose to be here.” 

“But you had doubts, and I assured you that it would be alright.” 

“And we are alright. We’ll find a way around this.”

Before anything else could be said, they heard the new fifth year shout out “Crucio!” in Sebastian’s direction. The two of you looked towards the pair with wide eyes, about to call out towards Sebastion until… nothing happened. 

“Did you do the movement wrong?” Sebastian asked. 

“No,” they responded, shaking their head. “No, I think that I just couldn’t mean it. I care for you, Sebastian.” 

“You have to try,” he urged.

“I can’t.” 

“Cast it on me,” you spoke up suddenly, taking a step towards the pair. 

“No!” Ominis had interjected quickly. 

“They can’t cast it on Sebastian,” you began to explain. 

“You can’t-”

“We don’t have the same connection so they could-”

“Not you!” 

“Ominis,” you sighed, quieting your voice as you pulled him aside. “I will be fine.”

“I’ve felt the cruciatus curse before so I-”

“Shouldn’t have to go through it again. Let me do this, please.” 

Ominis didn’t say anything more. You took his silence as a sign of agreement, so you approached the door. 

“You ready?” Sebastian had asked you. 

You nodded. “Ready.” 

Ominis braced for the moment that the spell left their wand. He knew what to expect, but he’d never heard the sound of excruciating pain from you. That was something he was not curious to find out. 

Ominis listened as the screams left your throat, as you fell to your knees on the ground. He expected this. He expected the screams to last for several seconds. But this was too long. If they had just cast the curse and left it at that, the pain would have subsided by now. This was prolonged for too long. 

“Stop!” he yelled over the screams. “That’s enough!” 

He waited for what felt like eternity for the screams to stop. For any sign that you were no longer in pain. But when your screams had cut off abruptly, it did not give him the relief he was waiting for. 

“Y/n?” he asked into the silence. “Y/n are you okay?” Never had there ever been a moment in his life that Ominis had wished more that he could see what was happening around him. When you didn’t respond, he began to walk towards the door, calling Sebastian’s name instead. “What’s happened? Are they okay?”

When Sebastian didn’t respond either, Ominous really began to panic. “Answer me, Sebastian!”

“They fainted,” the student told him flatly. 

“What?” he hissed, rushing to where he last heard your voice, hands failing about to try and find any sign of you. When his hand landed on your shoulder, he let out a small breath of relief, almost as if he expected you to have disappeared entirely. “I’m taking them to the hospital wing,” he then announced, following down your arm to find the bend of your knees, intending to pick you up.

“No!” Sebastian protested. “You can’t.” 

“And why not?” 

“They’ll know we were using unforgivables,” the fifth-year stated. 

“What if we need you to open another door?” Sebastian commented at the same time. 

“Glad to see you both care so deeply about their safety,” Ominis scoffed.

“You can’t carry them and use your wand to lead you both,” Sebastian continued, looking for another excuse to keep the boy there. “Let’s find the end of this tunnel and then we’ll take them there together, deal?” 

Ominis sighed, head faced towards the floor. He didn’t want to delay getting you the help you needed, but Sebastian was right. He could crash you both into a wall and injure you further. As much as he hated to admit it, your health was in their hands now. 

“Just hurry up, will you?” he muttered quietly. 

---

When you finally awoke from your unconscious state, Ominis was asleep next to you. Looking around you noticed you were no longer in the dungeons, but instead in the hospital wing under watchful eyes. Well, not that Ominis could very well be included in that. 

As you turned to look at the boy next to you, you moved as quietly as possible. Lacking his sight, Ominis seemed to have much higher hearing abilities than anyone else you knew, so you knew that any sudden noise would be enough to wake him. Your theory was proved correct as he stirred awake at the small ruffle of the sheet. 

You watched as he opened his mouth, but no sound came out as if he changed his mind on speaking up. Instead, you saw his hand slowly reach out towards you, as if to confirm you were there. 

“I’m awake,” you told him with a smile. 

Ominis let out a small breath of relief. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” you nodded. “I didn’t expect it to last that long.” 

“It shouldn’t have,” he said, almost with a sneer. “That new student had to curse on you for longer than it needed to be. All we needed was for it to hit you, they made it linger. They’re lucky I don’t go straight to professor Black and have them expelled.”

Ominis’s thoughts stopped in their tracks when he felt you lay your hand on top of his. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him again. “Lay with me.”

“I- What?”

“Please? I don’t want to think about any of this anymore.”

Ominis sat still in thought for a moment, stammering slightly to himself before standing from his chair, feeling around the bed to make sure you were out of the way before laying down beside you. You layed your head onto his chest and exhaled deeply with a contented sigh. Ominis smiled gently to himself, his nose falling into your hair as he inhaled your scent. He decided then and there that it didn’t matter that he could never see you. Every other sense he had t otake you in was just fine for him. Your voice was enough to bring a small smile to your face, your laugh even more so. Your smell felt like home to him. He could tell you were in a room just by the smell of your shampoo. He could pinpoint which brand it was in a shop just with a small whiff alone. The touch of you skin never failed to comfort him in times of distress. The soft, delicate touch of your hand on his would always bring a smile to his lips. Your taste.. He was yet to be abpe to experiance. The only one of his available senses that has yet to experience you. The rest thought you were perfect, he could only imagine that would be the same.

That is, assuming he ever decides to do anything about his feelings for you. 

For now, however, this was enough for him.

Part Two

[aethes-bookshelf]

let me be your shelter || astarion/gn!tav

This is the result of an especially hectic exam season. I started writing this fic instead of having a meltdown lol Now that I have more time again, I decided to finish it :) I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: hurt/comfort (mostly comfort), gn!Tav (can be read as a self-insert), Tav/Reader is the one being comforted

Pairing: Astarion/Tav, Astarion/Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Summary: You’d always tried to be the strong, reliable one — a leader through and through, a shoulder to cry on for everyone else. Even after everything you'd been through, you put on a brave face. All the way up until you couldn't.

Luckily, Astarion's always there to pick up the pieces.

ao3 link

The sun was setting outside when you finally closed the front door of your house behind you, cloaking the entrance corridor in darkness. The straps of your pack were digging quite painfully into your shoulder, no doubt leaving angry marks on your skin. You threw it to the floor with a huff and closed your eyes for a moment,

The day's exhaustion rolled off of you in waves; hours worth of dust and grime stuck to your clothes and skin. Rebuilding the city after the Battle of Baldur’s Gate was a noble cause. It being noble, however, didn’t make it any less exhausting.

