#“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss”

[anotherdarkiboi]

He... he did the thing. The first time you meet (with a knife to your throat).

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi! If you're still taking requests I'd love request a drabble about the moment when Konig and Reader first noticed each other and what they thought/felt during that moment based on your "Just Friends" fic.

Btw I love your work and oh my god, it's perfection, absolutely amazing. Super excited to read chapter 3&4 (no rush take your time!!)

Thabj you!!!

Even Demons are Lonely

Wordcount: 3.8 k

Summary: König sees reader for the first time. Soon, the promise to never touch someone as lovely as her turns into a vow to never leave her side.

Tags/warnings: F!Reader, König POV, Just Friends universe. Angst, twisted & fluffy feelings, pining, obsessive behavior, stalking, panty stealing, mentions of past trauma, abuse and patricide, yandere!König falling in love (=being delusional). Mild sexual and violent themes. 

A/N: I did take my time with this one... 🩷 And it's only König POV, but I hope you enjoy! 💋

"Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely – saw, and pined His loss..."

– John Milton, Paradise Lost

Purgatory.

That's the word that stuck to him when he was learning English at school, simply because it was an accurate definition of how he felt.

Adults used to say there is heaven and hell, and then this world, the world of humans, somewhere in between. They said he would go to heaven after he died and that bad people would go to hell.

They were all liars because hell already existed here on Earth. He had lived there ever since he was born.

The first memories of the cutting are shallow and pale, like they happened to some other boy. With every hit and cut and every cry, the sounds turned muddy until he was mute too, until all he could hear was mother's crying and Papa's roaring. The old man always got more mad when people cried and cowered. 

That's when he knew he would someday do something about bad people, that crying and cowering and begging wasn't going to help. It was the birth hour of hope and heaven. He dreamed of killing his father, killing his "friends", killing everyone who looked at him like he was a freak. 

He soon learned that this was not what people associated with heaven at all. He learned that there was a word for people like him, for phantoms who were morbidly interested in death and decay.

Ghoul.

A grave robber and a corpse feaster he was not, but neither was he going to pretend that some people didn't deserve to be gutted. If being normal meant he should just play along and pretend that there was justice in this world, then he was happy to be morbid. A little ghoul boy who grew up in hell, who dreamed of heaven, who slipped behind the thin veil between the worlds when he was four, who learned how to make the knives dance while everyone around him suffered.

He learned to cry and beg before he learned to speak, but when the words finally started to make sense to him, he had no use for them. No one wanted to talk to him, so he settled to observe. Life was a film reel running by, and words were useless when all he wanted to do was roar. There was a growing, gaping maw inside him, shrieking and spitting blood while he was without a voice.

It took a while to make Papa cry and beg. But he begged, eventually. In his last words, he tried to hide behind a woman’s skirt. 

"Don't do this to your mother," was a plea that didn't ignite mercy: it drove him off the ledge. Looking at the horrible excuse for a man squirming at his feet made him realize he should've released his mother from this demon years ago. He was too weak, and he vowed to himself, to the whole world, that he would never be weak again.

………………

Sometimes, a glimpse of true heaven can be seen on a clear summer's day when the sun shines, when bees are buzzing and a beautiful voice sings a love song on the radio. Beautiful, peaceful things only add to his suffering. They are simply evidence gathered – examples of everything he will never have. 

The air clots inside his mask with a brew of old sweat and acrid gunpowder. It's usually enriched by a hot desert wind or the stench of dust and emissions, a city's rotten core. It would feel odd to be met with a fresh breeze or the smell of rust and smoke than have them dampened by the baggy mask. He's certain that it would only be painful to feel the full brunt of the world on his naked face again. His enemies can't see him when he kills them, so they can't haunt him either.

He is the only ghoul here. He is the one who haunts.

He's learned to let love and peace go. He came here to reap; that's his job. Ghouls cannot love or be loved. They are supposed to get rid of the plague, do what normal people can't do, what good people deem hideous and wrong.

People have always been alien to him: they both know something he cannot seem to decode and are unaware of the constant presence of the Maw. He has to feed it in order to not be swallowed by it himself. It helps with the constant yelling for a while. 

His father was the first demon to be punished, but he has learned that all demons are liars when they beg. They don't know what real hell is like. That's why he didn't give mercy to his father, and that's why he doesn't give mercy to them, either. It's not hell, it's not heaven, so he must be in a limbo state in between. 

That's why he calls this place purgatory. 

………………

He sees a woman under the sun one day.

The sheer sight of her sitting there on her little blanket spread over the grass, dressed in a pure white dress is like a torturing dream from above. It stops him in his tracks like there is suddenly an invisible wall in front of him, forcing him to halt.

His heart is pounding, but that's not new. His heart is always tight and racing, and that's why it's better to have a heavy gun in his hands than hold onto nothing at all; it's better to do something than do nothing at all. The only thing that calms the endless roil inside him is work; when there's no work, it helps to go outdoors, somewhere between the shadows between thick trees.

Trees are better than people...

But they're not better than a woman like her.

He knows his mind plays tricks sometimes with females. That is why at first he thinks that the creature before him is not from this world either. How could someone like her even end up here? There are few ladies in the base, and none of them have picnics; none of them look like angels.

She looks up at the sky, at the single cloud drifting across the cerulean blue that hurts his eyes. Sun shines on her exposed throat, her stare is dreamy as she basks in the warmth and raises an apple to her lips. 

He stops breathing as she takes a bite, fearing it might stain the beautiful white dress from how juicy it is. The runaway apple juice drips down her chin, but she catches it with her finger, then sweeps the sweet taste of it back into her mouth. 

Her lips hug the finger gently as she savors the treat, and his breath returns to him, heavy and with a pang, like someone just punched him between the lungs.

She can't be human... 

He wonders if she's even real. 

He's hungry, but the need to devour this woman turns into a need to worship her before he can even decipher what is happening to him. He would grovel at her feet if that's what it took to get her to feed him some of that fruit. His mind goes numb from the need to march there and hug her. Just hold her, so close that he forgets what it is to breathe.

He knows she would only scream, and it's good he's been walking in the shade. It's good that she can't see him unless she turns her head. Because she must be an angel, and angels have no business with ghouls. 

He should go and leave her be... Mortals he can want, humans he can torture, but a celestial being he could never touch. The wind carries a whiff of apple juice to his nose; it overrides the stench of sweat and gun oil and smoke. 

And then the angel turns her head. 

It's Judgment Day, but she doesn't condemn him. She blinks a few times, lashes fluttering like he's another sun, the dreaded black sun, and she can't bear to look directly at him. But there's no disgust, no uneasiness, there's no fear. There's only shyness and the smallest smile. 

The pain inside his gut turns into a brutal stab, pure suffering. He hasn't hoped for anything for a long, long time. Now hope bleeds into his stomach with golden tingles, like those rays of sun that caress her skin.

He thought good things would feel… well, good, but to his horror, they feel painful too. She's painfully sweet. Even the demon inside him falls silent, the only demon he cannot destroy. It's finally quiet, as it should be. Everything in him bows to this greater power of Her. 

But she can't be real... His mind is sick and has finally conjured up the most beautiful thing he can never, ever have. He's been called a freak, he's been called a dumb ugly giant, he's been called so many things, but he's not stupid enough to think that the creature hugged by the golden aura of light is meant for him. 

So he squares his shoulders and pushes through the invisible wall, back behind the veil, back to where he belongs, and leaves the heavenly apparition in the sun.

………………

The next time he sees her is after a mission and inside the base. 

He brings mud and blood inside after a few rainy days spent in the mountains. He's so soaked that not even the 3-hour flight managed to dry all the dirt. She's waiting for him, or that's how it feels like when she gives him a small, relieved smile and starts to clean the mess he and every other operator leave behind.

His angel is not only a celestial visage but a cleaner.

She keeps the building that houses people who destroy life, clean. She scrubs the filth killers like him bring inside the cold, dead compound built on what used to be a forest full of birds, life, and wind through the trees. 