You tried running your fingers through your hair, but your hand almost got stuck in it instead. The firm tug against your scalp made your eyes water. Your back was on fire, your legs were on fire, your face was tacky with drying sweat. It was all so much, too much.

Curling up in a corner and staying there until the sun fell out of the sky seemed worryingly appealing. I still have to go back out there tomorrow, though, you thought. The ugly, choking pressure in your throat got tighter and tighter. Your eyes, still clenched shut, brimmed with tears.

‘Darling?’ called a familiar voice from somewhere on the other side of the corridor. ‘Why are you just standing there? At least light a candle or something. It’s not like you can see like this,’ the voice continued, getting closer.

There was the hiss of a match being lit; one, two, three candles lit up the darkness.

‘Well, not that you can see much with your eyes closed, anyway,’ said Astarion. All snark left his voice when he saw the first tears roll down your cheeks. ‘Oh, I wasn’t that mean, was I? Why are you crying, love?’

‘I-I’m sorry.’ Your voice broke. ‘I don’t- don’t know why, I’m just- just so…’ you trailed off as the first sobs tore out of your chest.

Just a few months ago, Astarion would be looking like a deer in headlights right about now. He still remembered the very first time you broke down after the whole Absolute-tadpole nonsense was over. After everyone else went their separate ways and you chose to stay to help rebuild the city and he chose to stay with you. Naturally.

The breakdown happened soon after. The second night the two of you slept in your brand new bed in your brand new house, the dam inside you just broke, shattered into pieces; and you were swept up in the current of the build-up grief and fear.

Astarion, as much as he loathed to admit it, panicked. He had no idea how to comfort people; after all, it wasn’t a skill necessary for survival for most of his life, so he never really bothered to learn it. He still hadn’t even after whatever the two of you shared at first turned more serious. You’d always tried to be the strong, reliable one — a leader through and through, a shoulder to cry on for everyone else. The stable one. The stable one never gets to cry, so you didn’t.

As ashamed as Astarion was when he realized it, he hadn’t even thought you could cry. It just never really crossed his mind.

Luckily for the both of you, he loved you far too much not to learn from his mistakes after that very first night of the rest of your life. He’d like to think he got comforting you down to a science.

‘Would you like a hug, my sweet?’ Step one was almost always physical contact. And not just because holding you became one of his favorite pastimes; rather, it was grounding for you to have something to hold onto when you got like this. Astarion would gladly volunteer to be that something whenever he could.

You didn’t trust your voice enough to answer, so you just nodded instead. You were starting to tremble; rarely a good sign. Whatever stress-induced breakdown was happening would probably be a big one.

Astarion knew better than to try to wrestle you from the spot you were standing in. It would do nothing except agitate you further, so he simply walked up to you and gathered you into his arms.

The moment you were close enough to hide your face in the crook of his neck, the sobs that had been building up inside you this entire time wrecked your body. You were wailing loudly; so loudly you’d be embarrassed if you had enough energy left in you to care.

Astarion winced slightly at first — you were close enough to his ear for it to hurt. Still, he held you closer, firmer. Just enough pressure to help you calm down.

Eventually, your wailing died down to sobbing, and sobbing turned into soft sniffling. He tried to run a hand through your hair; his fingers nearly got stuck in it, just like yours before.

‘Would you say no to a bath, darling?’ he said, voice soft and quiet. ‘I got some new scented oils a few days ago. I even paid for them this time.’

That got a small chuckle out of you. Your throat was raw and your face was even more sticky now; a bath sounded wonderful.

‘I’d rather like a bath, I think.’ Your voice was all scratchy. You’d probably have one hell of a time trying to speak tomorrow.

‘Come on, then.’ Astarion kissed the top of your head and gently pried you away from his neck.

Usually you were the one leading him everywhere; he supposed in moments like these it was his turn to lead you instead. He walked you to the bathroom, holding your hand. And he didn’t even comment on the snot you left on his shirt, which was a great show of understanding on his part — as far as he was concerned — although he did take it off and throw it in the laundry basket as soon as the two of you entered the bathroom. All his love for you didn’t mean he’d be okay running about in a snotted-up shirt.

He sat you down on the floor near the bathtub and filled it with water. He smelled each of the new scented oils with great consideration. The last thing you probably wanted at the moment was having to pick which oil to put in your bath, so he wanted to make the choice for you — and to make the right one.

After the bath was all prepared, Astarion helped you out of your clothes and walked you to the corner of the bathroom, where he washed most of the dirt off your skin. Making sure you could properly relax also meant making sure you wouldn’t be soaking in dirty water, after all.

Soon enough, you were sitting in the bathtub with your eyes closed. Right after helping you inside the bath, Astarion ran off to grab your favorite hairbrush. And now, he busied himself with detangling the mess your hair had become over the course of your day. He talked and talked all the while — about his day, about this awful thief he managed to thwart the other night, about the shopping trip he went on the day before — about everything and nothing, just to keep talking. Just to fill the silence with noise that would drown out your screaming, tired mind. He didn’t expect you to answer; it was enough that you listened.

After your hair was brushed, washed and conditioned, Astarion dried you off and brought you a freshly washed set of pajamas.

‘You need to sleep, darling,’ he said, handing you the clothes. He knew you were far too tired to argue with him on that. As endearing as your usual desire to stay up with him for as long as possible was, you needed rest — badly.

‘Will you stay with me?’ you said. You felt much better now that all the grime was off of you, but the thought of laying in bed alone made you want to cry all over again.

‘As if I’d ever leave,’ scoffed Astarion as he took your hand again, leading you out of the bathroom.

The coldness of his bare chest was a much needed comfort. You nuzzled closer to him as he threw a thick blanket over the two of you. He reached over to his bedside table.

‘I could read for you, if you’d like.’

You mumbled out a ‘yes’. Your eyelids were so very heavy, but the idea of hearing Astarion’s voice rumble in his chest right against your cheek sounded lovely.

He chuckled to himself. ‘You’re adorable when you’re tired.’

He started reading. You weren’t really paying attention to what he was reading, rather to the sound of his voice itself. The individual words and sentences blurred into one, continuous rumble. Listening to him speak felt like falling deeper and deeper into a pile of the softest pillows.

You were out before Astarion could finish the first fifteen pages of the book. He noticed by the end of page twenty. When he did, he gently put away the book and held you tighter against him. And he may or may not have left a few kisses on your forehead, but that’s neither here nor there.

Astarion got comforting you down to a science. And he was damn proud that he was the one you trusted to comfort you in the first place.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬:

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This was inspired by a chat between me & a fellow requester @originalgothhoagiefish-blog. My tumbler master list looks like a mess, but I'm trying to get placement right.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: What happens when you bite your god-like mosquito back during heated times?

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.

TW // Smut, Clothed, Bulge, Biting.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

Your angel was hungry, you can see it in his eyes; the way his angelic wings give a minuscule twitch. How his eyes keep glancing at you, wishing for a bite, and if he was lucky enough… something more. He cannot act on his needs at the moment: he’s caught up in some planetary business that he (and the whole legion) has chosen to leave you out of, but you could. You could sedate him for a bit. Give him something to drink.

“We need—” You move just a bit, gaining the attention of some of the blood angels that guard you, and well… the attention of your spouse. You know you’re causing some type of interruption with your presence just standing there, wanting to at least get to wander about. You get some looks for it: from the opposing planet, but you are undeterred. You trust your lovely legion of mosquitoes to bleed them dry if needed.

You move again and gain a bit more than just looks. You can feel the heat of jealousy burn into your skin, trying to get to your singular heart while you make your way out of the room without being dismissed. You’re sure you would get some snarky remarks about it, but they were in your lovers' domain, not their own. They should know how to act considering they were all mostly nobles.

“My Lady,” One of your sons interrupt you, following you out of the room. Leaving his other brother to observe. His steps heavy but light at the same time with his armor on. “Where are you going?”

“Your father is hungry.” You simply point out what you have seen; singled out and have a very good feeling having understanding on. “So are you.”

“I am not.” The son denies, shaking his helmet. You don’t have to look behind you to know that he was. You, however, were no commoner to your lovers’ needs, nor to his legion. You were here long enough to understand their... cues of peculiar hunger.

“Do not deny the truth Son of The Angel.” You muse, giving him a glance behind you. It was amusing how some of them still act a bit childish and refuse things. One would think the children of the stars would be much more… stoic; formal perhaps. Yet they have their moments when they reminded you of complete children.

“I do not deny, my lady.” He huffs, and it’s just amuses you even more. He was— is food angry. “I’m simply… irritated.”

“Irritated.” You repeat his word with a hum. He didn’t want to act nor admit he was hungry, just like his father. They always get a bit grumpy without something to feed them. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t be swayed with my offered blood?”

You’re quick with it, taking your defense dagger from your waist and slicing the palm of your hand of it before turning around on your heel and presenting your now bleeding palm to the son. Your hand in a slight cupped formation to keep your own blood from wasting to the ground.

“My lady…”

“Do not refuse what is generously offered, it is rude.” You are also quick on your tongue, interrupting the loyal son. Your bloody hand moving a bit as if to urge them to drink from your lifeline that slowly pours from your hand and down your arm.

“I… your blood should only be offered to our father…” He tries to deny you again, but he’s lured in. He’s leaning in closer to your offered hand. He can’t resist his hunger to feed like most others could. He is a younger Astartes, but you don't blame him for it.

“Hmm, perhaps.” You hum, feeling how your own blood pools in your hand, slowly slipping through your fingers. “But I’m offering you. Do not deny it.”

He sighs at you: a heavy one. His gauntlet coming up to his helmet and taking it off himself. A beautiful shade of dark green appearing as his eyes then the bright blonde as his wavy hair: the length of it is to his shoulder blades or rather pauldron. A few scars littering his face, but he still had those young, youthful features. (Not like the whole legion didn’t.)

“You, are as handsome as your father.” You complement the hesitant Blood Angel. He probably doesn’t want to drink from you because of your status. Doesn’t want to drink what is his Primarchs, and you can't really blame him on that either. You wouldn't want to eat the alphas food either.

However, your husband can make an exception.

"Are you sure my lady?" He asks for your word, your permission. His gauntlet coming forward to grasp at your hand. Stabilizing it for him to drink. It's a cute, small step forward for the young one to resist temptations. "I don't want to be... punished for it."

Oh, how adorable the sons were. Allways asking for permission. Well, almost always. You've heard how they weren't merciful sometimes, and you suppose it's a hard truth to learn of them, or easy. Depending on the person.

"Would you be punished if I was simply offering?" You ask him, moving your fingers a bit as the blood goes down onto his gauntlet. His eyes never leaving your crimson stained hand. "I am giving it to you freely."

"I... suppose not." He sighs, finally leaning a bit down to give your hand and inhale. His tongue liking at his lips before he gives in. The heat of his appendage giving a long lick to your palm. His tongue curling, acting like some sort of spoon to get more blood piled up in his mouth. His fangs barely brushing over the skin of your palm.

It was almost strange. To feel the differences between son and father. At least tongue wise as this sons' tongue was like a cats', yet it's a bit smoother. Sanguinius? His was smooth but had more heat to it. You guess it's because he most drank from you when he was really needy...

After a moment, he releases your wrist as gently as possible. His tongue swirling in his mouth as he moves his hand to cover his lips as if this would require some form of adequate. His eyes looking away from you with a slight blush to his cheeks. "I can see why father chosen you as the legion mother..."

You smile at him, amused and knowing. You know your blood attracts some mosquitoes more than most. Your hand returning back to your side. He has cleaned your hand quite well...

"Hmm, then I suppose you would not mind deliver something to your father; offer for an offer?" You ask the son, pressing on your wounded palm slightly. Watching a bit more blood leaving the slit.

"Of course, it's only reasonable my lady."

You're back in Sanguinius quarters but the time your... package has been sent to him. Your hands are busy wrapping up your own hand that you injured for the sake of feeding the Sons of The Angel. A small, humming tune leaving you as you tend to the wound.

You wonder if Sanguinius would like your small, editable gift? It was in small quantities, but you wanted your husband to be enriched and not be bored of the nobles that are no doubt talking nonsense, because you know in experience, they like to talk in laughing wealth... or at least those ones do. They never like to do dealings with you... which may lead to their downfall.