No one thanks this girl as she humbly dusts a table or mops the floor. No one understands that she's a saint for coming to the purgatory and making it a more decent place for the demons and ghouls to live. And she's relieved every time he comes back unharmed. She's happy to see he's alive. There's someone waiting for him. And not just someone, not just anyone, but an angel.

It's unbelievable how no one has claimed her yet. She has no one to keep her safe, and it makes his hands twitch. If he was her protector, she would never have to work again.

She's not like the rest of them: she doesn't turn her gaze away when he flicks a knife out. She likes to watch him make them dance. It's a ritual that makes him invincible on the battlefield. He used to do it every morning before school to stay safe – there were no angels back then to keep him alive.

He almost stops the first time he sees her watching how he goes through the rite. 

No, look away, little angel... You're not supposed to see this; this is a death dance, it's filthy, demonic magic.

But she's not afraid of his blades or the way he weaves his spell of protection. The girl follows his moves entranced. Her eyes shine, and he nearly drops the blade – he hasn't dropped a knife since he was ten – because there's hunger in her stare. Not as fathomless as his, but deep enough for him to recognize it. 

His angel is lonely and trapped too. 

He completes the dance, returns the knife to his pocket, and looks back, straight back.

She doesn't look away. She doesn't wince or lean back, no: she leans forward, and he can see it, the way her pulse flutters on her neck, the way her mouth opens even more, how a tiny pink tongue sweeps across her lips as she looks back into the jaws of damnation. It takes him a while to realize his angel must be wet, just from seeing how good he is with a knife. The notion doesn't only make his cock jolt; it throws him headfirst into the abyss. 

You'll never get rid of me now, the demon growls before he can choke him silent.

Her wet eyes, her wet, promising lips belong in a realm of madness. She's not filthy; his angel could never be filthy. But she's seducing him, which means she might seduce other men too. 

Has someone claimed her already…? 

What if she has a lover? Do they make her legs shake, do they make her mew?

Who does he have to kill?

………………

He breaks into her room that night. 

He only meant to stand watch and see if someone creeps to her in the cover of darkness. He thinks about different ways to kill her lover as he waits near her door. Should he just strangle them when they enter her room? Make her an offering, let her know she could have a far more powerful male if she wants?

No, he must use a knife... She will get wet if he uses a knife.

But no one appears: he is the only shadow in the dark hall, and after midnight, he decides to take a look at his innocent, sleeping angel. Just one look.

Her domain is full of softness, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he continues. Her world is so different from his that he nearly turns back and closes the door to paradise. But then her breathing calls to him, causing him to take a few steps. She sleeps with her window open, likes to listen to the sound of night birds before she falls asleep – just like he does…

The demon is awake in an instant and grabs him by the throat. 

No. 

Don’t look. If you look, she will steal your soul.

He freezes before he reaches her bed. His gaze sweeps her room instead, and the demon pants at the sight. Her dresses are laid out on a clothing rack: they salute him like a row of colorful flowers. Flowing and singing like a river, they hit him with a breeze made of life and all things good. 

She has a little armchair filled with cushions, and there's more softness and beauty everywhere he looks; he can see it even in the darkness of the night. Her delicate perfume that follows him as he follows her around the base lingers in the air and mixes with the distant birdsong and moonlight that shift the curtains in her room.

There's art on her walls, lively houseplants on the window sill, she has collected a cavalcade of cute little things on top of her drawer: nail polish and sea shells and beeswax candles and a piece of driftwood, a bottle of that perfume she uses, decorative lights above it all, placed around a small mirror. 

He wants all of that. 

He wants light and living things and greenery – he never had plants at home – he wants softness and cute little items, he wants to listen if the seashell still roars with the crashing waves were he to bring it to his ear. His mama always told him seashells remember the ocean because it used to be their home…

He wants her to light a honeyed candle and give him a bite of that apple, catch the juice as it runs down his scarred chin, or better yet, kiss it away before it falls. He wants to taste what's between her thighs. She must taste like honey and heaven.

One of the drawers is open, and from it, a torrent of cute little underthings is spilling out; they almost cascade on the floor. In different colors, too, and his hand reaches out and takes one before he can even think. He steals it like it's candy, then turns around with a stiff back and shoulders heavy from the sin he just committed.

He's about to go to the door, but her soft breathing calls him back. He tries to calm the demon - the girl can't steal anything: there's nothing left to steal. He has no soul, so he doesn't have to fear her either. 

Taking a few steps, he takes the peek he shouldn't take because it will only prolong his sentence in purgatory. Little does the demon know that he would suffer eternally for one little glimpse… 

She's not cocooned inside her blanket as he thought she would be. He thought he would find her coiled into a fetal position, curled into safety, but instead, she's sleeping on her back, arms spread next to her face, looking like she just fell from heaven and is feeling a little dizzy from the fall. She's calm and innocent as the moonlight brushes her cheek, her face free from all worry.

Why is she so cute, why is she so sweet? 

She has no right. She should be up in heaven.

He almost crawls on top of her right then and there, because blinding want is nothing compared to this. He wants to breathe her, breathe with her, hold her gently, and have her smile at him when she wakes up. He doesn't want to ruin her… He just wants a taste, see if an angel would like to have a demon worship her. If his worship would mean anything, if it had any power to persuade her to like him... 

He would never kneel before anyone, but he would kneel before her. In spirit, he is on his knees, and the only thing that makes him suffer is the fear that she might not want him, a ruined temple haunted by old, hateful spirits.

The madness was right. Apparently, there was a soul to steal, a tiny broken mosaic piece left, for the angel has it now. She owns what's left of him, the haunted temple is hers if she would ever want to come visit. He would restrain all those monsters so that she can walk freely and explore all the things buried under the rubble.

Her underwear burns his palm like a flower on fire. He only then realizes that there are no actual flowers in her room. He wonders if she would give him a kiss if he were to bring her one. Or two. Or an entire bouquet…

The demon inside cuts him with a searing blade – stupid idiot – she doesn't want to kiss your mauled face or love your ghouls. There's no treasure hidden inside that filthy rubble, there's only shit and blood and festering vomit. Better to just take her right now, see how tight she is, how wide her eyes go when a proper man comes to assert his will and authority. The demon tells him to at least ruin that cute thing in his hand and throw it on the table. Imagine her shocked little face when she wakes up…

Tears brim, and the maw of hell laughs with a roar of raging fire. He forces both down with a swallow and a wrench that shuts his heart.

There's no way she would ever let a man like him inside her. He's a sickness; no, he's an entire plague. He could try to make love to her, and she would only cry and bleed to death.

The smooth place between her brows gains a wrinkle as if she can hear his thoughts but doesn't agree with them. A little whimper escapes her nose, her head nods on the pillow; it looks like an attempt to hide while you're tied and cannot move. 

Pretty angel is having a nightmare, and it's no wonder. Of course she can sense she's being visited by a monster. 

He turns to leave, and notices another colorful thing on the floor: her underwear, and not clean. She's slipped out of it before bed: his angel is naked under that blanket. His angel sleeps naked…

He wonders if she has touched herself before sleep. Not with feverish, stern hands, like he does, but softly, under that blanket, with her features melting into pleasure as she comes with sighs and a series of desperate little whimpers. 

His blood turns to hellfire as he drops the underwear he's holding. It falls right next to the intoxicating thing he picks up instead. Taking a deep inhale, he can finally smell her. Not just her perfume, but her. She smells of an angel and a woman, raw, perfect woman, and he knows he's lost. This is worse than any dream or demon; this is worse than anything ever before. There's no going back now. 

Her scent calls to him, those hands frame her face in a gesture of surrender. She smiled at him on that day under the sun, and she smiled at him today.

What if he's spent enough time in hell? What if it's possible to have a taste of heaven?

He can't help but wonder if his angel wants this too... 

“Engel,” he whispers into the night.

It takes only a second before she whimpers again. It's an answer, it's a yes, and his heart is full of tiny needles; they pinch him with terrible love and hope. The wrinkle has smoothed out, and his angel is smiling very, very softly. 

She's calling for him. How could he refuse?