You jump a bit when the doors of Sanguinius quarters open. Your eyes giving a brief glance outside. You would have thought he wouldn't have arrived back until dusk, but you suppose not all comes to plan.

"My love, you didn't have to enlighten me with your own blood." Is the first thing that leaves Sanguinius mouth. His clothed form briskly walking to your side, as if he was impatient. His wings fluttering behind him. His eyes staying on you once they land on you: sitting down and wrapping up your hand.

Oh, yeah, he is definitely impatient.

"Oh? So, you knew it was my blood?" You muse, returning to wrapping up your palm. A little embarrassed to look at him now. How could you? You might have just done something brave, but incredibly stupid. Might of. You're not too sure. Would he scold you for it?

"How could I not?" He inhales. His lips suddenly close to your neck and it makes your heart pulse. His hands moving anything from shoulder from obstructing what he wants. "Your blood is my addiction; my own life as it is the legions..."

His chest is pressed up behind you as he leans down to cover you in his shadow. His own hand slowly coming do to grasp at your wrist with the bandages around it. The huge, obvious size difference was always remarkable to you.

"You fed the sons as you fed me." He hums, his lips pressing into your neck and you can't help but give him more access. Your body leaning back into him. "Generous of you, even if we didn't need it."

"Oh, please." You scoff, amused. Flipping your wrapped hand in his, tracing your fingers in his palm. "You were hungry."

"And I," He pauses, musing with you. Kissing you on the cheek as his arms wrap around you. His nose nuzzling into your neck, inhaling again before he suddenly lifts you up from the chair. A surprised yelp of his name falling through your lips as you squirm in his hold. "Still am."

"Sanguinus!" You gasp his name again, your body plopping down into the soft sheets of his bed with him directly on top of you. His hands wrapping around your waist with unnatural ease. Silently telling you just how much he could just take you; ragdoll you as his lips attack your neck. No doubt enjoying how your veins pluses a bit quicker when he excites you; teases you.

"You had no need to feed me when I can have you here; fully." He chuckles into your neck, sending a bit of a vibrations through you at the closeness. His wings behind him spreading out, covering you in his shadow, his scent, him. His hands on your waist keeping you in place for him to enjoy what is beneath him.

"Did... did you like what I have given you?" You ask a bit hesitantly, moving your own hands to his body. Your fingers tracing every outline you can find on the top half of his torso. You were afraid you might get some form of judgment from him.

"I wanted to leave the room once my tongue touched the thickness of your blood in that glass." He groans quietly, inhaling deeply again. His body shifting a bit above you while one of his hands wander just a bit lower... "I truly wonder if you were teasing me."

"Me? Never." You purr slightly out to him, enjoying his wandering his hands. You didn't want to make it sound like you were teasing him, and you weren't, it wasn't intended, but you wouldn't be opposed to be testing a Primarchs' limits in different ways besides the intensity of chaos.

"Oh, really?" He rumbles amusingly, his eyes trailing over your face. His mouth hanging open to slide his fangs over your neck, teasing you. Your body giving a shiver at the feeling as you really didn't know when he would bite you. He liked to be a bit mysterious on it.

"Really." You simply confirm, sliding one of your fingers under the waist band of his clothing, touching the bare skin of him at his v-line. His fangs, and a huff of his hot breath warning you by your neck, confining with you.

He was losing his patience ever slowly with you.

"Then I don't believe you are teasing me now, are you?" He hums, switching to give your neck a kiss again. His eyes hooded in a tired lure while his waist thrusts forward a little, urging your hands to go further down his waist. Teasing the both of you as your fingernails gently claw above where the both of you want.

"Certainly n-not- Sanguinus!"

He laughs lowly at your yelp as he gave a nip to your collar bone, drawing a very small amount of blood to taste you once more. He wants to savor the source of his food, his drink. He want's your fulfilling warmth of your blood, of you. He wants you.

His fangs trace your neck, slowly feeling how your skin twitches and pluses underneath his lips as he occasionally giving you kisses, prepping you for him to feast. One of his hands shifting to move yours a bit lower on him. Where you can feel the thickness of him and his heat. A low grunt leaving him while he has to restrain himself from about wreaking you for the next weeks to come. That is, if he doesn't drink you to exhaustion first.

Your hands grasp at him, slowly teasing him, pumping him up and down. It should have been impossible for you to do so because of his height but with the way he practically curls around you for your touch, it was not, and sometimes? You curse at yourself for your smaller height, feeling bad for your lover having to curl around you for the simplicity of intimacy, but oh... It makes things feel deliciously bigger; thicker.

You shutter a gasp when his fangs slowly pierce your skin. Hands grasping his length a bit harder while you try accommodate to the slight pain that stings you. Your nose slightly nuzzling into his jawline as you feel him drink from you. A little, satisfied hum leaving him as he swallows, even gracefully in these heated times. His waist thrusting slightly as his length in your hands moves for you.

"Sanguinus..." You sigh into him, your mind filled with unholy thoughts of him. How he would- will take you. How he would leave you weak and submissive for him to use to his pleasure. How his cock would fill you with overwhelming efficiency, touching all the sweet spots only he knows about.

He hums at you, louder to acknowledge your wants. His body shifting above you while he still drinks from you. Position himself to where you wanted him. Your hands helping him find his mark, just above your core. You're still clothed, but that's what the zippers and openings on the bottom's of the dresses are for. For your lover to fuck you good all while trying to keep up a professional and neat image.

Your body shutters while you lead him inside of you. Bursts of shorts breaths leaving you as you can feel his length slowly fill you. A slight bulge appearing on your skin where he sits himself inside your walls. Moans leaving the both of you when your walls tighten around him, and you can't but help to think of biting your lover back. It sounds appealing to you in your mind. Your body curling more into him, getting closer to him as he moves with you to continually feed on you.

His gives a small, testing thrust inside of you. Exciting another gasp from you while you move closer to his shoulder, your breath painting his own clothing. Your hands moving to grasp at his shoulders as he always felt a bit overwhelming when he was inside of you at first. You were still trying to accommodate him, but each growing second grew more pleasurable.