His angel is full of light as he makes his decision. He whispers his apology, only in his mind and only in German, trusting that angels must know every language in the world. He asks for her forgiveness for all the things he's about to do to her. Then he promises he will come for her, that she doesn't need to worry: she has a guardian now and always will. She will be forever safe with him by her side. He will drive even her nightmares away.

Then he returns to his room so different from hers, returns to the realm of death and worships the thing he just stole, spraying it with hot, white love - the only thing inside him that can be called pure, the color of angels. It's only a matter of time before he gets to worship her in the flesh, unite with her, the soul who forgave his sins and slipped him the key to heaven.

[telelli-writes]

something fun and interesting for me as a fanfic author is being REALLY AWARE of how much of a debt of gratitude/inspiration i owe to the works i love, and being likewise aware of how much they shape the way my own mind forms its thoughts and frameworks.

i got a good response to this particular paragraph in the last update i posted to my current WIP (it’s a Tomarry fic if anyone is interested!):

“An unearthly sound rose to fill the corridor, echoing from the very beams of light surrounding them, a song as beautiful as it was haunting. It set all the fine hairs on Tom’s body to standing and pimpled his skin with gooseflesh. He had never heard anything of the like before, and found that he was utterly transfixed by it. It was almost awful in its sheer goodness, achingly lovely in a way that seemed to stab and tear at Tom. The longer that Tom listened, the more it felt as if he were bleeding inwardly, somewhere he hadn’t imagined it possible for him to sustain a wound and thus had never thought to protect. Tom wanted the song never to stop, to go on forever with him always cradled within it, even as a part of him raged and gnashed and feared, wanting to escape the terrifying, awe-inspiring beauty of it all.”

and i am so aware of exactly where i got the inspiration for all of the best lines!

1. the “awful in its loveliness” line from milton’s paradise lost

“Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely, saw, and pined His loss."

2. the “stab and tear” line from a letter franz kafka wrote to oskar pollak

“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?”

3. the “bleeding inwardly” line from mr. rochester in charlotte brontë’s jane eyre

“I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly.”

all of my best thoughts and ideas and lines are the byproducts of the ones i’ve read and loved before! and i don’t mind that! it feels wonderful being part of this endless, ancient human conversation

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

I absolutely loved Sister Suns! Fanfic roulette please!! I’d love a fic with Harry and Tom at Hogwarts if possible <3

eleventh fanfic roulette of the day(s):

i'm so glad to hear that 🥹 in that case, I'll now recommend something i haven't read 😂

What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by telelli

“Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely, saw, and pined His loss." -John Milton, 'Paradise Lost' There was a new transfer student, Tom observed at the Start-of-Term Feast as he idly twisted the Gaunt ring around his finger.

words - 32507 | chapters - 11 | incomplete

have i read it? no. am i going to? absolutely.

send me an ask if you want to get a fanfic roulette too

[p-isforpoetry]

Poetry in Movies and Television: The Crow (1994)

The poem Eric Draven (Brandon Lee) misquotes when he breaks into Gideon's (Jon Polito) shop is from "The Raven". Eric says:

"Suddenly I heard a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."

"The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

You can watch/listen to the full poem on my channel by Xander Berkeley or James Earl Jones

When T-Bird (David Patrick Kelly) recognises Eric, he quotes from John Milton’s Paradise Lost:

"I knew you. But you ain’t you. You can’t be you. We put you through the window. There ain’t no coming back. This is the really real world, there ain’t no coming back. We killed you dead, there ain’t no coming back! There ain’t no coming back! … Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is!"

Paradise Lost, Book IV, [The Argument]:

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss”

The quote is from the end of the movie:

“If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.” --- Sarah/James O'Barr, The Crow

Music: Jane Siberry - It Can't Rain All the Time

[jesush8r]

Winter is the best time to read📚

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss” ― John Milton, Paradise Lost

[happyinthechapel]

Abashed the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely—saw, and pined His loss; but chiefly to find here observed His lustre visibly impaired; yet seemed Undaunted.

[girleulogy]

Literally abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw virtue in her shape how lovely and pined his loss and in the lowest deep a lower deep still threatening to devour me and did I request thee maker from my clay to mould me man and-

[yinyuedijun]

🍉 – fics for gaza

hi all, I am currently accepting wip sponsorships as part of the @ficsforgaza initiative! please note that I’ll add requests and update the wip sponsorships available on a rolling basis. stay tuned for updates!

🕊️ 12/1 – dabi hell fic is now available for sponsorship

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✧ higher than the mountain, deeper than the sea ch.6 – dabi x fem!reader x shouto – ao3

Touya watches you stare feebly out the window, your fingers curled around those useless flowers he bought, and he finally understands why his pathetic excuse of a father could never find the words to apologize to his mother.

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✧ night flower ch.2 – omega!aventurine x gn!alpha!reader – omegaverse fic, ch.1 here

Sometimes he feels like a defective product, like sixty Tanba was actually an inflated price. He's not just a Sigonian, but a fucked up omega that can't stand alphas—one who can't let you hold him, or kiss him, or touch the scent gland that’s been scarred by his commodity code. No one would want to gamble for something so broken. Not even someone as good as you.

When you offer to mate him, Aventurine can only laugh and assume that it's some kind of joke.

– words sponsored: 10,670/10,000 ✅

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✧ art of the bedchamber – dan heng il x gn!reader – dual cultivation pwp, part 1 here

Dan Heng dreads the thought of outliving you and will do anything to help you achieve immortality. If that means fucking you in his dragon form, then so be it.

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✧ paradise lost – sunday x gn!reader – tragedy, concept here

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss.” — John Milton, Paradise Lost

(Or: When the Aeon of Philosophy peers into Ena’s Dream, HE sees your greatest wish and understands what HE has lost.)

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🍉 – completed sponsorships

zero-sum game

night flower ch. 1

bluebird ch. 2

corruptive (kinktober fic)

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[frguitar]

Giulio Negrini Guitars - GNG

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss” - John Milton, Paradise Lost, 1667

[joanlattanzio]

Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss

Paradise Lost- John Milton

[chiwhorei]

the folly of man

pairing: e. todoroki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: ~2.6k

tags: the softest!enji there ever was, crybabie!reader, age gap (20ish vs. 50), d/s dynamics, belly bulge, squirting, overstim, daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, a spank, breeding kink, creampie, i am dramatic and clinically melancholy so it’s a little angsty but it’s really just unabashed, self-indulgent fluff

a/n: i screamed about soft!enji to @messwriting a few weeks ago, then the other night enji took me to paris and wrecked my shit in my dreams. the result? complete self-indulgence. i will not be taking criticism on my desire to fuck this man, he is a drawing. (the banner image is from the lonely doll by dare wright, if you know this book we probably have very similar issues sksksksksk)

hymn: angel by finneas

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss,” ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

He swears it’s your quirk that got him. Grabbed him by the collar, stole his soul from his chest— you swiped it right from his rib cage.

You sit across from him, legs folded under each other and pen pressing against your lips. Is it your lips? Or the way words curl past them?

A siren’s call in the form of a 20-something journalist. He hates the likes— prodding for sound bites and snippets to plaster across front pages. But your figure buckles in on itself, nerves weighing down the fabric of a light pink blouse and tight-yet-tasteful pencil skirt. Your presence is gentle and honeyed, it feels warm where Enji is usually burning hot.

Your fever spreads across his cheeks and nose.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need me to repeat the question?”

Your bottom lip trembles nervously, pulled in between your teeth to gnaw on. Freshly graduated and on your very first assignment, it seemed hilarious to send the newly minted recruit into a white-hot tongue lashing.

“Mr. Number One has chewed the head off of every reporter in Japan, it’s a right of passage.”

The echo of your colleague’s stifled laugh rings in your ear as you stare back, you scan over the small wrinkles by his eyes and the jagged scar across his face. The silvered skin curves around his features like atonement. There’s something about the prolific hero that seems to pull you towards him. You grab the side of your chair so as to not fall forward right into his orbit.

Any attempt at distance was doomed from the beginning.

He shakes his head, eyes darting from either of yours to find the question you asked him. He coughs awkwardly, nodding his head for you to continue. Any desire to snap at you dissolves into the carpet with the very first laugh. You let out a small, tinkling giggle against better judgement that cracks the glassed tension.