A whiny-like moan leaves you when he thrusts again. Hands desperately grasping at him now as the combined efforts of giving you pleasure and drinking from you was a pleasurable overkill for your sensitive nerves. Your own teeth brushing over his neck, and you can tell he froze for a second; pausing his drinking but keeping his fangs fit into your neck.

That, is when you gently bite into him yourself. Your teeth latching onto him gently on his collar bone: voided of his clothing. You bit him gently enough that wouldn't cause a mark, even if you knew how hard you had to bite him for anything to be done to him, it wouldn't cause anything to him, but in heated times? It was like activating his carnality card.

He is quick to move, unlatching from your neck and giving it a reassuring lick before he's hovering above you again. His hands settling on your thighs, giving you slow, rolling thrusts that were repetitive. It has you arching your back into the sheets with your hands grasping at his on your thighs. Mewls leaving you as he ever slowly goes faster and faster. Loosing himself: losing his resolve with you. Quiet grunts and growls leaving him while he keeps readjusting his hands on your thighs to your waist to keep you in place on his cock. His wings behind him moving and fluttering with his rabid thrusts.

Perhaps, you should bite him a bit more often? Maybe offer some surprising drinks of your blood too? It was certainly an experience, and a chance for you to be bedridden for a couple of weeks.

[ladyymiisa]

RISE AND SHINE!

summary: mornings with shouta might be a challenge, but you still love him unconditionally, even when he's being a total pain.

tags: aizawa shouta x fem!reader, fluff, shouta is an insufferable little shit in this so i’m sorry if it seems a bit ooc

author’s note: misa writing about someone who’s not hawks? absolutely crazy. anyway, eat up my children!! (i wish he would eat me instead)

mornings with shouta can go one of two ways:

1. you wake up first, only to be sweetly persuaded into remaining in bed with him for another hour or so. this usually happens on the weekends.

2. you wake up first and are confronted with the formidable task of ensuring that your boyfriend gets out of bed on time to attend to his responsibilities as both a pro hero and a teacher.

today happens to be the second scenario.

“come on, shouta,” you urge, attempting to pull the blanket from his body, only to succeed in moving it a mere millimeter from his grasp. even freshly awake, his grip remains unyielding—a trait whose logic you’ll never quite comprehend.

with a sigh of frustration, you give the blanket another tug, this time applying more force. “your alarm has rung three times already. how much longer do you intend to lounge around?” you ask, your annoyance evident.

shouta remains silent and you find yourself sighing once again.

this won’t do. he should have been out the door by now, and you’re pretty sure nezu will give him another reprimand for being late once again. there’s only so much he’ll let slide.

with your lips pressed together, you silently watch shouta. you observe the steady rise and fall of his chest as he dozes off peacefully, without a care in the world. a few unruly strands of hair have fallen across his eyes, partially obscuring his face from view. perfect.

it's time to resort to plan b.

with your plan set in motion, you roll your shoulders, savoring the satisfying pops of your joints, then position yourself, ready for action. without an ounce of hesitation, you allow your body to collapse onto his like a ragdoll, face landing straight against his bare chest. this action finally elicits a response from shouta.

he grunts in disapproval, partly due to the unexpected impact of your body landing atop his own without warning, but makes no effort to push you away. instead, he remains there, defeated and motionless.

"get off." he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

"only if you get up." you retort.

you feel the low rumble in his chest as he grumbles once more. a few seconds of silence pass, and just as you begin to think you might have won, his arms unexpectedly wrap around you, securing you in place.

this prompts you to gasp in offence and struggle against his grip, but your efforts are in vain. shouta has no intention of letting you go so easily, not when the warmth of your body nearly lulls him back into slumber. you let out a whine, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

the fucking bastard is smirking triumphantly.

with a resigned sigh, you allow your head to fall against his chest once more. something tells you that shouta won’t be the only one getting an earful from nezu today.

[justaweasel]

I always imagine MC getting summoned into the Devildom in different ways at the start of the game, but this one has STUCK so I'm screaming into the void to get it out of my personal void

You had just finished with your little project. For some reason, you had wanted to create a piñata. It was a fun little project and after you could destroy your creation in a plethora of ways. It'd be almost therapeutic.

As you got up to wash your hands of the weird flour (can be too glue btw) , water mixture. For the split second that you blinked, you had blipped into an entirely different room. You looked around, obviously confused. There were a few men there, in a weird court-like room. You wanted to rub your eyes to make sure what you were seeing was really true, but refrained from doing so due to.. the state of your hands.

Wait.

Your hands...

You looked down and then up again, down, up, down, up. You saw the look on their faces. Some confused, some flustered, some amused, and others completely indifferent. In a rush you had tried to explain yourself.

"This is papier-mâché, this is papier-mâché, this is papermache, thisispapermache, thisipapermache!" Your words sort of blended together as you frantically tried to justify the.. that on your hands. The man on the highest chair, the red-headed one, chuckled and raised his hand to silence you.

There's probably more that'll pop into my head, but that's all for now :3

(Just imagine Asmo ribbing you later when you make a pact.

"Was that reeeeaaallly papier-mâché?"

"Shut up.")

[reveryfics]

Lost In Doubt

Marc Spector x male reader

Summary: Marc was struggling to keep being Moon Knight separate from his relationship. His constant disappearances and lack of communication were leaving you in doubt.

A/N: I'm back from hiatus with a long soft smut one-shot. 2.3k words

The anxiety was starting to kick in. You could feel it-the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation-a overwhelming feeling of doubt that crept through your entire being-it made your hands clay. You rubbed the sweat from your hands onto your pants, the harsh jean fabric not so comforting in the moment.

Acceptance-when it was evident Marc was most likely not showing up, again.

Extravagant dates had never been a big deal to you nor Marc. Sure, it was a nice privilege every now and again to sit down at a fancy restaurant with your boyfriend. To laugh together, to share stories of your days, to enjoy one another's company. But even then, you'd rather sit in the loft wrapped in Marc, or even Stevens arms as the two of you watched a movie.

If only Marc wasn't so admit and made a big deal about a date, then never show up.

“Sir?” The familiar timbre of a voice brought you back from your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you transfixed on the possibilities of what Marc could be doing. You know even if it was Steven, he wouldn't have forgotten such an event.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, an uneasy smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance you'd caused the waiter.

“I'm sorry sir,” he shifted awkwardly. You look around, surprised by the amount of patrons and couples that had flooded in within the past forty five minutes. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room, and yet your sollum look pierced the happiness. The lights positioned around the restaurant had seemingly become spot lights, detailing your ‘dinner for one’. “We have more tables to fill, and if you aren't going to order anything, then we'll have to give your table to the next party.”

“Oh, right.” You pulled your phone out to check your messages again. Nothing. Even swiping down to refresh your texts with Marc yielded no new messages.

“I'll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given sympathetic glances your way, you hated knowing that you waisted his and your own time.

You hated that you hoped things would be different.

The night was dreary. Rain had greeted you the moment you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but harsh enough to make you put your coat on. Luckily, your flat wasn't to far from the restaurant, a twenty minute walk at most if you sped-walked there. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you ambled along the sidewalk, wallowing in your feelings as the sound of London night life belted in your ears.

You didn't have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you'd crossed the last intersection, you felt a little more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment building at the end of the block your pace picked up.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out your wallet and keys you'd haphazardly shoved in there. In the midst you caught a glimpse of a photo print of Marc, his body turned slightly towards you as he peered up towards a statue of the Egyptian Goddess Hathor. Honeymoon phase, they called it. Where you were beginning to discover more about one another, likes, dislikes, hobbies, memories, even how Marc had DID. It felt like yesterday that you two were spending the day at the museum.

Now, it was a miracle if Marc returned a call or text.

With the keys in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the vivid echo of Marc begging you to delete the picture because ‘he wasn't looking’ echoing in your head.

If only you had been focused on where you were going instead of the photo, maybe you could have avoided the collision with the door. You stumbled back, hand holding your face as the sting slowly faded away yet the throbbing in your forehead remained.

“Oh god-” If the beating your face had taken from the door hadn't snapped you out of reverie, the familiar face before you certainly brought you back. Your vision began to clear of haze, as if his simple presence was helping.

“Baby?” Marc cut himself off, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning when the dim light of a nearby street lamp illuminated your features: eyes, nose, lips; all that he was well acquainted with.

“Marc-” you took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he's been late. His curls; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and rain droplets. His knuckles; bruised and torn with miniscule cuts. His button up; clumsily buttoned up and crooked.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? Oh god your nose.” Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late, but also because you were hurt.

“I'm fine-” You whispered, wiping your nose against the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted against your skin. “Damn-”

“Marc, it's just a nosebleed.” You applied pressure to the bridge of your nose, pinching it tightly to stop the blood. All while your head was tilted over the sink.

Marc mumbled something under his breath, grabbing your chin and tilting your head back as he wet a cloth in the sink.

Marc's touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on cleaning your face-though you would've done it much faster had he let you.

“All done. Not so bad huh?” He was trying to lighten the mood, if the small smile across his face was any indication.

“Thanks, Marc.” For a brief moment, you forgot why you were so upset about earlier. All because it was nice to actually have Marc there with you.

“So, about our date…”

“Oh,” Embarrassment etched onto Marc's face. You could see it, even if he tried to hide it. “Listen, I- Steven got caught up at work and-”

“Marc,” You sighed, pushing off the sink and walking into the bedroom. “You said that last time, and before that.”

“Figured you'd fall for it again?” He was clearly joking, but even he wasn't laughing at it because he'd been called out. Embarrassed that he believed it would work. Again.

“Marc.” You called out, tossing aside your shoes and wet overcoat before straightening yourself against the headboard.

Marc sat at the edge of the mattress. “I…..I don't know how to..” The veins in his hands popped, the light illuminating new scraps, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now. “I just….”

He rubbed his hands against his pants, staring anywhere but you, anything to alleviate the anxiety.

You were hopeful to finally get an answer from him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing what could be said-what might be true about his actions.

“If you want to break up, just say it.”

It sounded softer in your head, then when you spoke, but the tears that were welling in your eyes that finally spilled told a different story.

Something had made it slip.

Maybe it was a slip of the tongue, or perhaps the months of frustration that had accumulated where you'd been so lost in doubt, snowballed because of your own selfishness and want to be with Marc.

“What? No, that's not-” He jolted up at the mere mention of those words. He joined you. “I would never-”

Marc was panicking, he'd never seen you like this before. And to think he was the root of this-of the pain you were feeling.

“Marc, there's always something going on with you. Y-you don't text me for days. You ignore calls. You suddenly disappear for days without a word. And….and Steven won't even tell me anything, plus you're always hurt in some way.” You took a breath, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from the sudden outburst of emotions.

“Please Marc, what is it?”

Marc bit his lip, as if he was debating something. A decision that could either ruin this relationship, him, or you.

You waited, watched as he fiddled with his fingers as the screws kept turning in his head. Your heart jumped every time he opened his mouth, anticipating whatever he was about to tell you.

Nothing. Silence.

“I'm worried Marc.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Veiny, trembling, and full of life yet they've been worn down. Torn.

“You can't tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“I won't.” You muttered, watching as Marc stood from the bed and wandered towards the window. He pulled back the curtains letting the moonlight seep into the bedroom.

His body slowly became enveloped by wraps similar to those used on mummies, his eyes glowed a bright white until his entire body was enveloped by a suit.

“Just to clarify.” You mumbled, eyes wide as your fingers traced over each and every inch of Marc's suit and body, the fabric a pleasant texture under your fingers. “You're an avatar to the Egyptian god Konshu?”

Marc nodded, his eyes following your fingers as they touched his body. “You aren't mad?” Your hands suddenly came to a halt when Marc took them and led the two of you to the bed and laid against it.

“Mad? No, I just wish you said something sooner.” You admitted in a quiet tone, as you noticed just how battered Marc's skin was under the light.

It felt nice when you pressed your body against his, the way your hands felt against his bare skin. “I'm sorry, I was worried something could happen to you, or that Konshu would see you as a possible contract when mine is up.”

Marc exhaled, the air between you thick with unspoken desire. His body descended, a slow, deliberate descent that mirrored the pounding of your heart. You found yourself beneath him, a canvas for his touch, his gaze. His hands, strong and sure, captured your wrists, pinning them above your head, your arms outstretched like wings. Your legs parted instinctively, an invitation, only to be met with his own. He entwined them around his waist, a possessive claim, his body a warm, heavy weight settling upon yours.