“What is your biggest inspiration?”

The question hangs in the air a moment before a rehearsed answer falls from his mouth, something about the citizens of his community and the desire to keep his country safe. Whatever tumbles out is less interesting than how you smile in response.

Every person in the room-- agents, publicists, the poor intern holding a black coffee in his trembling hands-- watch on, collectively agape, at the scene before them.

Flame Hero: Endeavor breaks composure for a moment to send you a docile, lopsided smile.

You decide it’s something you won’t soon get tired of seeing.

“Did you get everything you wanted,” his voice trails off with a hint of uncertainty, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head, “I could answer a few more questions over dinner.”

Enji stands in shock at his own behavior, the inferno flickers little more than a candle in your eyeline. Every minute holds sixty seconds of opportunity, and Enji’s hair is graying at the ends. Even if you brush the dusty old hero from your shoulders with guffaw, even if you roll your eyes or kiss his insole with a pointed heel. He can’t afford to waste a moment more.

It has to be your quirk, he decides, reciting like a prayer the only logical answer to his sweating palms and clambering heart. Nothing makes sense but keeping you within arms reach. It must be some kind of hypnosis, maybe a pheromone.

Enji’s penance lies in the soft, supplied skin of a quirkless civilian.

***

There are few places that have felt like home, no matter what four walls build a house around him. He alone is responsible for each one decaying. He deserves a spot in every plane of hell.

Enji leans against the headboard, scanning over pages of John Milton and enjoying the quiet just after dusk. Looking over the top of his glasses, the book in hand falls out of frame, like most everything does.

Pink lace hangs like bated breath from your shoulders and hips. You look on to him for approval, the set your eyes had lingered on in a boutique window now brandishes the swell of your breasts.

“My perfect girl.” His words are filled with wonder, pulling at the ends of his mouth when you twirl, the ends of flowing lace pick up around you like wings.

Winter air creeps from the open balcony to hit your skin, spreading chills down every inch. Enji watches as you shiver, the cool breeze prickles past pick lace with little effort.

“Come here.” Enji tosses his glasses and book to the bedside table and pats his lap.

Nothing feels more like home than when you settle to lie atop his naked chest, cheek pressed firmly against his pulse.

You rest your chin against his sternum, hands crawling up to find warmth from his skin. He feels the thin, golden ring as your touch trails around his neck.

His own hands, calloused and battered, eclipse over your lower back to find purchase against your ass.

Away from the prying eyes of domestic paparazzi and forty minutes outside of Paris— Enji cuts out what feels like a stolen heaven.

Idle chat about the museum he took you to today fills the room comfortably. Your fingertip comes down to trace the lines of marred skin across the bridge of his nose, he hums and smiles as you talk about paintings.

None stood out to him.

He takes your hand in his much bigger one, kissing the band that mimics his own. You tangle your fingers together.

“This feels like a dream,” your voice is barely above a whisper, lest the night air hears the talk of lovers.

“I’m not totally convinced you aren’t a dream.” Enji pulls you to sit back against his legs, in this position you can meet his eyes without straining upward. Strong hands come down to rest at your hips, thumbs rubbing lightly against the lingerie’s fabric.

You scoff, batting at his chest, you laugh his comments off in moments like this. But Enji is convinced one day you will lift straight from the world with nothing left but your shoes keeping the earth weighted down.

Soft lips ghost over his, an invitation he’ll never refuse. Your mouth is against him, small hands coming to either side of Enji’s face. His graying stubble is coarse under your fingers. You inhale deeply, he smells like campfire and expensive cologne. Your tongue slips between his lips. His mouth tastes like the remnants of the bottle of red wine you shared after dinner

The hands around your middle pull your impossibly closer, pressing into your lower back to grind your hips down against the bulge in his sweatpants. Your body moves against him, panties rubbing against your already throbbing clit.

“Daddy.” The title wraps in chords around his vertebrae, the sounds of whimpering hits his ear, and he notices the wet patch rubbing right against his knee.

“What do you want, princess? Tell daddy what you want.” The maneuvering of your hips starts slow, but Enji has you almost bouncing on his leg before you can answer him. Both of your hands wrap around his left wrist, tugging it in between your legs.

“I want you to touch me, please. I- I need it.” You bite the inside of your cheek when the pads of his fingers graze the damp, thin material of your panties, his burning touch sets every blood cell aflame.

“You’re so wet, princess, what’s got you all worked up?” There’s a gleam of humor in his voice, seeing you desperate for him has Enji stiffening beneath you.

“My precious little thing, I’ll take good care of you.” His words write you a promise, it extends far past a night of love in Paris.

You can feel his assurance carved into your heart.

Enji’s hand dips into the front of your underwear, ghosting over your clit and running against your swollen lips. He marvels at your response, the smallest ministrations have your head rolling to the side.

His pointer and middle finger prod against you, inching inside carefully. Even with the utmost care, you wince at the stretch. No matter how many times he’s fucked you open in this whirlwind year,

“You’re tighter than a fucking vise, Christ.”

A long moan escapes you, knees moving to dig into the mattress below you for leverage to buck against his hand. Enji curls his fingers upwards, calloused tips finding the spongy patch of skin that has you squirming. His fingers cross over each other, pumping into you and easing you to relax against the intrusion.

“Daddy, I want your cock. I’m ready, please.” The heat in your core is rising, licking against your nerves like wildfire. Enji tutts in response to your begging, his thumb coming down to rub taught circles into your clit.

“I know, princess, but you remember the rules. Cum on my fingers, and I’ll give you what you want.” Enji picks up the pace of his fingers, his own patience thinning at the edges with each call for your daddy.

“Close, ‘m close,” your voice wobbles, aching legs pushing you against him, chasing desperately for that first release.

Enji feels you clenching tight in finality, a squeal breaching the steamy space around you. You crack in his tight hold, the taste of bliss coats your tongue-- it tastes like tears.

You slump forward against his chest, coming to float back down to earth before he sends you hurdling back towards the sun.

“You’re so beautiful, princess, absolutely perfect.” Enji’s voice is heavy, lined with a certain bitterness you are familiar with. His compliments always sound like apologies.

You lift your head, forehead pressing against his, the stray hair around your face tickling his skin.

There aren’t words that could heal decades. No amount of atonement, no prayers to any gods will fix a life of despair. He shoulders the blame of it all, heavy against bones and muscle.

Moving to kiss him tenderly, lips pulling him back into the world's sweetest direction. You shouldn’t let him use you as his redemption. If Enji were another man, a better man, he would have walked away from you that fateful afternoon under fluorescent light with just the fleeting feeling you dipped his heart in.

He’s not any kind of good in this world, Enji is a foolish bastard.

He’ll keep kissing you, he’ll touch and lick and fuck you until your wings pick up in the wind and fly you away.

“I want to ride your cock, Daddy. Let me make you feel good too.” You beg for him once again, you beg to be a distraction, the sweetest kind of diversion-- hidden snugly in the quiet of a French villa.

Enji is meticulous with stripping you of the dainty lace, brushing off the straps of your bra so the cups fall right under your pert nipples. He moves his hands slowly, snaking up your sides to swipe his thumbs against the pebbled buds. You don’t try to stop the wines falling like prayer, your body still on edge from your first orgasm.

He pulls off your soaked panties, eyes tracing the strings of slick collecting and breaking off from your glistening cunt.

“Such a precious little pussy, and it’s all mine.” Enji frees his cock from his sweats and boxers, the length springing to slap against his abdomen. He pumps his hand a few times before pressing it against your stomach. It’s no surprise that his size is impressive, long and thick in an ever-intimidating way.

Enji admires how his cock presses against you, tip nudging against your belly button. In comparison to your smaller form, it’s a wonder he hasn’t ripped you in half.

You’d let him.

“No more teasing, Daddy. I need it, please.” Desperation sparks against your nerves, igniting with the sharp sound of Enji’s hand against your ass.

“Don’t get mouthy now, princess.” His warning is light, he’s never been good at denying you.