His kiss was a storm, a whirlwind of passion that stole your breath away. You tasted him, the metallic tang of arousal, the sweet surrender of your senses.

"Is this your way of making amends?" you murmured against his lips, your voice a breathless whisper.

He broke away, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. "Is that a problem?" The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge. His hips began to grind against yours, a slow, deliberate dance that ignited a fire within you. You were clothed, frustratingly so, yet the pressure between you, the undeniable evidence of your erection pressing against his, was a torment, a delicious agony.

He began to shed his suit, a slow, deliberate stripping that revealed the taut lines of his muscles beneath. The fabric, once a barrier, now fading away, revealing the man beneath, lean and powerful, a masterpiece sculpted by desire. It was as if the suit itself was an aphrodisiac, or perhaps it was simply the way he looked in it, every movement a sinuous dance of power and grace.

Your own arousal intensified, your pants straining against the insistent swell of your erection. The grinding continued, a primal rhythm that threatened to consume you both.

He shifted, lifting you onto his lap, your thighs encircling him. His hands found their way to your hips, a possessive grip that both thrilled and terrified you. His eyes devoured your body, taking in every curve, every line. You began to shed your own clothes, the moonlight catching the gleam of your skin, the way your cock rested against your stomach as pre-cum leaked from the tip, transforming you into a creature of the night.

A low groan escaped his lips as his eyes fell upon you, naked and beautiful in the pale moonlight. "You are exquisite," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "Absolutely intoxicating.”

His lips found your neck, tracing a path of fire across your skin. You arched into him, desperate for more, your body a symphony of need. He nipped at your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "You taste as good as you look," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

His hands moved with a practiced grace, exploring the contours of your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You gasped as his fingers found the sensitive skin beneath your ribs, eliciting a moan that echoed through the room. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a jolt of excitement through you.

He pulled back, his eyes holding yours. "Ready to lose yourself in me?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

You could only nod, your body trembling with anticipation. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss that consumed all your senses. The world around you faded away, replaced by the intoxicating sensation of his touch, the taste of his skin, the rhythmic pounding of your hearts.

He moved slowly, deliberately, savoring each moment, each touch. His hands guided you, urging you deeper, higher, until you were lost in a whirlwind of sensation. You cried out his name, your voice a raw, animalistic sound, lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

He moved within you, a relentless rhythm that mirrored the pounding of your heart. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, your nails leaving tiny crescendos of pleasure. The world dissolved into a symphony of sensations – the heat of his skin against yours, the rhythmic pounding of your hearts, the sweet release that washed over you in a wave of pure bliss.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath mingling with yours as you both lay spent, a tangle of limbs and satisfied sighs. He held you close, his arms a comforting embrace, his heart still racing. "Never doubt that you are mine," he whispered against your hair, his voice a low, contented rumble. You smiled, your heart overflowing with a happiness you hadn't known existed.

[acim-ed-ortsac]

Butterfly Kick (Shinobu! Male! Reader x Blue Lock)

You knew you were shorter than the other football players in this room, not as strong as them, and admittedly your face was considered cute. But one thing you can rely on is your speed and agility. As you stood amongst the sea of around 300 other boys in this building, you waited for the person who summoned you here. You noted well-known figures here such as the genius speedster, Chigiri Hyouma, whom you heard of in middle school. Another guy was the heir of the Mikage Corporations, Mikage Reo, which intrigued you since you hadn’t heard of him playing football.

Adjusting the strap of your gym bag, your eyes went around the room some more before the screen at the very front flickered to life. A bespectacled man who looked unhealthily thin with bowl-cut hair greeted you, “ Greetings, diamonds in the rough,” were his first words. His dark blank wide eyes stared down at you as if you were mortals and he was a god. In a way, maybe he is in this situation.

His speech at first brought chaos and irritation, followed by fear at the prospect of removing their chance at the U-20 team. You had internally scoffed at that. Especially when ‘Japan's Jewel’ had protested against the man who calls himself Ego Jinpaichi ideologies. But you, you saw some truth in them. You weren’t ignorant or unaware of the flaws in Japan’s philosophy, ‘All for one and one for all’. Teamwork is nice but it’s useless if no fruits are being born or progress amongst the individuals themselves.

A team is not only a group of people who work together, but people who can bring out the best in each other, and who can compete and climb to the top. People who have a certain self-importance, an ego the bespectacled man had emphasized.

When the first boy ran towards the opportunity to improve and make it to the top, the others followed behind. You ran forward because you wanted to see what this program is all about, and you wanted to use it for your benefit.

“You can’t become the world's best striker unless you become the world’s best egoist.” Ego Jinpaichi had said in his speech.

When the others would grit, grumble, and protest, your sweet smile which you had worn for years now had a meaning under it. Something fiery and hungry.

After the blue buses brought you to the facility, you were given a number along with a letter before being directed to the building you were assigned to. You had changed into the suit you were given before finding your room, which was a W. It took you a while, but you managed to find it, opening the door.

In it were other boys besides you, around 10 to 12. And they were infuriatingly taller than you as well. You felt a muscle twitch as you kept your smile, “Hello, how are you? I’m Kocho Shinobu, nice to meet you.”

The boys have taken your introduction well as one came up to you, with a smile. From there, it was easy to befriend the other guys in the room, which came to blow when Ego appeared on the screen and announced a game of tag; the loser would be kicked off of the program and never play for the National team ever.

From there, it was a war of desperation.

You mostly stood to the side, dodging when others would target you, which was often. You knew it was because they underestimated your short stature and weak-looking body, but it was easy to prove them wrong when you quickly dodged any strike aimed at you. And the few moments you were hit, you quickly kicked back at them. When the timer was up, one exited the room, bawling his eyes out.

You didn’t even know his name. 

Then Ego announced the First Selection, where your team will be facing off against four other teams in your building. Which builds up anticipation and distress at the prospect of losing and going home. For now, it was the Athletic tests.

You were confident in your speed and endurance, but weightlifting was something you were sure to suck at. 

You glanced at your rank as you wiped off the sweat from your forehead, ignoring the sounds of boys training. You’ll need to do better if you want to stay and make it to the national level.