He pulls your hips up, lining himself up so you can sink down onto him. If his fingers make you whimper, the first breach of his shaft makes you wail.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging in to steady yourself with every deliciously unforgiving inch. You’ll never get used to his size, you never want to.

Enji has held composure with white knuckles, but his resolve is rusting with every movement of your descent. His desire to tear into you becomes untamable, his mind swims in with the velveteen grip you suck him in with.

“You’re mine, fuck, you’re mine forever.” He will promise you until he believes it himself.

He’ll believe in forever if forever means you.

The folly of man is nestled at the apex of your thighs, is pleading gasps, is begging for more, is too much and too little.

And Enji is a fool in love.

The gates of heaven open between your quivering legs to let the devil in. He’ll take every moment he can steal.

As your hips settle down finally, the feeling of being so completely full has tears collecting in your lashes to run down your cheeks. It’s depraved, truly, how beautiful your destruction is.

Enji gives you a moment, adjusting to his size and relaxing, his hand comes down to rub against your stomach, tracing against the skin lightly.

“I can feel it,” his breath hitches, the pulsing around him is dizzying, he feels his tip as it moves inside of you, “fuck, I can feel my cock in your tummy.”

Shaky thighs start moving above him, the bounce of fat and flesh atop his hardened body. He can’t help the declarations flying from his mouth, he can’t stop the itching feeling to make you his completely.

“I want to fuck a baby into you, want to fill you so full.” He can feel the way your body reacts to his most perverse desire, “I want you round and swollen with my child.”

Enji grabs your hips, taking control and quickening the pace of his assault on your weeping pussy. You cry out, a string of babbled, “Please, daddy, please fuck me full, s-so full.”

You can feel your second orgasm bubbling up with each stroke of Enji’s cock against your abused pussy. All words are lost, all thoughts fuzzy aside from the man pounding himself into you from below.

“Cum around me, little girl, cum around my cock.” Enji’s words are little more than a growl, head thrown back into the pillows as you constrict around him. His fingers come down against your clit again, rubbing with fervor. He’s adamant on throwing you head-first, body limp and overstimulated in every way.

You feel it in the gnashing of your teeth, the wound chord snapping like floss around Enji. You feel yourself gushing, your cum leaking around him and dripping onto the bed sheets.

Enji cums with one final buck, hips lifting off of the bed as he spills into you. You can feel the thick spurts against your still pulsating walls, filling you to the brim and trickling out even before you separate.

He stays inside of you for a moment, large hands wrapped around your middle, pulling you to crumble into his chest. You collapse against his warm, jagged skin. He lulls you with soft strokes to your hair, behind the flush and sweat on your face, he sees the dizzy, love-drunk expression tugging on your lips.

No matter how many times you disagree, Enji knows it’s true.

The swelling, disorienting feeling of your smile. The visions of a future, of the life he doesn't deserve but wouldn’t give up for any deal the devil could make him. The sight of you, simply and without motive, every day.

It has to be your quirk.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[katebushsbabushka]

Solitude Sometimes Is Best Society

Word Length: 4.6k

Characters: Shouta Aizawa, OC

Notes: This is based off a text post I made not too long ago about my oc x canon AU with Vampire Aizawa. I wrote this simply as an experiment for fun and decided to post it for the heck of it. Everything I write for this blog will be SFW, but I do give a warning that there is a lot of romantic tension in this drabble, so, if that's not your thing, you have been been warned.

Warnings/Tags: Vampirism, college AU where Shouta pretends to be a professor and falls for a graduate student in "his" lecture hall, 1950s style AU, oc x canon.

Excerpt:

“Professor,” her voice called above the others, and he noted how small it sounded in his presence. The girl was anything but quiet. He’d heard her argue in his colleagues’ classrooms, heard her throw fits on her fellow classmates in the master’s department. She’d nearly bashed his skull that night when Yumi had no idea that he had been the one who attacked her. Shouta had been used to people cowering in his presence, but something about the way this little woman became so twitterpated in his presence bothered him. The deer should be afraid of the lion that could kill it. 

And she’d gone and fallen in love with him.

Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss. 

His mouth ached. 

Shouta Aizawa looked over the horizon of his lecture hall, gazing at the mountains of different colored heads as saliva pooled in his mouth. Hunger was bad enough, thirst was even more unbearable, but the combination of the two itched so deep that his teeth felt it down to the very nerve endings in his jaw. At first, he could combat the feeling clawing in his throat by chewing on the inside of his left cheek. He could deal with the numbers –  the various smells acidic and tangy, cool and bland, dry and bitter lingering in a hodge podge in the air – and Shouta never once doubted his ability to ignore his own impulses until the door opened one final time.

Peaches. She smelled like peaches. He could always tell what students had eaten before coming into his class. The smell would linger in their blood for hours, never changing the base scent entirely, but rather enhancing or diminishing it. The girl – the woman – that had walked into his lecture hall smelled best of them all, an aroma that drove him mad, redolent of deep spices and salty, magnifying the already metallic scent and taste of blood. She took her seat at the front of the class, always at the front of the class, before she looked up at him with a shy smile. 

Her scent blasted him in the face when Shouta made an effort to breathe in front of his students, and he stepped away from her, fully aware of the slight falter in her features as he made his escape from her. In all honesty, she was a lovely girl and an even more delightful student. Shouta hadn’t been an instructor in eons, not since he taught in the emperor’s house centuries beforehand, but she was exactly the type of pupil he’d enjoyed: studious, polite, responsible. 

And, oh so, very eager. 

“Professor,” her voice called above the others, and he noted how small it sounded in his presence. The girl was anything but quiet. He’d heard her argue in his colleagues’ classrooms, heard her throw fits on her fellow classmates in the master’s department. She’d nearly bashed his skull that night when Yumi had no idea that he had been the one who attacked her. Shouta had been used to people cowering in his presence, but something about the way this little woman became so twitterpated in his presence bothered him. The deer should be afraid of the lion that could kill it. 

And she’d gone and fallen in love with him. 

“I need my test from when I was recovering. I didn’t take it, and midterm grades are coming up and—” 

Shouta fought the urge to gag as she walked up to him right as he decided to inhale. Really, if he didn’t need to keep up appearances so badly, he wouldn’t worry about it, the activity caused him more trouble than it was worth. He tucked his chin deeper into his scarf, thankful for many of the excuses colder weather provided him with before dismissing her with a wave. 

“Don’t worry about it. I passed you. Now, sit down.” 

“But, sir—” 

He launched into teaching after that, some lecture about vampires that came from sources that Shouta knew were only half correct, and the young woman dropped her head at the sound of his voice, her pen only doodling at the paper rather than taking notes on what he was saying. Although Shouta did his best to concentrate on his teaching, his eyes would slip away to Yumi every so often only to find her with her face buried beneath her indigo hair, her chocolate eyes slipping towards him every so often. He hated the look she gave him – that look of quiet confusion that she often leveled towards him whenever he was cross with her – and, despite the rumors whispered in bathrooms and hallways, Shouta did not like alienating himself from these humans. Being in this school only reminded him of how different, how inhuman, he was in comparison to these fragile souls. 

He chuckled to himself. Soul. He didn’t even know if he had one of those anymore. 

Lecture dragged on for its normal two and a half hours, and Shouta supposed that was the one thing that he liked about Fridays. He only had to see Yumi for two and a half hours before she disappeared into the dormitories to do her work, and the only time he heard from her again was Saturday mornings when he’d run into her in the library. She would never eat breakfast, evidenced by the lack of enhancement in her warm blood, and the meetings were fleeting little rituals that were tolerable. 

Finally, the campus belltower chimed five o’clock, and the students began to funnel out before Shouta could dismiss them, a gesture that would normally provoke him if he weren’t hoping that Yumi would funnel out with the rest of them and take her vibrant scent with her. His students left in droves, the smell in the room funneling from the lecture hall until one fragrance remained. 

And it was the most deadly of all. 