The food that you ate was decent, but you couldn’t deny how appetizing the others were. Your eyes glanced at the other players who were participating in this program while you partake in conversation with your teammates. You noticed some peculiar ones such as a blonde with dyed ends that rise up aside from to locks at his front that go down. He has dark skin, not as dark as the people from the African continent but close.

Another one is a dark-haired boy with cyan eyes and underlashes, a loner type with a powerful aura.

Then there’s one with long hair and another one with a bulky build.

Sadly, they were taller than you by a lot. You internally grit at this, ‘I’m possibly the shortest one in this program, aren’t I?’

Your teammates were oblivious to your annoyance when you went back to conversing with them with a smile.

The first few matches were…uneventful. You weren’t sure if it was just because they were lower than you or what, but the first match was chaos and a mess. You could’ve just stayed at the side, but you had gotten fed up when your teammates refused to work together despite your insistence.

Which made you decide to do it yourself.

Kicking off from your place at the side, your feet ran past your teammates and the enemy before getting the ball from them. Everything was a blur for you as your eyes were dead-center at the goal, a sense of belonging and fire as you pulled your foot back before kicking the ball past the goalie and straight into the net.

And in that moment, you knew you started a chain reaction.

From there your teammates had found themselves the motivation to help you score, which in turn finally made you work with them like a team. You suppose this was what Ego meant by ‘Ground Zero’, by playing without roles there will be chaos and disorder until there will be a 'protagonist’ to shine the light and guide the way to victory.

Your smile became sharper at the idea.

The next match was kinda boring as there was no challenge, opting to stay at the side and let your teammates have their chance at scoring. The match after that was against the team with the boy with blonde wild hair pink ends, and dark skin. Now that you got a good look at him, you noticed how he has pink eyes and a sort of…unique would be putting it lightly but deranged would be too much…He had a very interesting smile.

The match started off and the ball was in possession of one of your teammates, which was stolen by the blonde. None of your teammates could stop him, ending him in scoring.

Your interest piqued, deciding to enter the game. In the second round, your teammate passed the ball to you, leading you to run like the wind. You avoided the opposing team members with ease, feet light and body airy like a butterfly. What surprised you was the blonde that caught up to you.

“You’re pretty fast, for a shorty.” he grinned.

You felt a muscle twitch in irritation as you smiled at him with closed eyes “Am I? Well then,”  When you opened them, you made sure to express every irritation and ire that you felt in what humans call ‘The Windows of the Soul’. “I do hope you can keep up.”

With a kick, you sped through the field with speed that for others broke the sound barrier. Your legs pumped with anger, the ball bracing against your swift yet aggressive kicks when in your control. Your vision narrowed at one thing: the goal. It was in sight, and you knew you had this one when you pulled your leg back and shot the ball into the net.

The whistle blew at your goal.

Satisfaction took the cake, as you smiled while your team yelled in euphoria at the scored point. Then a blonde slammed that satisfaction down when he threw his arm over your shoulder—even more so when he leaned over to accommodate your height and smiled at you like he was teasing!

“I like you, Butterfly-kun.” The blonde said. “The name’s Shidou Ryusei, can I get your number?”

Your eye twitched before you shrugged off his arm, “Ara, Shidou-san is quite friendly. But I say that you are quite bold to ask me for my number—

—When you haven’t scored yet.”

Shidou’s smile became wider, “Like to hide behind a smile, huh? Bet I can break it out of you.”

”I don’t know what you mean.” you replied before returning to your team.

After enduring tests, challenges, and obstacles, you found yourself being one of the few players left in Blue Lock. Sadly, Kunigami seemed to have been eliminated. And just as you were reacquainted with each other again. However, the boy with blue eyes seemed interesting enough.

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

Words: 1567

I had this in my google docs for a while now and just wanted to get this out there.

I also use the second person pov since it was easier to write.

[leighsartworks216]

For A Cuddle?

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wrote this this morning bc the brainrot is real

Warnings: mentions of dried blood, referenced blood drinking and hunting

Word Count: 535

Masterlist

AO3

You're so tired. Your eyelids droop, almost fluttering shut, before you blink them open once more. It's late at night. You haven't slept at all. You certainly could, if you allowed yourself to give in to the warm embrace of dreams. But you didn't.

Astarion went out to hunt a while ago, and hasn't come back yet. This was completely normal. Sometimes he'd be out all night and only come back in the wee hours of the morning. Other times he was gone for just a few hours. You don't recall when exactly he left - so you can't really tell if it's been a couple hours or several. All you know is you feel wrong laying in your bedroll without him. There is an emptiness that could only be filled by him.

You were so tired - you didn't need him to be there to sleep. You could sleep now. And tomorrow you could ask him to lay with you until you fell asleep, before he goes hunting. But tomorrow was so far away. You wanted him beside you now.

"Still awake, darling?" Had you been more lucid, his voice would have startled you. He'd have laughed and remarked on your lackluster performance as a lookout. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."

You hummed noncommittally, rolling over toward the sound of his voice. He was kneeling by your bedroll. It was extremely reminiscent of the time he tried to sneak a bite. Now you freely allowed him a drink whenever he wanted it. "S'waiting for you," you murmur. He almost can't make out the words.

"Why is that?" he asks softly. His voice is so nice... His hand brushes through your hair. "Why did you stay up, my dear?"

"Lay with me?" It's almost a whimper. A plea.

He huffs a laugh. "You stayed up for a cuddle?"

You nod, leaning into his fingers as they gently detangle knots and massage your scalp. "Please?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. He watches you force your eyes open repeatedly, trying to keep them trained on his face even as exhaustion blurred his features into a pale blob. Every time he runs his fingers from the crown of your head to the nape of your neck, they fall shut just a little longer. When he's quiet for too long, lost in studying your face, you make a sort of whining noise and reach clumsily for him. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

"Calm down, love, I'll stay."

You watch as best you can as he shuffles to lay down beside you. Before he can get fully comfortable, you're pressing your face into his neck and wrapping your arms around him. You don't complain when he continues to shift and get settled in. Once he does, however, he can feel your body fall slack in his arms. Your breath evens out against his neck; your heart slows to a steady thrum.

He presses a kiss to your head. Your hair is greasy, with flecks of dried blood scattered throughout, and you didn't smell too pleasant either. But you were soft and warm, and he couldn't find it in himself to care otherwise.

"Sweet dreams, my love."