At max capacity, the lecture hall contained enough smells that Yumi’s blood was blanketed in with hundreds of other scents, and, while Shouta could never get away from the aroma entirely, the other bodies provided enough distraction. However, alone with her in this large room, Shouta could do nothing more than clench his teeth while his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as her scent tormented him. “What do you need?” he nearly spat in her direction, doing his very best to keep calm. Yumi approached him, the subtle sway of a perfectly wound curl sending his mind reeling as she approached. Maybe one little whiff of her hair would be enough. One smell. That’s all he needed. He allowed her to get near him, taking in a quiet breath through his nostrils, his chest rising. 

A horrific idea, really. 

“Doctor Aizawa, I really, really would prefer it if I took my exam,” she replied before her words all faded into an incoherent oblivion as the light aroma of peaches and crisp, warm bread filled his nostrils. One of the sororities sold peach tarts in the student center on Fridays, and, damn it all to hell, Shouta could still detect the soft scent of the peaches so tangibly it was like he shoved his face into the smooth fruit and felt its fuzz. Shouta exhaled, the sound much more resembling a grunt than a breath, and the girl stopped talking once he did so, her eyes fluttering up to his through thick, dark lashes. “I–Is that a problem?” 

“No,” he murmured, though he felt more like sobbing the word out. Anything to get her out of his lecture hall and as far away from him as possible. He brought a large palm up to cover his mouth and buried his nose into it as though the gesture would do anything to block the scent. “That will be fine,” he continued, not even fully aware of what he’d just agreed to. She smiled. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, “it’s just…well, I…some of the others didn’t really think it was fair and—” 

“Watanabe,” he cut in, decidedly unable to handle one more millisecond in her presence, “I don’t have time to talk right now. I have somewhere I need to be. Now, have a good day.” Before she could utter a word in response, Shouta hastened from the room, breaking into a full run the second he was far enough away from her. 

*****

“So he just ran out of the room like an idiot?” 

Yumi nodded, her indigo hair bouncing against the receiver as she balanced the telephone between her cheek and shoulder. “Yeah…I really don’t think he likes me, Mami.” A voice blustered on the other end, muffled as Mami spoke back to it, and Yumi couldn’t discern whether it was her boyfriend or one of her female friends. She didn’t really care either way. 

“So what if he doesn’t?” Mami questioned returning to the receiver, “sorry. Hiro needed something.” Yumi shrugged, pulling her feet onto the couch as she once more adjusted the telephone. “There’s plenty of boys back home, not to mention the fact he’s a professor, Yumi.” Yumi shushed her, biting her lip and turning red despite the miles of distance between them. “Oh my God, Yumi,” Mami muttered in response, “Hiro doesn’t care about your love life. He’s probably not even listening.” Yumi held her breath before sighing. 

“I just don’t want Mom to find out.” 

“Hiro’s not going to tell on you,” Mami groaned, “and neither will I as long as you don’t do something stupid.” Mami paused in that way Yumi had grown to despise since telling her sister about her new professor before adding, “You aren’t doing something stupid, are you?” Yumi sighed, her eyes drifting to the setting evening sun through her apartment window. 

“No, Mami, I’m not.” 

“Good,” Mami replied almost instantly, “do you have the grades you need to pass his class?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Then I don’t see what the problem is,” Mami stated, “as long as he doesn’t start failing you for no reason, then who cares if he doesn’t like you?” Yumi nodded, the knot in her throat tightening. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Yumi replied, forcing her voice to be steady and not to sound like she was on the verge of tears. However, for all Mami’s harshness, she was equally as perceptive and sighed. 

“Listen,” she said in a much softer tone, “he only teaches vampirism right? And you only need one class in that, don’t you?” Yumi nodded to both, giving a vague hum to signify her affirmation. “Then you never have to see him again after this year, so don’t worry about it.” Yumi gave a small reply of “okay” before she heard Hiro’s voice pipe up in the background once more. “Listen, I promised Hiro I’d go see a movie with him. Call me tonight if you need, but don’t worry about your stupid professor, alright?” 

“I won’t.” 

After an exchange of goodbyes, Yumi pressed her pastel green phone into its receiver before tugging her legs up to her chin. Mami didn’t understand, although Yumi supposed she couldn’t really blame her. Yumi had refrained from telling her friends on campus about her infatuation with their vampirism teacher out of embarrassment. If her own twin didn’t understand, how could she expect anyone else to? Her clothed feet hit the floor, warm both in her socks and against the plush carpet as she walked over to the window and peered out of it, listening as the wind whistled through the barren tree branches. 

Yumi listened to other people far too much. Of course, Professor Aizawa would have passed her for midterms without a second thought. She’d been attacked by a vampire for God’s sake. Any decent person would have done something like that. It wasn’t her fault the incident had happened. Nevertheless, Yumi knew that Professor Aizawa’s midterm pardon wasn’t the only reason the students were talking – it was merely the byproduct of weeks of observation. 

Yumi had never been good at concealing her emotions, and anyone who was around her during vampirism could figure out the depths of her infatuation for her professor. What had started as a running joke among the graduate studies student body, however, quickly turned into resentment the second everyone in the class received the results of their first exam, with many students claiming that Professor Aizawa preferred her to everyone else in the class. What was even worse is that everyone except Yumi seemed to be thoroughly convinced of the idea as well. 

Oh, Yumi had heard the excuses, the explanations, the reasons all before. She’d laughed when a colleague pointed out that Professor Aizawa never took his eyes off her, and her only rebuttal had been that she would believe it the day she made eye contact with him and he didn’t avert his eyes. She’d rolled her eyes the day someone mentioned that he gave her the most attention out of the whole class. She’d outright scoffed when she overheard other teachers mention with actual concern that Professor Aizawa looked at her as though he could and would devour her any second. 

Silliness, Yumi had thought, outright madness. The only thing Professor Aizawa looked at her with was disdain. The others were just jealous. That’s all it was. The man hated her, and Yumi didn’t even know why.  

Her eyes drifted to the clock, ticking away until it was only fifteen minutes until six o’clock, and Yumi sighed, gathering her bag from the floor along with her keys. It was better to leave now. Yumi couldn’t think of a better way for the man to despise her more than being late for her makeup exam. 

*****

Shouta swore he could still smell those godforsaken peaches. 

Within seconds of entering his office, Shouta had slammed the door into the wall, locking it with trembling hands before burying his forehead into the mahogany. Despite the fact Shouta did not need to breathe, he closed his eyes and took deep, shallow, haggard breaths through his mouth for no other reason than to cleanse the scent from the back of his throat. He remained there, forehead pressed against the door as sweat poured from his icy body, and the desire to wretch built in his throat. Saliva pooled in his mouth in thick strands from the roof of his mouth to his tongue before he swallowed hard. He remained like that for minutes until finally the ache in his jaw and tongue subsided enough that he could extricate himself from the wood and collapse onto the floor. 

His black hair hung about in clumps around his face, the half bun at the back of his head pushing into his skull as he leaned his head against the door. He had to eat tonight. Something horrific would happen if he didn’t, something worse than what had already happened with the girl. He covered his face with his hands, hoping his own scent would counteract hers. He’d eat some birds, maybe a stray animal if need be. Animal blood was nothing but a piss poor substitute for that of a human’s, but a beggar can’t choose a feast when scraps are his only option. It would have to be enough to satisfy him. 

Shouta remained on the floor, her aroma leaving him little by little. He’d always been attracted to savory tastes even as a human, and her blood only reminded him of the curry bread he’d enjoyed in mortality. The other vampires he’d been able to converse with over the centuries held that the best human blood was sweet – gentle like a dessert and never overpowering – but Shouta had never been one for confection. Perhaps it was the fact that her blood was so unpopular that drove Shouta to the point of madness. She was a little delight – appealing and special all for him and only him. 

He began to salivate again, and Shouta shoved all thoughts of the blue haired girl who sat at the front of his classroom from his mind. He’d do something stupid if he didn’t. 

Shouta rose to his feet, going over to his desk and sitting in his big leather chair as he examined the various test papers, essays, and God knew what else littering his workspace. For someone who only intended to stay for a few weeks, he’d become quite busy in his new vocation, and Shouta would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the position just a little. He’d always been drawn towards the educational field, and there was something special about enriching student lives with his own knowledge. Most of his students were lazy little pricks who only came to UA on mommy and daddy’s money, but there were a few among his ranks that, if circumstances were different, Shouta would have befriended. 

He thought about the student who got into fights with the fraternity boys who thought they knew everything before he realized that was Yumi. His mind then conjured up images of the student who always told him good morning and good evening in the sweetest little voice before realizing it was, once again, the same girl. When his mind recalled the student who always shoved her pen into her indigo curls, perfectly messy and always bouncing with the slightest movement, Shouta shoved all pleasant memories of his job away and thrust his neck back against his chair, hoping the plush leather would somehow crush his skull. Maybe she was the only one he paid any attention to after all. 

Her blood. Her blood was tantalizing. That’s all it was. Shouta wouldn’t allow himself to believe any differently. Nothing good would come of it anyway. Not a single damned thing would be worth the trouble. 

Shouta almost yelled when someone knocked on his office door. 

Enraged, Shouta took to his feet, his black Brandy leather shoes creaking against the floor as his hand grabbed the doorknob so tightly he nearly tore it from its fixture. One rule, he had one damned rule that he expected these little urchins to respect. 

Don’t bother me after my last class. Come during office hours or don’t come at all. 

Shouta didn’t even catch the aromatic peachy smell until the door opened its first centimeter, and, immediately, Shouta shoved the door closed. “What do you want?!” he demanded to the girl on the other side, his forehead already breaking into a nervous, cold sweat as he held his hands against the door. What is she going to do? Break down the door? Idiot. 

Her little voice piped up from the hallway, muffled by the wooden structure. “I-I’m here for my makeup exam,” she called, confusion palpable in her voice. 

“What makeup exam?!”

“I–The one I asked you about, sir!” Yumi replied, “we talked about it earlier? You said I could come in…” Shouta’s eyes went wide at the declaration, his brain retracing every step until the point he reached his office. It must have been back in his classroom when she was babbling to him about her midterm. He dropped his head forward, his hair falling in front of his face, and he sighed. He had no one to blame for this but himself. His fingers twisted the lock on the door again, and he peered his head out just enough for a silver eye to see the young woman standing in the hallway. 

“Can we do this some other time,” he hissed, “something came up, and I really don’t have time for this.” Shouta’s harsh words were met with a quick blink, her eyelashes batting at him in confusion before she tipped her chin down. 

“Professor, I really, really want to get this done,” she pleaded, “you don’t understand.” 

“It can wait, Watanabe.” 

“Sir, please! Some of the students are threatening to go to the dean if you don’t let me do a retake!” Shouta’s hands dropped, the strength easing from the appendages as his fingers slid down the door. Concern shot through him, his eyes softening as his jaw went slack out of Yumi’s view. He remained still, his eyes still giving her a penetrating stare. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The others are convinced that you’re playing favorites,” she stated, “I know it’s crazy, but they think it’s unfair that you passed me for midterm without testing me.” Shouta nearly growled at her words, slinking back into his office fully. “C-can I come in?” Yumi questioned. 

“No,” Shouta barked at her, “wait there.” Once out of her view, Shouta pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and lifted his head up to the ceiling. Leave it to a bunch of spoiled college students to come up with the idea that the top student was only passing because he was sweet on her. Great. Just great. His gunmetal eyes dropped back to the cracked office door as his lungs didn’t even dare to breathe. 

Maybe things would be fine. He could take her to the lecture hall or the library and administer the test. He could even sit behind his podium and hide the fact he wasn’t breathing. He’d spent centuries concealing his identity around humans that tantalized him before. What was an hour? 

He could do this. 

Shouta straightened his suit jacket and slid some of the messier strands of his hair back behind his ear before he returned to the door and slid it open, stepping into the hall to find her skipping around on the different colored tiles on the floor, and, for a second, he almost smiled. At the sound of the door closing, Yumi lifted her head, those dark blue curls bouncing absently around her cheeks before she straightened, her hands going behind her back as though she were embarrassed, and Shouta already began to regret his decision. “Make this quick,” he rasped, walking ahead of her by several feet while Yumi turned and began to follow with little quickly-timed steps. Although she made several attempts at small talk, Shouta only responded to her prattling with one word responses or noises, not wanting to open his mouth very much. Although he could still smell the scent of peaches, the smell was tolerable, ignorable even if he tried hard enough. In fact, Shouta didn’t have any problems with getting through the hallway. 

It was the last few feet before they reached the testing room. 

Yumi ran ahead of him, something Shouta didn’t exactly have a problem with in and of itself. As long as she remained a few good feet away from him, Shouta didn’t mind where she was. He didn’t even mind her getting the door for him, until her indigo curls bounced behind her, the strands of hair flicking toward him at close proximity. The remnants of the motion hit Shouta in the face, the smell intoxicating, and his eyes nearly rolled back into his skull, every instinctual muscle in his body activating at that point. 

In mere seconds, Yumi’s back collided with the wall, and Shouta’s face lingered mere inches from hers, and, if she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn the man grew five inches taller. His left arm pressed into the wall by her head, locked into place by his elbow, and, if Yumi had dared to look up at it, she would have seen how his fist trembled against the sheetrock. His right hand grasped her shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh of her collarbone and pushing her further against structure. Yumi couldn’t pay any attention to the position of his hands, however; her eyes were locked against his, petrified by the sight before her. 

While Yumi had never gotten a detailed look at the planes of his face this close, Yumi knew for certain that his eyes were silver, maybe blue under certain lighting. Right now, his irises glared blood red down at her trembling body, and she couldn’t describe the look on his face as anything other than animalistic. If this was how he looked at her when she didn’t meet his gaze, Yumi finally understood the teacher’s whispers in their break room. 

This was the face of someone who wanted to consume her. 

Yumi almost said his name, made some attempt to speak beyond the fear choking her, but not even the tiniest of sounds would escape her lips. Fortunately for her, despite whatever rage he’d entered, he still retained enough of his senses to talk. 

“Get away from me,” he rasped out, his own voice weak with an emotion Yumi couldn’t

exactly describe, “please. Before I do something I regret.” He backed away from her a step, and, while Yumi knew the smartest thing to do would have been to run, she only remained frozen to her spot, her eyes studying him with concern. 

“Sir?”

“Watanabe,” he snapped, “go!” Yumi moved, finally having the sense enough to obey, but the seconds of delay cost her when Shouta reached for her and shoved her back into the wall, this time shoving his face deep between the juncture of her neck and her shoulder. Despite all of the lectures he’d given about the subject, Yumi didn’t attempt to jab him in the abdomen or singe him with the silver he’d made all of the students start carrying since the attack. She only tensed in his hold, her limbs ragdolling against him as her breathing picked up in short, panicked puffs of air. Shouta wanted to shake her, chastise her for not paying enough attention to what actually mattered during class until he realized why on earth would she? 

Until now, he’d been nothing but human – a rude, miserable little human. 

Even through the sweater she was wearing, Shouta could smell the peaches emanating in her blood, right along with that salty, savory scent he adored so much, his own little five star meal with dessert flowing right through her blood as though she’d been considering this. He breathed long, heavy, and deep, every muscle in his body tight, the veins popping in his neck and arms. His fingers trembled as his hands slid up her back and neck and into those curls he loved so much, the hair he often wondered the length of time it took to fix. It was just him and the little barrier of white fleece separating him from what he so badly craved. His teeth slid out, fully prepared to puncture through the fleece, his mind a whirlwind of desire and oncoming regret until something penetrated the storm in his brain. 

“Professor Aizawa…?” 

His eyes snapped open, his throat raw and dry as his teeth hung mere millimeters from her skin, his canines already snapping some of the strands in her sweater and so close to breaking skin. The sound of her voice, soft, scared, panicked but still so hushed pulled what little humanity remained in him from the torrent, his eyes regaining focus from the glossy state they’d entered. He hadn’t done it yet. As much as he so badly craved the liquid flowing in her veins, he still had a chance to walk away from this and return to somewhat normalcy. 

Somewhat. 

Shouta pushed his mouth closed, a great task considering his jaw became somewhat locked during a feast, and he ripped himself away from her neck. His left hand clutching her shoulder as his right hand gripped her chin and yanked her towards him, apathetic towards how rough he was being at this very moment. Her brown eyes were wide with fear and…something else he couldn’t quite figure out swirling in those brown irises, and he hardened his stare as his thumb pinched her chin harder. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t set foot in my lecture hall again. Better yet, you’ll drop my damned class,” he warned, “you have…such greater things to worry about than a bunch of nosy adults.” Before she could even respond, Shouta pushed himself away from her, disappearing down the hall at an inhuman speed until he escaped down a stairwell, avoiding his office entirely. Yumi fell back a few steps, ultimately catching herself before she could hit the floor, her lungs struggling for air as her face and body burned. She watched him disappear, her hands trembling at her sides until she ran for the main door, her mind only able to form one coherent thought:

What on God’s earth had just happened. 

[starlightstevie]

fics rec / march 2021

Hello again! Here are my favourite fics from the past month - I enjoyed reading these so MUCH and I hope you guys do too!

(* is smut)

Fuck it I’m recommending this again this month because Kait’s cowboy!Thor series is just THAT good and everyone needs this country boy in their life:

*I Need A Hero by @inthorantine​ Masterlist Cowboy!Thor: After Y/N finds out that her late grandfather has willed his rural Montana ranch to her, she decides it’s time for a little change of scenery. At least until it’s in a condition to sell. Along the way, Y/N finds a renewed appreciation for hard work, new friends, and possibly even love. She has the land. Can Thor help make it a home?

*saints can’t help me now by @peachyteabuck Forest god!Thor x reader: I will tell you the mystery of the woman and of the beast that carries her, whose name has not been written in the book of life from the foundation of the world. Kings give their power and authority to the beast, and those who are with him are the called and chosen and faithful.

and with that shadow upon the ground, i hear my people screaming out by @blackberrybucky Thor x reader: You're on the ship when Thanos comes aboard.

*Warm Water by @xbuchananbarnes Thor x reader: Reader takes a bath after a long day.

*h/c: dom!thor by @thorsthot​

Imagine: Thor smells like a storm by @wandas-sunshine​

*Somnus by @sweeterthanthis​ Nomad!Steve x reader: On the rare occasion that you have him in your bed, you savor every last minute. Even while he sleeps.

*Morning Wood by @angrythingstarlight​ Nomad!Steve x reader: Your new neighbor Steve gives you more than one surprise in the morning.

Good Kind of Trouble by @all1e23​ Biker!Stever x reader: Steve finally meets his cute neighbor. She’s not impressed.

*h/c: the way steve fucks by @helahades​

*Cock Worship by @ozarkthedog​ Andy Barber x reader: You take care of an exhausted Andy.

*illicit affair by @feliciahardyn​ Professor!Andy Barber x reader: You had been crushing on your sexy professor, Andy Barber since the beginning of the semester but he made it hard for you to focus in class. Lucky for you, he was willing to give you the best lesson in your life though.

if it’s not you, it’s not anyone by @blackberrybucky Bucky x reader: Bucky comes back from the snap and his world is shattered.

*West Coast Turnaround by @moteldwelling​ Trucker!Bucky x reader: Bucky Barnes is six foot of surliness driving his eighteen-wheeler across truck stop America. Reader just so happens to have a working thumb. There’s one bed.

Let Me Protect You by @littleredstarfish​ Bucky x reader: He's strong but he still needs protection.

deny (with love) my labor by @divine-mistake Bucky x reader: “I’m here,” you sob, hand shaking. “I’m right here, Bucky. I’m here. I’m here. Bucky, please. I’m here. Please don’t leave me. I’m here. I’m right here.” Or, five times Bucky Barnes has a nightmare, and one time you do.

The World’s A Little Blurry by @summergrls​ Masterlist Bucky x reader: Glimpses into a (mostly) quiet life with the Winter Soldier.

*Oasis by @bubblebucky Bucky x reader: It’s your first time with Bucky, and Bucky’s first time in 80 years.

call it fate, call it karma by @belladonnabarnes Bucky x reader: Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard.

*bucky convinces you to sit on his face by @bunnywritesmarvel

*Chaste by @tiffdawg​ Mando x reader: It’s tradition for couples not to have sex once a marriage promise is made. Not until the wedding night.

*way down we go by @goldafterglow Mando x reader: Din is made of mismatched shards that you bind together - until you want to watch them fall apart.

*kneel at my alter by @filthybookworm Mando x reader: I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion.

*I’m not gonna touch you until you beg by @mxsamwilson

*dripping by @cptnbvcks Javi x reader: Javi brings you something to take the edge off during one of colombia’s heatwaves

*What It Is You Do (To Me) by @filthybookworm​ Javi x reader: He’s never mentioned a vest before, is all you can think, mouth parting as your tongue drags across your lower lip in an unconscious expression of desire. What is it, you wonder, that makes it look so good?

*Dinner & Diatribes by mxsamwilson Oberyn Martell x black!reader: Oberyn catches your eye from across the room and holds your gaze. His deep eyes swallow you whole, burn straight through you like twin flames, and you’re falling into him once again. Helpless.

*one single thread of gold tied to you by @spacelabrathor​ Alpha!Deku x Omega!reader: Pro Hero Deku is a frequent visitor at your support lab and you're grateful for it. He's one of your high profile clients and his quirk is strong enough that he has to come for suit repairs near twice a month. It helps that he's one of the most bearable alphas you've ever met, affable and kind, and he never judges you for being a rare omega in the hero line of work. It also helps that he's painfully, absurdly hot. You're perhaps never more grateful for his nature than when the building housing your lab collapses with the two of you in it, and as the walls and floors of your lab crumble, so does the suppressor device that keeps your heats in check and your hormones under control. As the dust settles, you realize you are trapped by rubble and dust and twisted metal with perhaps the only alpha alive that you trust, as your adrenaline surges and your carefully suppressed heat cycle comes roaring to life.

baby mine, don’t you cry by @kaitsukibakugo​ Deku x reader: A quiet early morning moment between Reader and Deku and their newborn baby.

*you’re such a good girl for me by @rat-suki​

*dilf!Deku by @sems-diarie​

*more dilf!Deku by sems-diarie

*wreck my plans (that’s my man) by @spacelabrathor Bakugo x reader: You inform Bakugo that he's a control freak who can't cede control in any area of his life for any reason, and, because he's Bakugo, he immediately, furiously rises to the challenge.

*Thin Walls by @rat-suki Bakugo x reader: Katsuki’s loud, obnoxiously so. And you’re the one who has to deal with it.

*all through the night by @some-kindofgnome​ Bakugo x reader: You and Bakugo have chased a villain far out of the city- too far to make it back for the night. You find somewhere decent to bed down, but there’s a little problem with your room.

*imagine bakugo easing into you, no prep by @sems-diarie

Soon to be dad!Bakugo by @luciilferss​

Subtlety is my middle name by luciilferss

Pro hero Bakugo taking care of you by luciilferss

mean!Bakugo has a soft spot for you by @ihatebnha​

*Bakugo with a pillow princess girlfriend by @hanji-is-life​

*Dumb slut Bakugo by @ihatebnha

*villian!Bakugo takes you in an alleyway by @lookslikeleese​

*the folly of man by @dymphnasprose Todoroki x reader: Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss.

*toshinori as a lover by @spacelabrathor​

at my worst by @hiiraya Wanda Maximoff x reader: Slow dancing in the kitchen with Wanda.

wanda + pianist au by @helahades

Fireman Sam by @buckysknifecollection Firefighter!Sam Wilson x reader: You visit the local police station and catch the eye of a certain firefighter.

*size kink with geralt by @lovely-cryptid​

*Heat by fettsvette Boba Fett x reader: Set after the second season of The Mandalorian. Boba Fett takes you on a faraway hunt that involves a prolonged journey through hyperspace. You’re horny as fuck, but your man is too preoccupied with running a tight ship to pay you any mind - until things get a little too desperate.

[captainpirateface]

"Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss."

-John Milton-

[siriusshow]

“abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss”