#my brain has had such a firm grasp on this series for over a month now

[lunaryhues]

What is Rayman? Well, he's a thingamajig. Next question.

(I got attached to my Betilla design)

[yee-fxcking-haw]

What Are You?

A/N: All I have to say is I'm really proud of this fic, so much freaking fun to write. I am hopelessly devoted to Kirishima. Please let me know what you think! For the tags, I just tagged those that interacted with the post I made about starting this series, if you wanted added or removed just let me know!

Summary: A movie night gets a little out of hand, next thing you know you're losing your virginity to Kirishima.

Pairing: Pro Hero Kirishima x FemReader (you) both aged up 18+

Warnings: First time, virginity loss, virgin reader, experienced Kirishima, LOTS of consent, oral (female receiving) size kink, daddy kink, rough sex, spanking, choking, belly buldge, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, degredation, dumbification if you squint, very mushy aftercare in the shower, I think that's all of them lmao.

Word Count: 9,304

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The movie you had started is long forgotten, the sounds fading into white noise as your eyelids drift shut. Your body feels like lead, and your brain is quickly turning off. You feel like you could melt into the bed and stay there for several days. You snuggle into Kirishima a little more, barely processing the contented hum he lets out when you do.

"You fallin' asleep sweetheart?" He mumbles against the top of your head, finishing his sentence with a gentle kiss.

"Nah, just resting my eyes." You lie, very aware of how quickly sleep is overtaking your exhausted body.

"Want me to drive you home?" He asks, one hand coming up so he can run his fingers through your hair.

You just shake your head weakly, not ready to remove yourself from his warmth. You really just want to stay, but you two haven't really crossed that line yet. You've been dating for a few months now, but you move painfully slow. You blame it on your lack of experience over all. Being a virgin in your first relationship has definitely come with a lot of caution and slow progress.

Kirishima has been absolutely incredible though, always letting you set the pace, always asking questions, and offering reassurance when needed. You've both definitely had some close calls though, with how much time you spend together and how irresistible he is, it's been hard to keep your hands off of him. You've had your fair share of handsy makeout sessions, but that's about it.

Today does feel a little different though, like there's been some kind of shift. Maybe it's the right time to take that next step, Kirishima has definitely proven himself to be worthy of your trust. You're confident that he would stop when needed, go as slow as you asked him to, and be there for you after.

As your mind races you wrap your arms around the wall of muscle beside you, cherishing the security his large body gives you. You sigh and shift your head so your chin is resting on his chest, allowing you to glance up at him. As always, you're floored by his beauty. His scarlet eyes meet yours as his lips twitch up into a fond smirk. He's definitely the rugged kind of handsome, small white scars litter his face from his few years of hero work.

The most noticeable scar is the one on his upper lip, about two inches in length as it travels up away from his pretty mouth. Your hand absentmindedly reaches up so you can run your thumb over it while you cup his face. He melts into your touch, turning to place a kiss on your palm. Your entire body lights up when he does, he's always giving you sweet little kisses, and you love it more than life itself.

"Whatcha lookin' at my busted face for?" He teases.

You smile coyly as you slide your leg around his hip, slowly bringing yourself up so you can straddle him. You slide your other hand up to hold his face as well, leaning down to press a kiss into his forehead.

"It's a beautiful face." You whisper as you sit back up so you can look down at him again.

God, the sight of him. Wild crimson hair falling across the pillow, stunning porcelain skin offering a marvelous contrast. Your hands slide down his neck, to his collar bones, then down his clothed torso. You mentally curse the black t-shirt that's currently hiding his skin from you, even though he looks incredible in it.

"What are you thinking about hon?" He asks quietly.

Your eyes flash up to his and he gives you a knowing look.

Does he feel it too? You've had plenty of long talks about it, he's always been open about how much he wants to make sure it's a safe experience. He offers you nothing but stability and assurance. The nerve wracking part is that he's so experienced. You're not jealous that he's been with people before you, just worried that you won't live up to them. Kiri has always been very open about his past relationships, just like you have with yours. It's just a matter of finding the confidence to take the next step.

"Oh, you're thinking too much." He says quietly, grabbing your hands to pull them apart.

You hadn't even realized you'd begun to pick at your thumb, but of course he's paying attention.

"Can I stay?" You blurt out, sounding a little too panicked.

"You can always stay." He says as he wraps his arms around your waist, then brings his mouth to press innocent kisses into your neck.

"Baby?" You say, hands carding through his hair.

He only hums, lips still working against your sensitive skin.

"Can we try?" You ask quietly.

Your eyes lock, tension builds, and hands tighten as you both silently understand your heavy implications.

"Are you sure?" He asks with all the sincerity he has.

"I love you, Kiri, I trust you." You breathe out, letting your head fall to rest your forehead against his own.

"If you need me to stop at any point you tell me, understand?" He says with a tone you can't quite decipher. It could be called firm, but that's not exactly right… convicted, he sounds convicted.

"Of course, Red." His body responds to his hero name in the most beautiful way. Muscles tense as he takes a deep breath in, steady arms pull your body towards his. Very suddenly, but some also not soon enough, your lips are on his. Brilliant, rose colored warmth spreads through your veins as he kisses the breath out of your lungs.

"Can I lay you on your back?" He asks against your lips.

"Please." You sigh.

In one swift movement, he scoops you into his arms and spins you around so he can lay you gently on the mattress. One hand stays on your waist, while the other comes up to hold your face.

"I love you, you know that right?" He asks, when you look into his eyes your heart aches when you see all the begging in them.

"Kiri, I've never been more sure of anything." You assure him.

He gives you his thousand watt smile and you can't help but return it. This man is something else. He's the kind that lights up a room, that gives when he's empty, and loves relentlessly. Most of all, he's completely, inexplicably yours.

Your head spins when he dips his head down to kiss your collar bones.

"I'm gonna get you real worked up, ok?" He says then presses one long kiss into your shoulder.

Excitement blasts through your veins. What a beautiful promise he's just made, and you can't wait for him to live up to his word.

"I need you to tell me what feels good." He whispers against your skin as his hands come up so push your tank top up your torso.

"Ok." You reply, cursing yourself for how basic the response is. He's probably used to people who can dirty talk like no tomorrow, and all you can manage are weak one word responses.

"You're thinkin' too much honey." He says with a deep chuckle, his hands halt once he has the fabric bunched at your ribs.

"Talk to me." He says.

"I'm just nervous. Insecurities and all that, worried I won't live up to other people. You know, stupid virgin thoughts." You stumble through the sentence, barely articulating the nerves buzzing around in your abdomen.

"Listen to me." Kiri says with his firm, guiding tone.

"It's just you now. Not them, never will be them again." He brings one of your hands up so he can kiss your knuckles.

"You're my girl, that's all that's on my mind."

The reassurance is short and sweet, but Kiri is always like that with his words. He says it like it is, but there's always immeasurable heart behind what he says, so it's enough to still your nerves.

"Can I make you feel good now?" He asks, face slightly mischievous.

"I think you know the answer." You can't help but giggle when his fingers meet your ribs again to finish taking off your tank top.

Soon he's got you panting and grasping at the sheets. Your clothes are long gone, and he is definitely staying true to his promise to get you worked up. Rough hands are on your waist, while his hot, wet mouth trails across the tops of your breasts. The more time he spends kissing your body, the easier it is to let the nerves die out. Every ounce of uncertainty vanishes the second his soft lips wrap around one of your nipples.

"Oh, baby." You sigh, back arching slightly.

"Like that?" He asks, breaking only briefly. Soon his mouth is back on you, tongue drawing lazy circles around your sensitive buds.

"Yeah…" You find yourself wishing you could respond better again, but your mind is mush.

"How bout this?" He asks as he slides his other hand up to pinch your other nipple.

You rub your thighs together to try and alleviate some of the pressure building in your core. You have to be embarrassingly soaked at this point. After just a few seconds of nipple play, you're already throbbing and it's maddening.

"Kiri." You groan, the friction of his fingers contrasting wonderfully with the smooth movements of his tongue.

You want to feel him everywhere, you want to be overwhelmed by him. The way his tongue is working, you can only imagine him using it somewhere else.

"K-kiri?" You say with a shuddering breath.

"Yeah angel?" He answers, his hand still playing with you a little.

"Lower, please?" Your voice is so shy and timid, and you feel the hot blush spread across your cheeks.

"You're so fuckin' cute." He mumbles before planting an open mouthed kiss between your breasts.

With the same slow, teasing pace, he kisses down your stomach. He stops right under your belly button and glances up at you through his lashes. He's fucking stunning from this angle, but you've found that he really doesn't have a bad angle.

"I'm gonna try something, ok? Tell me how it makes you feel." He says calmly.

"Aye Aye Captain." You say, earning a sweet little chuckle from Kiri.

Any motivation you have to joke is thrown out the window when he nips your sensitive skin. The brief pain sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your pussy, and your walls clench immediately.

"How was that?" He asks, hands running along your hips as he settles between your spread legs.

"More please." Is all you can squeak out.

Kirishima just smiles and kisses where he's just nipped.

"In a little bit baby."

You become suddenly aware of how exposed you are and you're plagued with thoughts of insecurity. As if he can read your mind, Kiri places a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Can I please taste you, your pussy is so fuckin pretty." He sighs against your skin.

Oh yeah, you have to be absolutely dripping. His words have you clenching around nothing, you're so worked up you're worried you might finish as soon as he makes contact with your core.

"Fuck- please Kiri- use your mouth on me." You moan, shocked by your own boldness.

"Oh good girl, keep talkin' to me." He sighs.

Without any further warning his mouth is just all over you. No gentle kisses around your clit like you expected, not teasing fingers on your lips. Just as sudden, blinding pleasure rocketing through your walls as his skilled tongue laps at your sensitive, swollen clit.

"Kiri! Shit!" You cry as your hands find a place in his hair, desperate to hold onto something that can keep you grounded.

"Baby, I'm too sensitive, I'm not gonna- oh fuuuuck." You try to warn him, but the words never stood a chance at leaving your mouth. In the middle of your sentence, he presses one thick finger into your slick hole, and that spells the end for you. With how big Kiri is, his finger might as well be the size of an average man's dick, and it feels incredible. You can't hold it in, and you don't fucking want to. Between the constant, white hot pleasure he's giving your clit, and the sudden intrusion of his finger, your inexperienced body never stood a chance.

"Fuck that was gorgeous." He huffs against your cunt.

Your walls flutter their way through your orgasm, warmth oozing into all of your appendages as Kirishima slows his tongue down enough for you to ride out all of the aftershocks.

You gather enough strength to look down at him, and your blissed out brain wants to shred the shirt he's wearing. Your hands reach down desperately to grab the collar of his shirt in an attempt to pull it off.

"Where'd my shy girl go?" He teases before helping you get rid of his bothersome clothes.

"She left when you made her cum in under a minute." You share a soft laugh with each other, but anything light-hearted disappears when you look down at his briefs and see the outline of his dick.

Kirishima isn't a small man, standing up he's roughly seven feet. You're a relatively average sized woman, but you still feel like a dwarf next to him. Judging by the outline in his underwear, he's definitely proportionate, and the terrifying realization that he's probably not even all the way hard yet makes your stomach drop.

"You want that?" He asks coyly, red eyebrows shooting up as he grins down at you.

"It- it's gonna hurt, isn't it?" You stutter, hands balling up the bedding underneath you.

"It's gonna sting just a little bit, but I told you I'll get you worked up, and it'll only last a second princess." He kisses your nose for reassurance, putting your bubbling chest at ease for a moment.

"Can I- um- can I touch you? Please?" Again, you want to kick yourself for sounding so bashful, but Kiri seems to be incredibly fond of it.

"Of course you can, wherever you want to." He whispers, he leans down to brace on his elbows, his breathtaking body closing the remaining distance between you two. With him looming above you like this, you feel absolutely tiny, like if he put his weight on you it might crush you. Something tells you tomorrow is probably going to consist of a lot of bed rest.

You cautiously slide your hands over his carved abs, adoring the way his muscles tense under your feathery touches. Your eyes stay locked on his and your heart blooms with exhilaration. Your hands travel down his body until your fingertips brush the waistband of his briefs. Kiri takes in a sharp breath when you dip your fingers under the material. You steal a glance down, and you can't help but let your jaw drop.

He's gotta be the size of your forearm, at least. Shit, how the hell are you gonna fucking take that? You remind yourself that Kiri promised it would only hurt for a second, that he would take care of you. You trust him, completely.

He helps you slide his briefs off, and when he's finally free it makes you see stars. His full length falls against your stomach, and he feels so damn heavy. His base is resting against your mound, and his head meets your belly button. His skin is nothing short of beautiful, soft pink tip with a pale shaft littered with veins.

"Holy shit." You pant, your hand looks pathetic when you go to wrap it around his swollen tip.

"It might sting more than a little." You whisper.

"I'll make it feel good, I promise." He says with all the confidence in the world.

He's so unbelievably hard and your hand can't reach all the way around him. There's about an inch and a half between your middle finger and thumb where they should meet. You never thought you'd be so intimidated by a simple body part, but then again, this is Red Riot you're dealing with.

Before you can stroke him, Kiri is grabbing your wrist as he shifts to lean on his side next to you.

"Next time angel, tonight's about you." He says before kissing the skin behind your ear.

His hand lets go of your wrist so he can skate his fingertips down your stomach. As soon as he brushes your clit your body jumps, still so sensitive from the sudden orgasm he's just given you. You take in deep breaths as your legs shift anxiously while he dips his fingers down so he can run them up your soaked lips.

"You're so wet for me." He sighs against your neck.

"Kiri- please- make me feel good again." You whimper, desperate for his touch.

"Gonna stretch you out a little bit, ok? Gotta get you ready to take me." He mumbles as he presses his middle finger into your quivering hole again.

There's no way you can respond, all ability to speak is stolen from you when he starts to pump his massive finger in and out of you.

There's no stretch with just one finger, it's no bigger than the toy you usually use on yourself, the stretch comes when he adds his index finger to the mix. It doesn't sting, but there's definitely some pressure. You screw your eyes shut and reach for his forewarn as he picks up speed, needing something to hold onto as the pleasure builds in your lower stomach again.

Then, the spectacular feeling of his thumb pressing against your clit makes you cry out. You're shocked by the broken moan that rips out of your throat, and the way your hips roll against his hand while he starts rubbing urgent circles against your sweet spot.

"That's it baby, tell me about it." He pants against your shoulder, it almost sounds like he's cheering you on, voice filled with something joyful that makes your heart race impossibly faster.

"Kiri- that feels so fucking good- shit."

Your cunt starts to pulse around him like it did a few minutes ago, your body is already right on the edge again by his capable fingers.

"D- da- Kiri." You moan, you almost fucking slip. You want nothing more than to call him 'daddy', that's what he is to you right now. You don't know how he'll respond to it, so you swallow the name and cry out against his broad chest.

He seems to have caught you though, both his thumb and his fingers pick up their speed slightly.

"Say it, please baby, say it- fuck." He begs against your head, offering you the room to call him whatever you want to.

Your hand claws at his arm, the other reaches up to hold onto his sweaty neck.

"Daddy, please make me cum again, your fingers feel so good." Your voice increases in pitch the more you beg, he sets a delicious rhythm then, reacting immediately to your pleas.

"You wanna be a good girl for me?" He asks as he shifts so his free hand can cradle your face.

You nod weakly as your abs starts to seize up and your core starts to clamp down on his pistoning fingers.

"Look at me." He huffs, your eyes flutter open to meet his.

Kirishima has a habit of knocking the wind out of you with his beauty, but he damn near kills you this time. He's positively enchanting with the blush on his cheeks, brows furrowed as he focuses on bringing you to your second orgasm.

"Cum for me one more time angel, then I'm gonna fill you up, gonna fuck your pretty little cunt." His voice is dripping with desire, and his vulgar words are all it takes to send you right into another trembling orgasm. Your body twitches and jerks as your core squeezes his fingers. He stops thrusting them into you and focuses all his energy on rubbing your clit with his thumb, making everything so much more intense.

You moan and shake against him as he whispers things like "good girl, just like that" against your ear while you come back down.

All you want is more, so much more. There's no such thing as nerves now. You have tunnel vision for Kiri and the pleasure he's giving you. Even after two orgasms, all you want is more, more, more.

"Daddy please- fuck my little cunt- fill me up like you promised." You grab at him wherever you can, you almost second guess your dirty talk, but Kiri eats that shit up.

"You sound so pretty begging for me princess. You want me to fuck you, huh? Want Daddy to make you cry?" Everything about his demeanor has a sense of urgency to it. Not like he's rushing, but like he's handling something vitally important.

You just nod and whimper, it's all you're capable of after being rocked by two incredible orgasms. He's moving so he can settle between your legs again, and his weighty length hits your stomach again.

"Listen to me sweetheart." He says, voice shaking slightly at the end.

"I'm gonna let you put it in ok? I want you to tell me when to move and when to stop, we can even stop here if you need to." He moves his hands to hold your face, thumbs brushing your cheek bones affectionately.

"I don't want you to stop, I want more Kiri, please." You say, completely confident in your decision to keep going.

"Then it's all you babygirl." He smiles down at you, all warmth and adoration.

You swallow thickly and reach down to grab his pink head, nearly drooling when you see the ridiculous amount of precum leaking out of his tip.

You tentatively spread it around with your thumb, the appendage barely stretches across the width of his massive cock. Kiri's breath speeds up above you as you move your hand around his head so you can push him down between your legs. Now, with a clear view of him, he's definitely the size of your forearm. Nerves are replaced by excitement, knowing that once he's inside you and your body adjusts to him, it'll feel absolutely amazing.

Kirishima shifts above you so he can brace on his hands as he placed them on either side of your face. All his intricate muscles shift under his pale skin, he's so broad and handsome, it makes your head spin.

With very little skill, you run his tip along you dripping lips, and both of you jolt as the erotic contact.

"That feels good baby, nice and slow." His words egg you on, a fuzzy feeling buzzes around in your chest when you hear him praise you, it's something else you just want more of.

His head teases over your silky hole as you slide him further down, his fingers definitely got you worked up, but it's still gonna be one hell of a tight fit.

"Can you- um- could you move your hips forward a little?" You ask with a shaking voice, your body is sparking with the anticipation of having him fill you, and you know he won't be able to slide in unless he helps by pushing.

"Want me to help you put it in?" He asks, his voice sounds so light and breathy.

"Please?" You blink up at him.

"Just keep talkin' to me, yeah?" He pants out.

"Ye- Oh fuck Daddy!" What's meant to be a quiet answer, turns into an erotic cry. Your body shivers as the name slips from your lips and your hands fly to his sides. He didn't give you a single second to respond before pressing himself into you, and it definitely hurts more than a little. The sting of the stretch is almost enough to make you tap out, but then you feel his thumb dragging against your clit again. It gives you just enough pleasurable relief to catch your breath.

"Sorry angel, had to get that part over with." He says before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"Red, baby, please-" You choke on a moan when his thumb speeds up and he presses even more of his length into you.

"Please what?" He teases.

He can't even be a third of the way in, and you feel like you're completely stuffed. Your walls are being stretched to what feels like their absolute limit. Now you know why he gave you two orgasms beforehand, you need to be absolutely drenched in order to take him. Even then, it's almost impossible.

You glance down to see how much more you have to take. Fucking hell, it looks like it's just his head that's in.

"Tell me what you need, gorgeous." He applies slightly more pressure to your clit, but slows the pace down.

"More." You mewl, despite the pressure on your poor, tense insides.

"I'll tell you if it's too much, just keep going, please Daddy." Your hands paw at his back, desperate for him to move.

"Fuck baby- you're gonna be such a mess by the time I'm done with you."

You don't have any time at all to catch your breath or answer him. The sting is almost blazing as he pushes his hips towards yours. The dizzying sensation of his veiny cock dragging against your slick walls is enough to bring tears to your eyes. You whimper and sniffle beneath him while every muscle in your body tenses.

Then, you remember to breathe. You pull in a long, cooling breath, and on the release let your muscles relax. You look up at Kiri to see him looking down to where your bodies meet, mesmerized by the way he's splitting you open. He looks so wrapped up in his love for you, which only allows you to let go of more tension.

He keeps pressing into you, little by little pain is replaced by a warm ache, that warm ache then replaced by traces of something pleasurable. The hand pressing lazy circles into your clit slides up to grab your wrist. His bright eyes flash up to your as he brings your hand down to the bundle of nerves.

"Rub it for me, baby." He whispers before kissing your temple, his deep, rumbling voice makes your thighs squeeze his hips.

"O- ok." You fumble your words slightly.

"Is that how you answer Daddy?" He trails his open mouth down to the skin just above your collarbone, then teases the delicate skin with his pointed teeth.

Holy shit.

"Yes- yes sir?" You say, head spinning as you try to focus even a little bit. Your hand haplessly moves against your clit, wanting to listen but your motor skills are rendered useless by Kiri's dominance.

"Mhm, good girl." He praises before sinking his teeth into the spot he's been teasing.

Your entire body jumps, reacting exactly how he wants you to. All twitches and moans as he guides you through this.

"You're so fucking tight." He sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he pushes in just a little more.

"Well yeah, you're the size of a house and I'm a virgin." You say with a weak laugh.

If you and Kiri can do anything, it's laugh.

He looks down at you and raises his eyebrows, and he can't help but giggle in that beautiful chirpy way he always does. You take his hands in your face and bring him down for a messy, laugh filled kiss. Blinding love fills your chest, hearing him laugh, feeling him breathe, being this close. It's all giving you such unparalleled joy.

He breaks the kiss to press his forehead into yours, then he really starts moving. What started as another round of giggles turns into a moan as he stretches you more and more. Your hands grab onto his neck as your eyes screw shut and your head is thrown back into the pillows. The pressure is positively mind numbing in the best way. All you can feel, smell, and taste is Kirishima as he rocks your world.

“Fucking hell, Kiri.” You gasp before rolling your hips up against him, finally feeling somewhat stretched out enough to work with him.

“Oh now you’re gettin’ it, keep movin’ with me sweetheart.” He nods his head while he talks, urgent and reassuring.

He continues his glacial pace, finally bottoming out with the help of your needy hips rising to meet his. God, you feel so fucking full. You swear you can feel him in your stomach, in your ribs, in your throat even. He’s not leaving a single inch of you untouched, and you’re absolutely hooked. You gather yourself enough to open your eyes again so you can look down at where you two meet, almost nervous to find that he really isn’t all the way in even though you feel like you’re going to break at any second.

“Holy. Shit.” As soon as you glance down, your eyes meet the most erotic sight you’ve ever witnessed. There’s a large bulge in your stomach, that is very obviously caused by one thing. Kiri smirks above you as he runs a hand up your side so he can gather your breast in his hand and tease your nipple with his thumb.

“Ain’t that somethin’?” He muses, sliding his hand back down to grab your wrist so he can move your hand over the stretched out part of your stomach.

“Feels good doesn’t it baby? I’m right there, that’s all me.” He presses your hand into the bulge, and the feeling of his head under your skin, combined with the pressure on your cervix and against your walls, nearly sends you into another orgasm. Your walls flutter around him as your bottom lip quivers.

That’s when you see the tension in his body, you hear the strain in his voice. He’s holding back, he’s going easy on you.

Your walls are relaxing, growing used to the obscene stretch. You take a deep breath and focus on releasing any other muscles that might make it harder for him to do what he needs to. As you settle, you bat your eyelashes at him. You offer another small roll of your hips before egging him on with your needy words.

“Daddy, please, you’re not gonna break me, fuck me like you want to.”

He gives you a very serious, almost stern look. It doesn’t help ease your need for him in the slightest, it only makes you want to push more.

“I’ll tell you if it hurts, I promise, please just fuck me."

His whole body shivers when you run your nails across his shoulders.

"Baby you gotta, if you don't tell me I'm gonna keep rockin', I don't want to hurt you."

You nod and swallow thickly, your body is absolutely buzzing with the anticipation.

"Words sweet thing, use your words. You'll tell me if it hurts, yeah?" He brings his hips back, and the drag of his cock along your walls is exquisite. He only moves maybe an inch, but the tease sends you reeling.

"Yes Daddy, I'll tell you." Your promise is said so sweetly, the way you trust him so completely sends him over the edge.

Just like that, your entire world shatters. He pulls back slowly, just to send his hips flying forward with one brutal thrust. It doesn't hurt, but there's so much fucking pressure once he's all the way pressed in. Your head is sent back into the pillows, thrashing wildly as you cry out and cling to his tense back. He doesn't stay there long though, only pausing briefly to savor the feeling of being fully wrapped in your hot, wet cunt.

"Open those legs for me princess." Kiri pants above you as he pulls back again.

You realize how much you've tensed up after his words pull you back down to earth. Your thighs had clamped around his hips like a vice. Slowly, you breathe in, then drop your legs open when you breathe out.

Then he sticks to his promise, and he starts rockin'. He sets a beautiful pace, it's not rushed or hard, not slow or teasing, it's just fucking perfect. He plunges into you over and over, deep and persistent. He hits every sweet spot you have, from your sensitive opening to your aching cervix. You mewl and twitch under him, your whole body being jolted every time he bottoms out.

"You're doin' so good baby, bein' such a good girl for Daddy." His voice breaks as he picks up speed, splitting you open completely.

It's turning your brain to total mush, all you can manage is a half ass "uh-huh" while your body moves like a ragdoll. You feel so full, and it feels so fucking good. It's all so foreign, so much, so overwhelming. Now that you're feeling it though, the feeling of being well and truly fucked, all you want is more.

The pressure just keeps building at your core, brilliant and warm. Sending electric shocks down the nerves in your legs, up your stomach, even through your fingertips. He's everywhere inside you, filling your mind and soul, you're drunk on Kirishima and more than willing to become addicted.

You blink open and grapple at his damp sides, as soon as you see your body being pounded into the bed, you feel your walls begin to tighten. Can you even call it that? You're so stretched out by him it's hard to tell if you're even capable of tightening around him.

Kiri sure seems to notice though, letting out short, pretty moans from the back of his throat each time he sinks in. Then you both see it, your eyes lock on it, both under a perverted trance. Each time he thrusts all the way in, your stomach buldges out a little, his incredible size displacing your insides as he fucks into you.

"God that's- fuck baby- you see that?" He stutters out, placing his massive hand on your waist so he can lay his thumb over your stomach and feel his cock head poking out from inside of you.

All you can do is gawk up at him and let your body be jostled by him as he continues to break in your body.

"How's it feel angel?" He asks, voice gentle and coaxing.

"So. Good. Daddy- fuck." You stutter out, the words come out choppy, cut off as you jolt from his pace.

"You feel so perfect, so fucking perfect." He mutters before diving down to press his open mouth to your neck.

He attempts to kiss you there, but all he can manage is a sloppy, inconsistent tongue against your skin. With his mouth open, you can hear all his sweet moans unabashed, and it's fucking beautiful.

A particularly broken sounding moan reaches your ears as Kiri grabs the meat of your thighs with his strong hands, angling your legs upwards a little more. His hands slide up to secure themselves under your knees, pressing them upwards he successfully folds you in half.

The tops of your thighs press into your sides as he braces himself up a little more, using your crumbled body as leverage. The second he sinks in from this new position, your thighs tremble and your cunt spasms. You cry out as your hands fly to his abs, almost pushing him back, overwhelmed by the intensity.

Overwhelmed, but so enraptured. Tears prick your eyes as you watch every muscle of his ripple as he works hard to fuck you this relentlessly.

"Talk to me sweetheart, how's it feel?" He asks, voice strained and unsteady.

"Feels- so- fuckin- good- Daddy." You all but sob, blinking the tears from your eyes as your jaw drops.

"You're such a good little girl, you look so pretty on your back."

His words hit a nerve you didn't know you had. The filthy praise, the sounds of his hot skin slapping yours with each thrust, the crushing grip he has on you, it's all awakening something deep in your chest. More, you need more.

"M-more- fuck- please give me more- I'm so close." Is all you can manage as the tears start to fall, wetting your rosey cheeks.

"Shit- give it to me baby, let go, I'll fuck you through it, just let go." He eggs you on. One of his arms shifts to hook your knee over his elbow as he sets the other beside your head to brace himself.

As soon as he releases that one leg, bending the other up even more as his thumb gets to work drawing figure eights on your clit, it's fucking over. You shiver and sob and claw. The most spectacular sensation you've ever felt takes over your entire body.

It captures every inch of your skin, wrapping it in velvety ecstasy. Your nerves shatter like glass, sending shards of pleasure flying in every direction. You can feel it up your spin, in the backs of your legs, and deep down in your chest.

Your body goes limp as your walls pulse around him, and he sure does fuck you through it. Your head flops back as you take it all, cherishing every sharp hit to your abused cervix.

"Gimme one more princess, I'm almost there." He moans, pulling your brain out of its stew.

You blink up at him, finally realizing how hard you're crying. As soon as you make eye contact, your heart nearly flies out of your ribcage. He's so fucking beautiful. Brows drawn together in a look of pure determination, skin dewy and flushed, bright ruby eyes looking at you like you hung the stars.

"I love you- fuck Kiri- I love you, I love you, I love you." You babble, hands sliding up tangle in the hair at the back of his head.

His eyes flutter at the sensation, nearly rolling back into his head. Kirishima is a slut for gentle touches like that, a trait that makes your heart go all gooey.

"I love you so much more angel." He sighs, eyes full of fondness and what you can only describe as home.

He's still fucking going. Pounding into you just as before, and your cunt is somehow taking it so well. You feel made for him, nobody else.

"Poor baby." He says as he brings a hand up to your cheek to wipe some tears.

The slight mocking tone sets a fire in your belly, another feeling to add to the endless list of things you're learning about yourself tonight.

"Did Daddy fuck you too good? Can't help but fuckin' cry about it?" His voice is back to straining, shoulders drawing up again, like he's trying to hold back.

Oh hell no.

"Y- yes Daddy, fucked me so good, you ruined this little pussy." You shock yourself with the vulgarity of your words, almost embarrassed by it. It's short lived though, given the way Kiri huffs out a gorgeous, "oh fuck", as he buckels down on his thrust even more.

The sparks start to fire again as your nerves wind back up, not even fully recovered from your last orgasm.

The hand on your cheek twitches down, but halts once his thumb presses into your jaw. It all clicks when he looks into your eyes, a silent plea in them.

You don't waste a single second, nodding frantically as you seize his wrist. You bring his hand down so he can rest his palm against your throat.

"Please, I want it." You beg with a pathetic voice, sniffling at the end as more tears fall when you feel your walls start to contract again.

He looks almost relieved, eyebrows relaxing on his scrunched face as his shoulders drop. He tentatively presses his large thumb into your pulse before speaking with a harsh, authoritative voice. His hips slow only slightly, more rolling than thrusting now, but still just as deep, still just as jolting.

"If it's too much, at any point, you tap me three times, let me see you do it."

You offer three pats against the forearm of the hand on your throat, gazing up at him with pleading eyes, desperate for approval. Obviously, you've never done anything like this. Nothing even close, but with Kiri looking at you like you're made of porcelain, you'd trust him enough to try anything.

"Good fuckin' girl." His voice drops, a powerful, deep rumble as his hips start to work up speed again.

The hand teasing your throat starts to tighten, but not how you expect. There's little to no pressure on your actual throat, most of it is on the sides. His grip cuts off the blood flow enough to give you a wonderful, delirious feeling in your head. Your whole body reacts to the exhilarating sensation. You can't help but let out a strangled moan once Kiri reaches his previous pace once again.

He fucks into you so intently, chasing his own release now. Your muscles start to seize again, walls twitching as you moan out nonsense praises below him.

"Little baby likes bein' choked, huh?" He taunts, releasing his grip just enough for your head to fill up with clarity again.

Then it clicks, he's allowing you to respond, he wants you to.

"I do, I fuckin' love it." You assure him, your voice doesn't even sound like you anymore. All whiney and wanton, full of lust and desperation. That greedy feeling scratches at your insides again. It fills your chest with white hot need for something rougher, nastier, more shameful.

"Be mean to me, Daddy, make me your bitch."

It all happens so incredibly fast. Suddenly, Kiri fucking growls down at you as he rips himself from your overworked hole. The absence of his massive length makes you cry out, you want to argue but your words are stolen from you by his next move. His hands are on your waist in the blink of an eye. He flips you onto your stomach, the speed of the rotation makes you instantly dizzy.

He straddles the backs of your thighs. Rough, selfish hands slide up the backs of your thighs. He gathers the fat of your ass in his palms and squeezes, letting out a low chuckle when you jump at the harsh feeling.

"So, you wanna be my bitch?" He asks, the tone of his voice sends a chill down your spine. He sounds almost… sadistic?

You don't get a chance to answer before his palm cracks across your ass cheek.

You yelp and whip your head around to give him a pouting look as you wipe more of your tears. The sight of him makes your dripping pussy clench around nothing.

He's sat back on your thighs, almost lazily. He isn't truly sitting on you, though, he would absolutely crush you. He's just braced over you, one hand stroking his glistening cock as the other kneads as your plush ass.

You just nod as your hands stretch out in front of you, grasping at the pillows, the sheets, the headboard, anything you can get a hold of.

His eyes are wild, strands of scarlet hair stick to his forehead with sweat. His stunning, chiseled muscles all flex as he pumps himself. Seeing him like this, it hits that rebellious nerve. There's no such thing as first time nerves now, your Kirishima's bitch, and that's all you want to be.

"Please, give it to me Big Daddy." You bat your eyelashes and bring your thumb to your mouth so you can bite down on it.

His hand freezes, body rigid with what must be shock. The hand on your ass slides up your back at a torturous pace. Buzzing anticipation settles in your gut as he leans down so he can spread his finger through the hair at the back of your head. Gathering a handful, he tightens his grip so he can crank your head back.

The bite at your scalp distracts you just long enough for him to press his broad tip against your quivering hole again.

"You think you're cute, don't you?" He says, low and dangerous.

   You just blink at him, brain firing wildly to try and process every new addiction you're developing. Slowly, cautiously, you shake your head.

   "Oh but baby…" He leans down even more so he can press his lips under your ear. 

  "You are. You think you can say something like that and get away with it. It's adorable."   As he talks, he presses his length into you. You would think that after being fucked for so long that your hole would have been more prepared for him. You're so fucking wrong. The stretch is just like it was when he first put it in, but this time you're so ready for it, you welcome it.

  "When you talk like that, you're gonna get your shit rocked." He mumbles against your ear.

   You feel his hands at your hips, then you feel him hoist you up so your ass is in the air and your face is in the pillows. Then, all you feel is a shockwave of pleasure as he rams into you from behind. Within seconds, he has you squirming and screaming as he decimates your cunt over and over again.

   The hand buried in your hair pulls your head to the side so you can moan out into the air instead of into the pillows.

   "What are you?" He asks, the hand that isn't in your hair snakes around your waist so he can bring your torso up and press your back against his chest.

   The action has you reeling, because your knees lift off the bed in order for you to be high enough to be fucked in this position. That's not a problem for Kiri though, he easily holds you up with the arm around your waist. Your legs dangle as he falls forward, other hand leaving hair so he can brace on the headboard.

   "Daddy asked you a question." He pants against your ear. Hips still snapping into you impossibly fast.

   "I'm your bitch- fucking hell- I'm your little bitch." You cry out, tears falling as one arm flies to hold the back of his neck as the other grabs at the arm around your waist.

   His fingers bite your side as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He moans as he soothes the mark with his hot tongue. 

  "That's right, you like it don't you? You like bein' a little cry baby for this fucking cock. Don't you baby?" His words are dripping with the most sinful tone, even without any attention to your clit, your cunt starts to dance around him once again. Just his voice, his voice and his nasty praises are enough to start another fucking orgasm.

   "Oh I fuckin felt that- You really do want me to be mean, huh?"

   "Please- oh fuck- please, Daddy, please!" You sob.

  "'Please, Daddy, please.'" He says with a mocking tone, "I told you to use your words, brat." That does it, "brat", something clicks within you. It fills you with a sticky, sweet feeling. It's something more intriguing than anything else you've felt. Whatever the feeling  is, you're absolutely starving for more of it.

   "Use me, please, use my little hole, let me feel you cum." You finally conjure a reply, digging it up from your newly found well of obscene phrases.

   "Shit, princess, I'm gonna- fuck-"

   Your filthy words seem to be enough to send him into a frenzy. Again his hands are on your waist, pulling out just long enough to flip you onto your back before he plunges back into you after your back hits the mattress.

   He's so rough and fast now, all desperate, harsh hands as he fucks and fucks and fucks.

   "Look at me, fucking look at me." He grabs your jaw, eyes full of feral desire.

   "I'm gonna fill you up, you're gonna take all of it aren't you? 'Cause you're a good little slut." He commands before letting his other hand fly to your clit as you nod and stutter out promises that you'll do as he says.

   As soon as his fingers start rubbing, your body seizes. Your eyes stay on his, nails scratching down his back as you cry and shake and writhe.

   "That's it- fuck yeah- that pussy's gonna make me cum- you're gonna make me fuckin' cum- SHIT!" His voice breaks at the end, a crackling shout as his hips falter and he sinks all the way into your silky walls.

   Your eyes stay locked on each other's, he drops his forehead onto yours. The hand grasping your jaw moves to cup your face, his other hand coming up to mirror it so he can cradle your head.

   This orgasm is much softer than the others, all fuzzy and warm as it oozes through your limbs. Kiri rolls his hips into you as his cock spits hot cum deep inside of you. You both shutter and moan, hands loosening you finally feel him fill you up. Something you should have probably expected, is just how much he cums. He pulses again and again and again as your walls massage him. He fills you so much that he leaks out around himself, inevitably ruining the sheets beneath you both.

   The feeling is foreign, briefly uncomfortable, but it quickly becomes a comfort. As your bodies calm, his hips still with one final gush into you. His thumbs rub your cheeks, wiping the remaining tears.

   "You ok?" He asks with a scratchy, tender voice.

   "Perfect, baby, that was perfect." You sigh as you pull him down for a kiss.

   It's slow and feather soft, your lips work so reverently against each other, thankful for everything you've both shared.

   He inches his hips back so he can pull his softening length out of you. Both of you shiver once he's all the way out, then you feel the mess he made inside you spill onto the bed.

   "I should probably go get cleaned up…" You say as your cheeks heat, not at all prepared for what happens after something so intense.

   He just looks at you like you're growing a second head.

   "Princess, I'm gonna take care of that." He assures you.

   Before you can argue, he's got you scooped up into his arms. He carries you off to the bathroom, completely abandoning the wreck you've left on your bed. You wrap your legs around his waist the best you can and bury your face into his neck. You feel strangely dependent and needy. You suppose that must be normal after something like that.

   Once you're in the bathroom, he steps into the shower. He secures you with one arm around your waist so he can flip the water on with the other.

   You try to ease yourself down from him, but the second you move your legs you're made aware of the powerful ache in your center. Standing might not be an option right now, or tomorrow.

  "I gotcha, baby, don't worry." He says before kissing your temple.

   You don't answer, just hold onto him nuzzle into his strong chest.

   The shower is filled with gentle kisses and an abundance of sugary words. He tells you how well you did, thanks you for trusting him, kisses the parts that hurt. He makes you feel so explicitly loved, so abundantly cherished. It feels your heart with syrupy fondness. It's all so blurry, but all so distinct. Every soothing touch as he washes you lures you further and further into a state of complete relaxation. He puts lotion all over you afterwards, making sure he's careful with the tender spots. Soon you're wrapped in a plush towel, perched on the counter as he combs your damp hair.

   You let out a long sigh at the cathartic feeling, then lean forward to kiss collar bone. You rest your chin on his chest and look up at him. You snake your arms around his waist and pull his huge frame between your legs. He sets the comb down before bringing his hands up to hold the sides of your head.

   "You're my sweet girl, you know that right?" He says, his voice barely above a whisper.

   You nod and give him a soft "mhm" as you press your lips into the opposite collar bone.

   "Words please?" He asks, gentle and guiding.

   Your brain is still so incredibly foggy, you're having a horrible time trying to scrounge up any coherent phrases.

   One of his hands slides down the side of your face until it settles under your jaw, with the pad of his thumb against your chin and his index finger under your jaw, he tilts your head up so you have to meet his eyes.

   "What are you?" His eyebrows raise slightly, eyes full of adoration.

   "I'm your sweet girl." You somehow manage the admission with a hoarse voice.

   "Perfect, don't ever forget that." He kisses the top of your head then, breathing in as he pulls you against him even more.

   You love Kirishima, and he loves you. You both feel it in your bones. He has all of you now, and you feel like you have all of him. Regardless of past sexual experience, you've both given each other something new to cherish and learn about.

    "Let's get you to bed." He says before attempting to scoop you up again.

   "Uh- Kiri?" You say, pressing your hands to his chest to stop him.

  "Hm?"

   "I'm kinda hungry…" You admit, suddenly aware of the gnawing in your belly.

   He looks down at you for a brief second, an amazed look dances in his eyes before he throws his head back to let out a rich laugh.

   "Burgers, and then bed?" He asks fondly, head tilting down to kiss your forehead.

   "Oh fuck yeah." You say excitedly, the promise of a big nasty burger makes you giddy.

   It's not long before you're sat next to Kiri at a booth in your favorite burger joint. One heavy arm draped over your shoulders, the other holding a massive cheeseburger. You sit comfortably dressed in one of his hoodies, it falls all the way to your knees, drowning your body in fabric that smells like him.

   He takes one, huge, messy bite out of his burger. Lettuce and condiments flops onto his plate as you carefully bite your own.

  "You're an animal." You giggle up at him.

   He considers your statement as he chews, then leans down next to your ear once he's swallowed.

   "You like it." He whispers.

   Your spine goes rigid and blush heats your cheeks. Of course nobody heard, only a few others out at this hour, but you can't help but glance around the diner to make sure.

   You slap his arm and pout up at him.

  "That's not fair." You protest, but you can't help the smile that spreads when you see him beaming at you with all his pointy teeth on display.

   The rest of the night is spent full of laughter and teasing over milkshakes. You eventually wind up back home, tangled in bed together. After a change of bedding of course. You press yourself into Kirishima as much as you possibly can, though you'd both be content to melt into each other if it were possible. As you drift off, you thank your lucky stars for the man holding you, for the safety he provides, for such a dazzling first time. You're glad you waited, you'd do it again, you'd do it forever if it meant you could share it with Kirishima.     

[leafs-lover]

If He's Lucky I'll Let Him Join

Part 5: The moment when

Series Masterlist

A/N: This piece takes place immediately after part four.

Warnings: A little softness, swearing, mentions of drinking, smut 18+, (if you are a minor DO NOT READ), oral sex (female receiving)

Word Count: 4700

You don’t know how it happened.

Fred pulled you in for one final kiss at the door. His hand slid down the outside of your winter coat before finding your hips to pull you back towards him. The kiss even though partially in the hallway open to anybody coming or going was full of passion. His tongue covered in your flavour, licked the inside of your mouth while you gripped his tousled red locks to pull him towards you, closing the gap.

It was hot. So hot you almost walked back inside and closed the door behind you. But you had been there for two days straight, and he had a virtual meeting in a couple hours with some of the trainers and medical staff to go over a plan for his rehab. But it was extremely hard for you to step back.

Reluctantly you pulled away and walked towards the elevator but everything was hazy, the kiss fogging your brain. You heard the elevator ding and when the doors open you were met with a man, a plain black mask disguising most of his face. Even with the mask you immediately recognize the dark brown eyes and hair curling out under his hat. “Hey Auston,” you smile stepping in only to be greeted by a big black and white pile of floof jumping on you.

Ignoring his greeting you immediately bend down to your knees to pet the bernadoodle in front of you. “Oh aren’t you just the cutest,” you say, in your puppy voice, “Felix,” you add in noticing the name on the collar tag. Pulling your mask down slightly he licks up your face causing you to laugh almost knocking you over.

“Ugh,” you laugh turning so the next lick is on your cheek. “Normally I expect dinner first Felix,” you joke.

“Sorry, manners aren’t his strong suit,” Auston laughs, helping you back to your feet.

“How did I forget you have the cutest fluff ball ever?” you practically ignore Auston most of your attention on the energetic pup in front of you. Bending over to keep petting Felix, he sits in front of you constantly giving you paws, big black eyes eagerly smiling up at you.

“You never spend time at my place,” Auston chuckles. “We were actually just going to go for a walk, want to join us?”

You don’t even think you considered it, just completely distracted by the dog. How could you say no to his big black beady eyes and wagging tail? So you nodded and walked off the elevator while he led you to a nearby park. You were there for twenty minutes or so while Auston threw the ball and you eagerly gave Felix pets every time he returned it. Returning back to his building he asked if you wanted to come up for a drink and you agreed.

You remember him offering you wine before putting on the office. You started lying in the corner of the “L” shaped couch, with your head on his shoulder during the first two episodes. You descended into a comfortable conversation barely even paying attention to the show that plays in the background. He told you about growing up in Scottsdale, trying to become a hockey player while living in a desert.

You told him about your time in school, what inspired you to be a teacher. You talked about your families, him showing you pictures of his two sisters and sharing stories. It was fun seeing this side of him, getting to know him.

It’s not like you haven’t spent time with him over the past few months, you had hours together. Countless dinners with him, even fallen asleep beside him a time or two, but every time Fred was there with you. You only see him when either you or Fred asks about inviting him over. Over half your time with Fred is with Auston but you still have time without him.

Some nights after dinner Fred would do the dishes while Auston would lead you down the hall to his room. He would normally only give you a 15-20 minute head start, but most of that time you didn't spend talking.

This is the first time it’s just the two of you, no Fred. Not that you hadn’t seen Fred earlier, you still had some of his cum in your hair, and you could feel the burn of his beard between your legs.

You are really enjoying this side of him. It feels good, easy. But that was two hours ago. You have no idea how you ended up here.

On his couch.

Wearing his sweater.

Your leggings long gone.

Hands digging into your hips, tongue licking along your thigh.

Your hands anchored tightly into his locks, soft moans tumbling from your lips.

“This is nice,” he runs his hand over the navy lace fabric barely covering your core, “don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

“It’s new, came in a few days ago,” you gasp as his thick fingers dance over the cloth protecting your heat, forcing your head to fall back further and your hips to arch up. His fingers trail to your hip bone finding the early colours of a bruise, the bruises his friend left mere hours ago.

“Pretty,” he hums spreading your legs apart ignoring the marks on your body. He licks his lips slightly staring between your legs, fingers dancing along the lace.

“Some hockey player kept ripping my underwear had to get new ones,” you murmur. Auston chuckles in response, knowing that you are talking about him.

“’I’ll buy you a new pair,” he leans down placing some soft kisses on the inside of your thighs. With each caress of your most sensitive spot the desire pooling in your stomach only increased.

“Three,” you moan when his mouth presses the fabric into your clit, tongue gently flicking into it. Pulling back slightly he drags the fabric down your thighs with his teeth. “You’ve ripped three.”

Your hands tighten their grasp as he peppers kisses over your pubic bone. He nips the skin in the exact spot Fred did, causing some curse words to tumble from your lips. “I’ll buy you five just so I’m ahead of the count,” he chuckles the lace landing on the floor.

With a quick wink he drops his head back down, spreading your legs to showcase your glistening cunt. He licks his lips and wraps his mouth around your clit. You gasp and wince slightly, still sensitive from the time Fred spent down there mere hours ago. But that doesn’t stop him; instead it encourages him to press in further digging into your hips harder.

“God you taste so good,” he mumbles, flicking his tongue in and out. “Sweet as honey princess,” he adds, and you feel your walls flutter as the pet name rolls off his tongue.

“Aus,” you moan, barely audible, but he definitely heard sucking harder on your clit. Bucking your hips into his face-you feel him smirk against you. He encourages you, gently rolling your hips to bring you closer. The low burning in your gut slowly begins to bubble up. Legs clamp around his head, locking him against your heat.

Your legs tremble and incoherent sounds fall from your lips. Your moans are getting louder and louder, you tug harder on his dark brown curls. Skin is hot, burning into his lips. He groans into your heat, the feeling vibrating through your core and up your spine.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whine while his tongue continues to flick inside you. Over the past few weeks he has become very good at reading your body, recognizing the telltale signs of your orgasm sometimes before you do. He groans in response, pulling your body down, face smothered by your thighs.

“Fuck,” your hip arches up grinding further into his face. You begin to chant “Aus,” the second syllable getting lost in your pleasure. Euphoria floods your veins, your body tingles while little fires ignite throughout your entire body. The man between your legs doesn’t let up working you through your high, groaning while your juices spill onto his tongue.

“Fuck y/n,” Auston coos, slowly pulling his head away from your dripping heat. “You’re phenomenal.”

Crawling up your body he slides his tongue in your mouth, your body still in a post orgasmic haze. You can taste yourself on his tongue while his body presses against yours. Slowly your fog lifts and you deepen the kiss, moaning slightly when you feel his erection press against your thigh.

His large hand slides under your sweater, easily engulfing your breast in his large palm. Pulling the cup down he pinches your nipple smirking when you wince. But he has no idea the damage his friend left behind.

His tongue finds your neck, licking from your collarbone to your ear lobe. Pulling your skin through his teeth your entire body gets hot, sweat building in the valley of your breasts. Lips trail along your jaw then down your neck-leaving open mouthed kissed onto your skin. The feeling of his growing bulge against your dripping centre makes you moan again.

“Aus,” you barely manage a coherent thought as your sweater is pulled from your body leaving you in just a bra. He tosses his sweater aside, it landing somewhere amongst the clothes scattered on his floor.

“I like when you call me that,” he purrs in your ear.

“Take me to your bedroom,” you try to sound firm but it comes out as more of a desperate plea. Within seconds his feet hit the floor and he pulls you over his shoulder. Making his way through the living room and down his hall his large hand strokes over the back of your thigh.

You faintly hear Felix’s claws click against his wood floors. But when he brings a hand up placing a firm slap on your ass the sound fades, only able to focus on the burn of your skin. His hand soothes your bottom, before delivering another blow hitting the same spot.

“Auston,” you scold. With the back of his heel you hear his bedroom door slam shut, followed by a whimper from the pup on the other side. Your heart breaks a little for him but it doesn’t last long.

“Please you expect me to believe Fred wasn’t doing this to you a few hours ago,” he throws you onto the bed. Your eyes go wide as he pulls his shirt off tossing it towards the hamper, it landing a few feet short.

“You think I didn’t recognize the fucked-out look plastered on your face when you stepped into the elevator. Or that I don’t taste him on the inside of your thighs?” Before you can process his words his track pants are being shoved down his legs and he steps out them. Your eyes rake over his body, tattooed arm, broad shoulders and a firm rock hard chest. His long and deliciously thick cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. The swollen, flushed, pink tip oozing pearly white droplets of precum.

He quickly presses his body against yours, fingers tracing over the purple and blue marks that litter your hips. His fingers slowly follow the trail up your body, through the valley of your breast to your collar bone. His fingers work in the opposite direction of the trail Fred’s mouth left earlier in the day.

“You two have fun,” he asks sucking on your collarbone. Your back arches and he pops open your bra throwing it onto the floor. His mouth continues to press soft wet kisses over every bruise. You would expect some pain as he presses against the marks, but his touch is soft; featherlike, slowly drawing over the purple and blue. It’s almost soothing how his cold tongue caresses your sensitive skin.

That is until he finds your breast that Fred spent a lot of time on, sucking almost aggressively. You warned Fred a few times but he didn’t let up, instead sucking harder. He slowly dragged your nipple through his teeth; even nipping at the skin. At some point your entire breast became fully bruised but Fred still didn’t stop. Even when his thick dick was dragging in and out of your walls his mouth was still attached to your breast.

“I asked you a question princess,” Auston hums, nipping the skin around your nipple.

“Fuck,” you cry out feeling a tear hit the corner of your eye.

“You have fun with Fred earlier,” he asks more direct this time.

“Yes,” you hiss when he brings a thumb to press into your breast, swirling it on the bruises surrounding your nipple.

“Yeah, what did you guys do,” he muses pressing his throbbing erection against your hip. “Hmm princess. Did he use his tongue on you?”

Unable to focus, two of his large fingers dance over your folds. He gently plays with the opening, soaking up the juices that have begun to coat his digits. His tongue slowly draws up the valley of your breast and he sinks his teeth into your collarbone.

“He use his fingers to open you up?” his digits grazing over your clit with every swoop.

Your moans become incoherent; a mix of curse words and grunts. He slowly rolls on top of you, resting on his elbows, hands gripping your hair while his tip pokes at your entrance. “He make you feel this good baby?” slowly his tip begins to spread open your folds while he slides in.

“He stretch you like I do?” he bottoms out. Hips hitting hips, his length pressing into what feels like your stomach. “He fuck you like I do princess?” he pulls his hips back and slams back in, his face centimetres from yours. “Did your heat flutter around him with every thrust?”

Barely able to function you tightly grip his chain and pull his face closer to yours. Trying to bring his lips to yours, he skirts around, lips finding the shell of your ear.

“God I’ve wanted this for so long,” his pace increases while your hips roll up towards his. He drags his cock in and out of your soaking pussy, the sound from between your legs is absolutely disgusting but you love it. “I have wanted to fuck you away from him. Fuck you as much as I want, as fast or slow as I want, as many times as I want without Fred cutting in for his turn.”

Your mind is swirling with his admission. But you can barely focus or process it when he harshly thrusts in again. “Wanted to wrap my hand around your throat,” he brings his hand up resting it against your trachea. “Have you under me gasping for air with each thrust.”

“Aus,” you whimper as he begins to tighten his grip. Slowly air begins to leave your lungs, “remember the word princess?” You only have the strength to muster a slight nod. “I need to hear you say it,” he completely stops thrusting and eases his grip on your throat. His dick still seethed inside you, filling you until you almost overflow, but he remains still.

“Yellow,” you manage to croak. With a devilish grin his hips begin to rock in and out of you again his hand gripping your throat restricting the air.

“You’re such a good girl for me Y/N,” he mumbles.

After your weekend with Fred you didn’t think you can handle anymore. Your sensitivity makes it easy for your orgasm to come rolling through, and unexpectedly wash over you. You’re entire body jolts as he continues his long hard thrusts mumbling filth in your ear.

Coming down from your high he doesn’t stop, instead he picks up his pace. Headboard is rattling against the wall; your whimpers are getting louder.

“Aus, I need a minute,” you manage to choke out around his tightening grip on your hand.

“You need a minute you say the word, otherwise I’m gonna keep going,” he gives you a painful thrust, your head hitting the headboard. “Because I know you always want a minute,” he tightens his grip further restricting your airway, “but you don’t need it. In seconds you’re going to be crying out for me to hit you harder, faster. You just gotta wait for it princess.”

Your mouth opens into a silent O and your nails find the back of his neck, tugging on the hair. His dark eyes blown with fire burn down at you. His lips begin to curl when he sees your face change, pleasure taking over and eagerly seeking for your next release.

“There you go baby,” he smirks sensing your shift.

The hand on your throat is barely letting air through, but there is something about him saying the word baby that causes your body to tingle. He has never called you that before, always your name or princess. Fred calls you baby.

You would expect it to feel wrong, that guilt would wash over you thinking of Fred. Peering up into his eyes, while brown like Fred’s, Auston’s are much darker. You expect that to be the moment you are flooded with remorse, the weight of what you’ve done. Instead he is staring at you through hooded lenses, clouded with lust and it spurs you on.

You’re panting Auston’s name while your chest heaves, lungs still deprived of oxygen. Rolling your hips one leg wraps around his large muscular back and your heel digs in to hold him close to you.

Your pussy is swollen; it’s taken a beating this weekend you didn’t think it could handle. But here you are crying out for him to hit you faster, and of course he eagerly agrees. Your nails are firmly anchored into his skin, your other hand tangled around his chain pulling his face to yours.

His lips hover near your ear and he mumbles praise and filth to you. Auston has never been big on the dirty talk when it’s just the two of you. Once Fred is in the room the words tumble from his lips like sand in a desert, but when it’s just the two of you he is more reserved.

But not today.

Strings of filth are pouring out and you love it. His cock driving against your g-spot, hand cutting off your air supply and a vile tongue spewing venom in your ear. It all is becoming too much. And he knows it.

“Freddie make you cum this much?”

“He make you cum this hard?”

“He make you feel this good?”

“Fuck Princess, cum on my cock once more”

“Coat it in your juices”

Your ears ring and you don’t hear another word he says, but his warm breath indicates he is still talking to you. Your moan turns into a scream and with a final harsh thrusts euphoria floods you, your vision going white. Little shockwaves course through your body as you stop bucking your hips to meet his, your grip loosening on his chain and neck.

Still revelling in your post orgasmic haze, you feel him get sloppier as his climax draws closer. Breathing getting heavier and with a loud grunt he pulls out. Ropes of sticky white warmth coating your stomach. He pumps himself until he is dry, falling onto the bed beside you.

Your body is hot and clammy. Auston slowly draws a finger up and down your forearm as your chests heaves. Slowly you turn to look at him, sweat drenching the roots of his hair. He smiles when met with your face and hesitantly leans down. Millimetres separate your faces, slowly the gap closing. You take it upon yourself to pull his face down. You can taste the salt on his lips, his mustache tickling over your upper lip. “You need to trim this,” you laugh running your thumb over it.

“I like it,” he chuckles, placing another soft kiss on your lips. “Let’s go shower.”

“Ugh I can’t,” you groan knowing your knees will buckle if you try to stand.

“My shower has a bench you can sit on for a bit,” he presses his lips to your again. “But we need to clean this up,” he eyes down to the mess on your stomach. He is right, but still neither of you move; needing a few more minutes.

“You know you can,” you trail off slightly thinking over your thoughts but also recapturing your breath, “you don’t have to pull out.”

The feeling of cum inside you is relatively new, having felt it for the first time a year ago. The first time when you and Fred foregone a condom you were so infatuated with the thought of Auston, imagining his body on yours, it just slipped from your lips. You weren’t even sure if you meant it. But once you felt Fred spill inside you, sticky warmth dripping from your cunt and down your thighs, you couldn’t imagine it any other way.

The thought of it alone makes you wet. But one thing you have loved even more is when Fred’s cum is dripping from your slick, sometimes he will bring his fingers in. With a few thrusts the warmth is spilling out around his digits and he’ll bring them to your mouth for you to lick clean.

It’s like magic.

And you’d be lying if you hadn’t thought of what it would feel like to be full of both men. So much your walls are unable to hold it in, just a mixture of the three of you spilling out.

“Oh um,” his eyes dart around your face. His tone is soft and nervous before he continues, “we never talked about it, so I figured I should. That first time was…I uh…I didn’t mean to the first time. Just really in the moment, and you were so shocked when it happened. I actually felt like shit for not using a condom that night, let alone not pulling out. When the second time came around I figured I should at least pull out.”

“I mean Fred -” you start, but you don’t want to bring sex with him into this moment. “I work around kids so I am very good at birth control,” you laugh slightly. “It’s 100% your choice obviously. I’m just saying I wouldn’t hate it if you didn’t.”

Auston has a wide smile on his face hearing your revelation, and he brings you down for a sloppy kiss. Pulling away you are almost certain you could fall asleep, whimpering when Auston moves leaving you alone on the cold bed.

A few minutes later he is scooping you up and gently placing you on his shower bench. Leaning your head against the cool tile, steam filling the shower, you watch Auston. He shoots you playful winks and asks if you are okay before finally pulling you to your feet and rubs shampoo in your hair.

Once re-dressed and in his living room you notice it is getting late in the day, the sky beginning to get dark. Felix’s ears perk up and you immediately go to him giving him some pets before you head out for the evening. His tail eagerly slaps against the couch and you don’t stop until he places a few licks on your cheek.

Turning around Auston pulls you into his chest, holding you tight while you listen to the gentle beating of his heart. Grabbing a handful of his sweater you aren’t quite ready to let him go. Tilting your head upwards he smiles down at you. Felix eagerly joins the two of you, jumping on you, bashing against both of your legs. Auston softly brushes the hair from your forehead and stands feet firmly planted staring down at you with soft and tender eyes.

“I had a great time,” he finally whispers, but you get the feeling that isn’t what he wants to say.

“Mmm me too,” you mumbles in agreeance, but you’re not just talking about the sex. He closes the gap and brushes his lips against yours, the kiss starting out soft. It’s not until one of your hands slide up his back that he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding inside your mouth. Hands snake down your body to your hips, but when he gives your ass a playful squeeze, you pull away laughing.

“Sorry”, he mumbles, but you can tell from the smirk on his face he is lying; it was 100% intentional.

“Think I can get your number,” he asks taking a deep breath. His voice is uneasy; it’s the first time in the months you’ve known him his confidence seems shaken. Before you can even take a breath he continues, “I always see these memes that make me think of you, but I can’t send them to you.”

A light chuckle gets caught in your throat, “right to send memes” you smirk, quirking an eyebrow to him. Pursed lips you gaze over his face for a few seconds, you can see his is nervous while he awaits your response. With a slight nod you hold your hand out “phone.”

Quickly he is in his pocket, unlocking the device and handing it to you. Putting your digits in you rise to your tippy toes and place a soft kiss to his cheek. “What time do you have to be up tomorrow,” he asks checking his phone, before putting it away. “If it’s not too early you could stay over,” he trails off at the end, his words coming out almost a whisper.

“I actually uh don’t,” you stutter.

“Oh is it a holiday of some kind?”

“Uh no…Long story but I don’t have a job right now, so I don’t have to be up in the morning.”

“You wanna talk –“

“Nope I do not,” you quickly cut him off, not wanting to relive it. “But I can stay,” you smile and he presses his lips back to yours.

“Felix is very excited,” he says and you laugh hearing the pup come up beside you with one of his squeaky toys. Pulling away you bend down to take his toy dinosaur from his mouth and throw it to the other side of the room for him to chase.

“Wait, what do you do with him when you’re on the road?”

“Steph, one of the guys’ girlfriends watches him.”

“Let me watch him,” you lean in to kiss his nose and he places a lick on your cheek.

“Well Fred thinks he’ll be out for a couple weeks. I’ll probably see if he can watch him,” Auston explains.

“Seriously? Why does Fred get to watch Felix,” you groan. Felix’s ears perk up when you say Fred’s name and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t slightly jealous he knows Fred’s name but not yours yet. You scratch his face, rubbing behind his big floppy ears while Felix leans into the pets slightly.

“He’s his stepdad,” Auston explains with a light laugh. “And I didn’t have your number until now, I couldn’t ask you.”

“Okay but now you do,” you pout as Felix spins in excited circles before falling to the floor for you to rub his belly.

“When Fred gets back to playing I’ll get you to watch him ‘kay”

“We would have so much fun eh Felix, get a million w-a-l-k ‘s a day” you spell the letters out so Felix doesn’t get excited. “So many treats and toys. I’m gonna be your favourite person in the world,” you say in your high pitched puppy voice while you eagerly rub his belly. His tail is slapping against the floor and you can hear Auston laughing and saying something, but you ignore it focusing your attention on the fourteen month old puppy that has captured your heart.

[mae-gi-writes]

Quand il Neige | Sangyeon (The Boyz Christmas Series)

La Joie De Noel Series.

Sangyeon | Jacob | Younghoon | Hyunjae | Juyeon | Kevin | Changmin | Chanhee | Haknyeon | Sunwoo | Eric

'Quand il neige' : when the snow falls. 

In which you see snow for the first time with Sangyeon.

For @lsangyeons​, my first and most precious friend and moot. I love you with all my heart. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year xx

-❤-

“It’s snowing!” the words fly out of your mouth the moment you spot the small magical crystals drifting down from the sky like fairy dust, “Sangyeon! It’s snowing! Oh my gosh! It’s actually snowing!” 

“Wait really?!” Comes his muffled voice from the kitchen. For the occasion of spending Christmas eve with your boyfriend for the first time, he’d taken it upon himself to whip up a romantic dinner by candlelight. Though you hear him turn off the stove before his footsteps quickly hurry towards the window where you are currently pressed up against, nose and all.

“It’s so pretty!” Your eyes kept drifting back and forth between the ground and the sky, before you whip around without warning and yell, “we need to go out!” 

He doesn’t even have time to make a grab for you before you’ve dashed to the front door to throw on your winter jacket, sling a scarf messily around your neck and stuff your feet halfway into your boots before reaching for the front door. 

He’s quick to grab your hand though, whipping you around before his hands grasp your shoulders in a gentle but firm hold, “hold up there, missy,” Sangyeon has a teasing smile on his lips, a playful glimmer in his eyes as he pulls you closer, “you can’t go out half-dressed like that.” 

“But Sangyeon,” you whine and stomp your foot like a child as, chuckling, he proceeds to wrap your scarf around your neck a little tighter, twicefold to keep it warm, “don’t give me that look, Y/N. You’ll fall sick otherwise.” 

“You’re such a party pooper.” 

“No, I’m being responsible,” he throws you a look as he moves on to your jacket, zipping it right up to your chin. You pout, making him lean down to peck your nose in affection, “now stop complaining. Where’s your beanie?” 

Spotting it half-hanging off the rack, he leans over you to swipe it off before he places it firmly on your head, tucking a few stray strands of hair underneath to make it neater. 

“Can I go now?” you give him puppy eyes.

“Hmm, only if you give me a kiss first,” he leans down, cheek tilted in your direction and you giggle as you poke his dimple instead before rushing out of the door, his protests dying away with the muffled sound of snow crunching under your boots.

Your head tilts up to gaze at the flurry of snowflakes descending from the sky, glimmering like sparkles whenever they catch the light from the golden hues of the street lamps, only to settle at your feet like a sheet of white fluff that glimmers in shades of gold and cool blues. You lift your hands up to catch some with your palm, gazing at the complex, elegantly-crafted crystals that look like they’ve just come out of a children’s fairytale. You like to think that they do come from a faraway land inhabited with fairies that sprinkled the sky with their fairy-dusted fingers, in hopes of bathing the entire city with the magic of Christmas. 

You stick out your tongue, giggling when you catch one, its iciness causing you to crinkle your nose. Turning towards his house just in time to see him holding a phone up to his face, you hold out your arms to him, “come join me!” 

His eyes are forever crinkled up in a permanent grin as he shuffles towards you and you’d be lying to say you weren’t flustered by how he is looking at you; as if you were the sole reason for his happiness. As if you’re the Christmas miracle he had been waiting for.

“What?” you can’t help but ask shyly, the softest of smiles gracing your lips. It widens even more upon feeling his arms come around you in a comforting embrace before he nuzzles his nose with yours, “nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re excited.” 

You nudge him playfully, “But it’s snowing! how can you be so calm?!” 

“Trust me, when you see snow practically every year for six months, it’s not that special anymore.” 

“Not even with me?” 

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” he shoots you a pointed look that you reply back with a grin, “no I’m not.” 

“So are,” his hands start tickling your waist and you start writhing, backing up while half-yelling at him to stop until your foot trips over a bulk of snow and you go tumbling down, Sangyeon in tow as you both topple onto the snow-covered ground. 

You laugh aloud, noticing how he’d wrapped his arm around your head to pillow your fall as warmth trickles through you. 

“Now my clothes are wet!” You throw him a narrow stare, watching him lift himself up to place his elbows on either side of your head as he looks down at you with a mirroring grin, cheeks flushed red from the cold. 

“You were the one who told me to come play with you,” he pushes a few strands away from your face, fingers lingering over your cheekbone. 

"Hm, true that,” you poke his forehead, “guilty as charged.” 

“Hey Y/N,” Sangyeon’s lips spread into a smirk, “do you wanna know what we do when snow falls?”

His eyes are gleaming with mischief. You try to scramble out of his hold, “I don’t want to know--SANGYEON!”

Too late. No sooner have you spoken that he has grabbed a fistful of snow before shoving it down your jacket. The cold is icy and it stings as you cry out in protest, shoving him off in retaliation while he laughs like a little kid. 

“You bitch,” your grumble is loud enough for him to hear, which only intensifies his laughter. 

“Aw I love you too,” his arms encircle you in a back hug albeit the fact that you try struggling. But you give in to temptation, throwing him a scowl for good measure.

“Weren’t you the one telling me to dress up well so that I don’t fall sick? And now you’ve shoved snow down my coat.” 

Sangyeon’s lips find their way to your cheek, “I did it with affection,” and he leaves a peck there.

Your cheeks flame despite the way you deepen your scowl, “affection my ass.” 

“I did!” 

And then he’s whipping you around to face him, grasping your waist and pulling you closer so that his nose brushes yours, smiling gently down at you in naked adoration.

Tilting his head to the side then, his mouth finds yours in a chaste kiss that can melt any snowstorm in vicinity. 

“Affectionate enough for you?” he murmurs against your lips and unconsciously your hands fist onto his coat, head woozy from his sudden attack.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond though, dipping down once more to capture your lips in another lip lock that renders your brain amok with fireworks and that tempts you to lean into him, responding to his kiss with shy pecks of your own.

As you stand there kissing amidst the falling snow, you’re too far away from the clock in the kitchen that dings to indicate the time change. 

Merry Christmas. 

[brief-candle]

ᴡɪᴛɴᴇss - Yoshikage Kira.

this has been a hiatus and a half, huh?

first of all, i'd like to apologise for the wait on this. and a couple of other requests that i've yet to do, but this in particular. because this is a good couple of months old and,, omg i can't believe it. i'm so so sorry

a lot has happened. college is back, unfortunately, and i've just been taking a lot of time to myself to avoid writer's block! as well as having wrote like 3000 words for this chapter and hating it all so then purging the vast majority of it to make it like twice as dark and gritty. kinda. still kinda iffy on most of it.

hope it's at least passable, and apologies that my long hiatus resulted in,, this.

anyways! here's wonderwall everyone's favourite hand fetishist!

series: jojo's bizarre adventure.

notes: yandere, choking, minor character death, general lack of niceness here.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰ 

Work wasn't exactly stressful, but by god it was boring. Day in, day out; nine until five, nothing was ever different. Not that you'd expected anything different. It just came with the process of being an adult.

You almost snorted sardonically, thoughts wandering back to school. Back then, your head was full of dreams of grandeur, of something far better than some dead end job sat in an office, achieving nothing before death finally arrived. However those ideas were little more than delusions that would never be given the chance to develop to fruitation. Such were the realities of life, that childhood dreams very rarely were given the chance to become a reality. A truth. Something more than an unachievable, faroff pipe dream that could only be experienced through hard drugs or strange dreams that one would shrug off or forget by the time that a coffee is poured. Ah, speaking of, you could really do with one of those right now.

It was like he had read your mind, as per usual you'd found with him, as a cup of coffee exactly to your tastes had found its way onto your desk.

"Ah, thanks Mr. Kira."

You'd found yourself coming almost quite close with the man, despite him usually keeping to himself and separating home life from work. Well, as close as one could get to someone who seemed to distance himself from those who worked with him, anyway. In a way, you'd found it rather admirable. Some colleagues may have thought the same, or disregarded it entirely, with how they fawned over him. It was pretty gross to watch, but you tended to keep such thoughts to yourself. Life was easier that way, as less drama came from it.

Besides, you could see where they were coming from in a way. It was clear to anyone with functioning eyes that Yoshikage Kira was attractive, with immaculate taste that only seemed to compliment naturally good looks. Especially with his smile, which seemed so broad and genuine. You envied him in a way, with beautiful features and a smile that could make many a heart skip a beat.

Though you supposed that you were no exception.

Even now, after so many coffees brought to you and so many small sessions of idle chat, you could practically feel your cheeks redden as he spoke. Voice like honey and smooth as silk, with such a charming expression to match. You could only hope that your cheeks weren't as red as they were warm to the touch. As long as no one noticed, it would be fine. You feared you'd die of embarrassment if your little schoolgirl crush on your coworker was exposed, even at this stage in adulthood. It truly was a pathetic situation. Especially when you couldn't even dream of calling him by his first name else you'd immediately regret it from the sheer embarrassment it could bring upon yourself. Besides, no one called Yoshikage Kira by anything but his surname, seeing as he tended to keep to himself and no one was close enough to acceptably use his given name.

Then that smile emerged, and the revelation that your heart was not immune to the effects of his charm made itself known like a slap in the face. Oh, how the mighty do fall. Or how the pathetic fall further.

"You're welcome."

Just those two words, spoken like they were imbued with the very essence of charm itself, and he was gone. You almost sighed, whether from relief for your heart or some sort of wistful longing was beyond you. Perhaps it was even a combination of both, seeing as that would most likely be your only conversation with the man that day. Maybe even for the next couple of days.

That said, your cheeks felt like they were on fire. This interaction had been different, shockingly so, as there was something more than words there.

It was almost funny how things so quickly changed. From there you'd ended up in what felt like some sort of alternate dimension, as strange and silly as such a thing sounded.

"Don't kill me...! Please- please! I won't tell a soul, I swear!"

It was just a drunken night out; the first in a while and a chance to catch up with some old friends for the first time in a long while. Your separate careers had prevented you doing so for a good few months at the very least. And oh, how you'd wished it had been delayed for a few months longer. How nice it was to imagine how differently it could've all gone, to find comfort in the infinite possibilities of 'if', to seek shelter in it away from the harrowing present splayed out in front of you.

Or the lack of things splayed out in front of you, that is.

You were just a normal office worker who liked their morning coffees a little too much. This sort of strange, otherworldly phenomena were way beyond you. Was this some sort of dream? A sick joke that life had decided to play on you?

It was easy to believe that. Much too easy to fall into disbelief. And yet you couldn't do it, with your throat feeling like it was being constricted torturously slowly, closing in on itself little by little. Fraction of a millimetre by fraction of a millimetre. Tear ducts had long since dried up in your panic and sheer, unbridled fear. How useful they'd be now, adding any sliver of extra punch to your last resort: begging for your life from what you had believed to be your just-as-normal coworker.

His gaze was cold. Sharp as it seemed to pierce you completely, and only further convinced you that it was over. Useless to do anything but sit there on your just as useless, quaking legs and take the death he'd grant and hope to any and all forms of God that it'd be quick. Hell, maybe he'd just erase you completely. Like what had happened to the rest of your friends, drunkenly foolish in their suggestion to follow your coworker for the sole purpose of revealing your mundane, fruitless crush. How childish it was, and how unfathomably huge the consequences were. How what you'd stumbled in on, little more than a hand with no body in sight that he grasped so tightly onto, with a strange smell and thickness to the air. How quickly his head had snapped around as you'd all turned around the corner into the apartment's living area, bumbling and brainless as you'd almost literally stumbled upon such a horrifying sight.

The screams bounced around your head, echoing off each wall of your brain and skull and everything. Vibrating and reverberating through your skeleton, before crashing to a sudden, incomplete halting.

"You weren't meant to be here."

His voice was smooth as always, icy as it never was. You would've described it as uncharacteristically so, if you weren't so firm in your realisation that the Yoshikage Kira that you'd known was little more than a façade for this...

Whatever this was in front of you.

His eyebrows furrowed, perfectly groomed in their shape like every other immaculate thing about him, and you briefly wondered why he hadn't spoken about his obvious displeasure. You would've asked if you could, but the heaving movements of your body quickly told you the reason why.

You were laughing.

"Don't you think," and, as if you weren't already convinced your grave had been dug there and then, you decided to pipe up with your foreign, cracking and hoarse voice, "that I'd love to be anywhere but here, too? You think we followed you asking to..."

Asking to what? To continue that question, rhetorical or not, it'd require you to have an ounce of knowledge as to what was going on. You didn't even have a fraction of a fraction of a clue. And so, hysterical laughter finally grinding to a slow and weak halt, just like the rest of you, you abandoned that train of thought and speech completely.

"Just get it over with."

He was still silent, as if listening to the heightening of pride and lack of fear many humans seemed to have when realising that death at the hands of another was inescapable.

"I mean-" it wasn't even a laugh, more of a dry and desperate huff than anything else, "what are you even waiting for? I bet you're enjoying this, aren't you, you disgusting fuckin--"

Then you were cut off, a force akin to a truck at full speed crashing into your neck and

tightening

its

hold.

The prior panic and fear reared its head again in full force, limbs thrashing and clawing at thin air. You could feel the imprints of ghostly fingers around your neck, silently gasping in a greedy attempt for air and out of groundless shock as they pushed and slammed your already disoriented, powerless form into a wall and pinning you there. It was confusion, panic panic panic panic as you continued to struggle.

Air came just after the darkness threatened to invade, and your aching lungs welcomed it with open arms.

Whatever invisible, untouchable hand had grasped your neck was still present, if the grooves threatening to choke you within an inch of your life again were anything to go by.

"Now, now, now," he'd said, moving closer. Each step seemed to bring the already very present threat of immediate death closer, as if even one step into his shadow could wipe someone off the face of the Earth without a trace nor second glance. And, at this point, you'd believe it.

His mouth was moving, words spoken but drowned out by endless roars and waves of deafening white noise. You had to crane your neck to look at his face, and the hand around your throat used its thumb (? did it have a thumb? you didn't know, and didn't care to know at that point) to do so after noticing your lack of effort to do so. His eyes were daggers, and lip curled in disapproval.

You were looking at him, but all you could see were your friends becoming less than dust.

How their eyes, dull and lifeless, blamed you wordlessly with oceans of contempt. It was your fault for not stopping them, for having such feelings for such a monster. Even if you didn't know; you must've known! It was impossible for you not to notice something so inhumane lurking under that mask of pleasant smiles and warm small talk.

Even sharper than his gaze was the pain in your scalp as he wrenched your head to the side. When had he kneeled down? You weren't aware; you weren't present. But you were. Were you? Through his staring, you could see their tears and the unclosed eyes, wide and frozen in time. Doomed to shock and fear for an eternity.

"It'd be wise for you to start listening." They screamed at you, for you. To join them, that you would join them. To run, to lie down and just let him off you already. To scream for help, as if anyone who'd have offered help in the first place wouldn't have come running by now.

"What's the point?"

You were still snappy, it seemed. As if begging him to send you to meet your friends. Maybe you were. It would probably be better than teetering on the line of panic and terrifying calmness, seesawing between them with too much ease and swiftness.

"This is why you should've been listening."

He released your hair, cool and unsettlingly neutral eyes wandering to one of your hands. They were lay by your side now, having given up on your struggling some time ago. You didn't struggle when he picked one up, either, cradling it and rubbing soft circles into it. There was no reaction from you. Just apathy, letting him continue as he liked. It was easier that way, and would bring a less painful fate.

"It seems your manners need some work," neither of you were sure if you were even listening anymore. You doubted he even cared either way, with the way he tended to your appendage, "but there's time. We can improve it, can't we?"

Surely not.

Absolutely not.

If he was meaning what you thought he was meaning, you suddenly found that death seemed much more favourable. Desirable, even, rather than a resignation of yours.

"Don't stare so dumbly."

Yoshikage was quick to chide you there, and even quicker to strike you not-too-gently upside your head. Not quite enough to black you out, but definitely enough to daze you for a good while. Not that it mattered too much if you weren't fully unconscious; your chance of escaping was incredibly slim to none even if you did know the way. After all, Yoshikage's routine was perfect. Always followed meticulously. All he needed to do to make sure you didn't wander was to slot you in there as well.

Your hands weren't the most beautiful. Definitely not when compared to prior girlfriends of his, but (strangely enough) they weren't his main focus for once. It was everything else, too, from the curve of your smile to the lightening up of your eyes, to the way you styled your hair and the scent of your perfume. A combination of the small, meticulously analysed details that made you... you. And this strange fascination made you one of a kind. Dangerous, really, yet he couldn't yet bring himself to be rid of you.

Maybe one day. It would be easier to continue living that way, without you to confuse him so after a lifetime of being certain about everything he'd done. Having planned his whole life, only for you to upset it all and throw off the delicate balance.

He'd make it work. Until the day he could bring himself to rid himself of you, you'd stay no matter what. Even moreso after what you'd witnessed, after you saw what he hadn't planned you to.

Though you won't be seeing much of anything anymore, really. Three rooms maximum don't really offer much in terms of variation in sights.

[pickalilywrites]

happy halloween! i wrote this lil thing after watching this trailer for this show called Zombie Detective! I haven’t actually watched it so idk much about it beyond the premise, but i worked parts of it into this lil au ^^ hopefully you guys think it’s fun! the idea is that it’ll be a series but idk when i’ll get back to it, haha, but i do have future plans for it! also, can you believe this is my second erejean? crazy! i thought i would have written for them more haha

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How To Disguise Yourself As a Human Being

EreJean. Zombie Detective AU. 

How to Be a Zombie series. 

10108 words. 

Read on AO3!

I’m alive. 

It doesn’t occur to Eren, after digging through six feet of dirt, that this isn’t entirely true. While it’s true that he’s alive, it would be more accurate to say that he’s alive again. Then again, it doesn’t quite hit him - as he breathes in his first breath of fresh air in what feels like months - that he had died in the first place. 

To be fair, this isn’t how Eren had pictured himself going out: knocked out in the middle of a midnight stroll through the forested hills that occupied the south of the small town he'd grown up in only to be choked to death, his strangled breaths unheard by the slumbering town. He had pictured himself going out with a bang, something like a gunshot and not snuffed out so easily like a candle. Preferably, it would be in his thirties (forties, if he were lucky), giving him enough time to make a noticeable mark on the world. But, of course, the universe is unpredictable, unjust, and, above all, a huge bitch. 

All Eren can think when he first crawls out of the earth is that the sunlight is so bright it’s practically blinding. He holds out a hand to shade his eyes only to realize something strange - his hand is frighteningly thin and pale and veiny. His tanned skin is now a sickening shade of gray and Eren can easily see the veins of purple and blue running underneath the thin layer of skin. He looks down at himself - his torn up clothing covered in dirt, his bare feet the same color as the rest of his sickly skin, and the dry brittle hair hanging from his head. Dried blood stains his clothing, the only bit of color on him. He realizes then, sitting next to the six-foot hole that was meant to be his grave, that he hadn’t just been attacked that night. He had been killed. Murdered. He was dead. And now he’s alive again. 

Nobody tells you how to deal with being a zombie. They tell you how to deal with a zombie but never what to do if you become one yourself. It turns out that humans are far more equipped to handle zombies than post-apocalyptic media would have you think. You could probably even make it if you were a senior citizen as long as you were able to raise your cane above your head. It’s only occasionally that a person gets eaten by a zombie now because fighting one off isn’t actually all that difficult. Eren knows the basics: aim for the head because the brain is what controls a zombie and their skulls are as soft as eggshells, zombies are slow creatures but you should still think fast, and never ever let a zombie bite you. 

The last rule has Eren salivating as he realizes that it’s been a while since he’s eaten anything. He lays down on the ground, hand on his stomach as it rumbles. He tries to will away the cannibalistic urge that’s eating away at him by thinking of anything except his desire to feast on human flesh. He wants to be hungry for human food: miso ramen with its rich, salty broth and succulent slices of char siu pork with sweet kernels of corn and a soft-boiled egg on the side, okonomiyaki batter sizzling on the grill and topped with shrimp and green onions, or even crispy karaage with a squeeze of lemon and dipped in mayo. But Eren doesn’t crave any of it. His stomach growls in dissatisfaction, banishing his thoughts of food and replacing them with more horrifying alternatives: human skin breaking between his teeth and salty on his tongue, soft tissue melting in his mouth, taut muscle chewed up and swallowed hungrily. Eren craves sustenance in a way he never has before. 

A bush rustles nearby and his eyes flicker over to it. Eren doesn’t move; staying still as a zombie is much easier than it ever was when he was a human. There is nothing but the wind sweeping up leaves in little gusts for a moment, and then, Eren sees it: a rabbit timidly making its way out of the bush. Its wide brown eyes stare at Eren, ready to scurry away at any sign of movement. The rabbit’s little pink nose twitches as it hops ever closer to the reanimated corpse that is Eren Jaeger. It’s such a tiny thing. This might even be its first time experiencing the fall - crisp autumn leaves underfoot, chilly morning air as the temperature cooled from summer to fall, and the sun setting earlier and earlier each night. It hasn’t lived nearly as long as it should, and yet Eren can’t help but salivate as the rabbit approaches him, imagining how satisfying it would be to plunge his teeth in its tender flesh. 

The rabbit stops where Eren sits, leaning down to sniff at the hole in the knee of his jeans. The poor thing didn’t stand a chance. 

Before he can even think, Eren grabs the animal in his grimy hands and bites into its neck. The sound of teeth digging into raw flesh is disgusting, but Eren can’t find it in himself to stop, taking bite after bite, moaning hungrily even as the rabbit struggles in his grasp and blood dribbles down his chin and onto his hand. Eren takes a bite from the rabbit's neck, blood spurting as his teeth tear at a vein, and feels the creature struggle uselessly until finally growing limp in his hands. He eats the rest of it - fur and flesh and blood and all - and feels it fill him like no meal ever has before. He doesn’t know how he had ever eaten before. In his previous life, he couldn’t imagine anything better than well-cooked meat: grilled, fried, roasted. He loved it marinated, covered in spices so that the different flavors could blend together and bring out the umami of the meat. Now, he realizes those extra flavors only masked the true taste of meat - gamey with a slightly sweet aftertaste - and cooking it destroyed its integrity. There’s something invigorating about eating raw meat, chewing through tender tissue and tough tendons, breaking flesh down, grinding it between his teeth. He’s had a taste and now he can’t imagine it any other way. 

The rabbit was a small meal, one that did well to satisfy his hunger for the time being but fed his desire to search for more flesh. Rabbits are lean - small creatures with soft tissue, its only tough muscle in its legs. Eren can only imagine what other animals would taste like. He wants the taste of deer on his tongue, its meat smooth and firm as he bites down into its flesh, its rich and earthy flavor melting in his mouth. Raw pork would be meatier, fattier, sweet and savory at the same time. Chicken should be lighter, not nearly as rich or pork or venison, but nice and juicy as Eren tears his teeth into it. Beef should be tender, thick and meaty and earthy all at once. And human flesh … 

Eren licks his lips at the thought of sinking his teeth into a human’s shoulder but quickly shakes his head as if that would be enough to banish the horrific thought. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at the smear of blood across his skin until he falls on his back with a heavy thud. Eren wants to feel disgusted at himself, to be ashamed at the monster he’s become, but his stomach grumbles. Even as he clutches at it in a helpless attempt to muffle the sounds of his hunger, all Eren can think about is how terribly dissatisfying his meal was and how he longs for something more. 

A moan escapes his lip, frustrated and lonely, and Eren wonders how he’ll ever be able to survive his second life. 

----------

Swapping from a traditional zombie diet to a vegetarian alternative, Eren discovers, is actually very easy if you’re able to distance yourself from humans. Well, it’s not really vegetarian if he’s still eating meat, but at least it’s not human meat. That has to count for something, right?

Eren had never really appreciated living in a small town until now. When he was in college, he had jumped at the chance to attend a college in the big city. It was fun; he got to have class with hundreds of kids instead of the normal ten or twenty and met a lot of new people. There were clubs and the chance to have an actual nightlife instead of just having a drink at the convenience store down the block because that was the only place that was open at night. Eren even enjoyed sharing an apartment with four other guys even if they could all barely pay rent and there was never a single clean spot in their shared space. Moving back home was a disappointment, but there really wasn't much else he could do when renting a place in the city was ridiculously expensive and, despite receiving his bachelor’s degree, he couldn’t land a decent job. His hometown was so quiet and dull in comparison, and some houses on the outskirts are so far apart that it takes fifteen minutes to get to the next one, but those are things that are actually very ideal for zombie life. 

In all of his time as a zombie, Eren has only encountered a handful of humans and only from a distance. He doesn’t dare go near the town. He doesn’t think he’s ready for it, at least not yet. He wants to go through more training - learn how to keep space between him and his desires while learning how to satisfy himself with the meals he can get. Camping in the hills at the side of town is helpful, Eren finds. Having grown up here, he knows exactly what places to keep clear of so that he doesn’t run into any innocent townspeople or tourists that have come for a leisurely stroll on the trail. Being at the edge of town also means that Eren’s close to the farm at the foot of the hills, which means he always has a source of alternative meat to feed on when he feels peckish. 

He used to hate the old farm. Even if he was on the other side of town, Eren swore he could still smell the stench of manure even if his mother told him it was ridiculous. Sometimes he would even hear the roosters crowing at the crack of dawn, which didn’t even make sense because Eren didn’t live anywhere near the farm or at least he lived far enough away that he shouldn’t hear roosters shrieking at an ungodly hour every single morning. The other townspeople adored the farm because it was a source of locally-sourced meat that they could trust, nothing like the imported beef and poultry from outside the town. Eren, not understanding the ethics in the meat industry, didn’t care for any of that at the time. He just knew that everything about the farm - its stench, its noises, its entire presence - annoyed him, so he once suggested that he and his friends go cow-tipping. All but one of his friends agreed and so they all sneaked out only to be stopped when they reached Armin, the only person who didn’t want to go. 

“You know you can’t actually go cow-tipping, right?” Armin yawned sleepily when they had snuck into his room to drag him out with them. 

“Why? ‘Cause it’s ‘bad’?” Eren asked, putting the word in quotes to show that he didn’t care and rolling his eyes for good measure. 

“Well, yeah. Not to mention we’d be trespassing,” Armin explained. “And, like, cows don’t even sleep standing up. Horses do that.” 

“Oh.” 

Needless to say, Eren’s plans for that night were thwarted and he had another reason to hate the farm. Now, Eren can’t imagine what he would do without it. 

Eren doesn’t eat at the farm, at least not at first. He keeps an eye on it, noting when the farmer’s truck is in, when it tends to disappear, and when the lights are on at night. When he dares to sneak into the farm, he takes a mental count of all the animals - cows, goats, pigs, chickens. Eren is certain he can get away with eating the chickens as long as he does so sparingly. Maybe he could eat one a day, but the dwindling population of poultry would be noticeable within a number of days. He takes a mental note of the days where the farmer lets the animals out to graze, especially the cows and the goats. The pigs, Eren thinks, are probably the easiest for him to eat. They’re far from hairless, but they’re not as annoyingly furry as cows and goats. Of course, they’re not nearly as tasty, too fatty and rich to Eren’s taste. He likes things with more muscle, something with a bit of chew to it, but disposing of bones is a hassle too. In the meantime, Eren feeds on rabbits and birds he manages to catch in the forest, all the while dreaming of something more satisfying to fill his belly. 

The first time Eren sneaks in to eat a chicken, the sight of the poultry in front of him is so horribly enticing that he devours it on sight. He doesn’t even think, just lunges for the nearest feathered fowl and bites into it even as it flaps its wings and tries to scratch at his face with its claws. One good bite to the neck - punctuated with a large crunch! - and the chicken was lifeless in his hands and he ate away, occasionally spitting out the feathers between bites, while the other chickens clucked noisily around him. It’s only when he’s finished off his meal, polished the meat off its bones, that Eren realizes the ruckus he’s made and, upon hearing footsteps approaching, flees from the scene and disappears into the forest. 

It’s the first time Eren makes that mistake, but it’s far from the last. Although he only makes the trips to the farmhouse only once or twice a week at most, he has too many close calls to count. There are traps the farmer begins to set up to catch the culprit. They’re harmless at first, just traps that set off an alarm when tripped to alert the farmer, but they grow more and more violent - little mouse traps that snap at Eren’s toes, vicious bear traps with jagged metal teeth, steel conibear traps meant to break his body in two - and yet Eren manages to evade every one. Being a zombie makes him slower, but it also makes him more careful, more perceptive of the things around him. Human Eren wouldn’t have stood a chance. 

He still dreams of being able to return to society and live like a normal human being, but it has a slim chance of becoming reality, Eren thinks mournfully as he chomps down on the leg of a goat he had mercilessly bitten into just moments ago. Sure, he hasn’t eaten a human since he had awakened from the dead, but who’s to say that he couldn’t if given the chance? His craving to bite into human flesh, to feel it melt on his tongue, to have it fill his belly, is still one that burns in the pit of his stomach every night, but he’s learned to ignore it so far. As much as he wanted to chase after every stray hiker that had happened to wander into his line of sight, Eren has never allowed the desire to consume him, instead running away and biting into the meat of his arm because he wanted something - anything - to sink his teeth into and the taste of his rotting flesh helped to banish any want for human meat. 

A sudden thump pulls Eren away from his train of thought and he realizes with horror that the farmer is pulling open the barn door. There’s no way to escape, so he has no choice but to hide. 

Cursing under his breath, Eren discards the rest of the goat, leaving its carcass behind as he scuttled to the pile of hay in the corner of the barn. It smelled of dried grass and the stench of the farm. He hoped it would be enough to mask his own putrid scent. 

The clomp, clomp, clomp of the farmer’s boots against the wooden floor grow closer as he comes to inspect the abandoned carcass of his half-eaten goat. Eren watches through the hay as the farmer kneels, pulling what’s left of the goat into his lap and mourns the loss of the poor creature. 

“Those goddamn wolves,” the farmer moans, his voice filled with grief. It’s not unlike the sound of an animal as it cries for mercy. It’s the same sad tone, desperate and confused. The thought of the farmer, his throat in Eren’s hands as he holds the farmer beneath him and bites into the man’s face, with a lonely cry of anguish escaping his lips as he breathes his last makes Eren salivate. 

“Pull yourself together, Jaeger,” Eren mutters under his breath, but his teeth continue to grind as he imagines the taste of the farmer on his tongue - a good mix of tender tissue and tough muscle, like beef but so much better. A hungry growl escapes his mouth before he can stop himself and he hastily shoves a fist inside his mouth, biting down hard until he tastes old rusted metal on his tongue and his tears sting at the taste of his bitter flesh. 

The sound is just enough to catch the farmer’s attention and the man looks up to where Eren is. He stares at the corner where Eren is hiding, eyes unknowingly gazing over the hay bale that conceals the zombie. He continues to look but, finding no other disturbance, returns to look mournfully at the goat in his lap. 

“We’re going to have to lock this place up better if they’re eating the damn goats too,” the farmer says with a shake of his head. With a sigh, he stands up, hoisting the goat’s remains over his shoulder and walking out of the barn. 

Eren breathes more easily when the door of the barn shuts with a hard thud. He crawls out of the hay bale, brushing off the bits of dried grass that stick to his clothing and hair. A little wistfully, his eyes rest on the bloody stain in the stall that had once housed the goat. He had gotten a good taste of it, but he was unable to finish his meal. Hunting for a rabbit in the dark to satisfy his hunger is going to be a pain in the ass. Still, it’s not all a loss. 

In all his time as a zombie, Eren has never been in such close proximity with a human, had never stayed that still in front of a human and not given in to his urge to run away lest he does the unfathomable. He had never trusted himself to not give in to his nature, but tonight is proof that he’s not a monster, at least not completely. At the very least, he’s capable of staying close to a human without eating them. 

Eren rubs at his mouth, wiping at the blood leftover from his last meal. He’s starting to think that reintegrating himself into society isn’t completely impossible but if he’s going to do this, he’s going to need a little help. 

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After careful deliberation, Eren realizes that there are really only a handful of people that are equipped to deal with his reanimation. His first thought was to return home because any mother would be overjoyed to discover that her son who had gone missing has suddenly reappeared, but the same cannot be said for a mother who discovers that her missing son has returned as a zombie. If anything, the shock of finding out her son is still alive - alive again, actually - might kill his mother, and that’s something that Eren wants to avoid. 

There are plenty of people in town who knew who Eren was when he was alive, but not very many people that Eren would consider close enough to turn to even if he were in dire need of help. He’s never been the most popular guy in town and he doubts showing up as a zombie will win over any hearts. Out of his friends, he’s probably closest to Armin, who he’s known since they were in kindergarten. Going to Armin for help wouldn’t actually be a bad idea. He’s hands down the most intelligent person Eren has ever met and the town pride for attending Sina University, one of the most difficult universities to be admitted to. He’s also the most loyal, surprising everyone except Eren when he eventually returned to their hometown to work as a civil service worker because he wanted to help improve their town. At first glance, Armin would be the most obvious choice to seek help from, but there’s also a very big issue with Armin: he’d probably faint at the sight of his best friend as a zombie and, well, Eren’s not sure he’d be able to handle himself if an unconscious body dropped in front of him just waiting to be feasted on. 

He goes down the rest of his list: Annie would be more equipped to handle a zombie. There’s no doubt that she’d easily kick Eren’s ass whether or not he was a zombie, but that in itself was an issue too. She’s the type of person to kick ass and ask questions later, and he doesn’t think he’d get too far if she smashed his head to pieces. Eren thinks he’d be able to negotiate with Reiner better, but he’s not sure his friend would be able to help him. Reiner would probably laugh his ass off after finding out Eren had somehow been turned into a zombie and, frankly, Eren isn’t in the mood to deal with that. Thus, after a month of careful planning, Eren finds himself at the front of Jean’s door praying that his friend still lives in this sorry excuse of an apartment. 

He reaches out and knocks on the door with a tentative rap of his knuckles, stepping back and swallowing nervously as he listens to the heavy footsteps on the other side of the door. Keeping his head down, he pulls his hood closer over his face, hoping to shield himself from any curious eyes that might notice him visiting Jean at four in the morning. 

“Who the fuck-?” Jean mumbles as he pulls open the door. A bat dangles from his hand, but he just scowls when he looks at Eren in the face. “Even if you aren’t a goddamn zombie, I will bash your head in.” He starts to lift the bat but Eren hurriedly lifts his hands to shield his face. 

“Wait, Jean!” Eren says. His voice is a lot more hoarse than it used to be. He doesn’t know if it’s because he hasn’t used it in god knows how long or if it’s because zombies don’t have the same vocal cords as humans. He clears his throat. “It’s me. It’s Eren.” 

“Eren?” Jean lowers his bat as he squints and takes a good look at Eren in his tattered hoodie, scraggly hair covering most of his face. He relaxes and then makes room for Eren to squeeze by. “Jesus, you look like hell.” 

Jean’s probably right, but it doesn’t mean Eren likes hearing it. It’s not as if Jean looks any better in his rumpled Yoda pajamas and bedhead. 

“Were you going to hit me over the head with that?” Eren asks, still eyeing the bat warily. 

“Yeah, I mean, zombies and everything,” Jean says with a shrug. He shuts the door behind Eren and gestures for him to take a seat at the dining table. The brunette takes a seat himself and yawns, not even bothering to cover his mouth. “But what about you? Nobody’s seen you in over, what, a year? Your mom cried about you the entire time, calling up everyone she knew every night just to see if anyone had seen or heard from you. Everyone thought you died.” 

“Oh, well …,” Eren says sitting there awkwardly. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, if he should put them on the table or fold them or what. They end up in his lap so he can stare at them and avoid making eye contact with Jean. “They wouldn’t be wrong. Er, at least not exactly.” 

Jean freezes and then his eyes widen, fully awake now. Slowly, he leans across the table and reaches out until his hand is on the hood of Eren’s sweatshirt. They stay there like that, staring at each other while Jean’s hand rests on Eren’s hood until Jean finally pulls it back and reveals Eren’s true appearance. 

“Fucking hell, Eren,” Jean says exasperatedly, burying his face in his hands. 

It’s not how Eren had imagined telling Jean, but it’s not like people made pamphlets for this stuff.

“It’s not like I planned this!” Eren whines, slumping down in his chair and pulling the hoodie over his head again. It’s kind of embarrassing to come out as a zombie. “I just … woke up one day like this.” 

“And you just decided to walk up to my door and let me know then? And then what? Eat me?” Jean hisses. 

Although Eren is grateful that Jean is keeping his voice down, he wishes his friend would stop rubbing his face in exasperation. He finds it so … distracting the way Jean rubs his rosy red cheeks, soft and squishy under his palms. If Eren could just take a bite out of them …

He shakes his head violently. “Stop!” Eren says more to himself than to Jean. He startles himself with his own voice, so he proceeds more calmly, his voice lowered. “I mean … no, that’s not what I’m here for. I’m kind of like a vegetarian anyway.”

“Oh, so if I plop a salad down in front of you you'll be happy eating that instead?” Jean sits back with a snort, arms crossed over his chest. His biceps flex, muscles bulging. Eren doesn’t remember if Jean was ever that toned before, but turning into a zombie has made him a lot more perceptive to these types of things. 

Eren sucks his cheeks in to keep from drooling. “No, I said kind of like a vegetarian. I still eat meat just not, you know, human meat.” It’s supposed to be a good thing, but he still winces as he says it. Not eating humans isn’t really an accomplishment. 

“Good for you,” Jean says dryly. He raises an eyebrow. “So what are you here for? Don’t tell me you want me to … to mercy kill you.” They’ve never been the best of friends but Jean still shudders at the thought of having to do such a thing. 

“No, no, nothing like that!” Eren says hastily. He wonders why those have to be his only options: killing people or being killed himself. Under his breath, he mumbles, “If I wanted someone to kill me, I probably would have asked Annie.” 

“Yeah, she probably would have done it without batting an eyelash. Maybe even without you having to ask,” Jean says and chuckles in spite of the situation. The sound of his laugh makes the atmosphere less tense and Eren relaxes in his chair. Across from him, Jean looks at him with an expression of curiosity rather than one of suspicion. “So if you’re not here to eat me and you don’t want me to kill you, then what are you here for, Jaeger?” 

Eren purses his lips and looks at Jean, wondering exactly how close they are. He would never put him at the top of his friend list although there have been occasions where Jean has been the first name on his hit list. They’ve gone through far too many fights over everything and nothing over the course of their friendship - over copying homework back in middle and high school, over whether or not the other owed them money, over who accidentally left Armin behind, and things that are too trivial to remember now. Asking to disguise your zombie friend as a normal human being is probably the ultimate test of friendship. 

“I want you to help me.” 

Jean sighs but, Eren notes, it’s not a rejection. He gets up from the table and runs his hand through his hair. “It’s way too early for this. I need coffee.” He opens a cupboard and pulls out a pack of instant coffee. Pausing, he looks over at Eren. “Do zombies drink coffee?” 

Eren was never a fan of coffee even when he was alive. Now, the idea of drinking something so bitter makes him want to gag even more. Still, Eren shrugs. “Sure.” 

----------

After a conversation over some (very disgusting coffee), Eren and Jean have agreed to a couple of things. 

First is that, while they shouldn’t openly disclose the fact that Eren is a zombie, they should most definitely let a few people in the know because there’s only so much Eren and Jean can do on their own. Eren can’t have his mother knowing. It would probably break her poor heart to know. But they should at least let Armin know. Out of their friend group, he’s undeniable the smartest one. They’d have to break the news to him in a way that doesn’t frighten him, but Eren thinks that it’ll be manageable. They were debating on whether or not they should let Annie know - Jean was heavily against it but Eren was all for it - and agreed to let her know after consulting Armin for his opinion. They didn’t even want to think about Reiner and Bertholdt right now. 

Second is that Eren can no longer feed on wild animals, but Jean will provide him with a supply of raw meat. The idea of eating meat that’s gone through some processing isn’t ideal, but Eren will take what he can get. At least Jean promised to get him some pig blood to douse the meat in too or else it would be even less appealing. 

(“How do you even eat with those teeth of yours?” Jean asks, trying to peer into Eren’s mouth as the zombie scowls at him. “I mean, you have incisors and stuff, but your molars aren’t really ideal for tearing up food.” 

“Oh, well, it kind of just … gets everywhere,” Eren admits unhappily. 

“Disgusting.”) 

Third is that Eren has to have a makeover. 

“I can’t believe you still have that shitty job at the hair salon,” Eren mutters, referencing the hair salon in the center of town where everyone gets their hair cut. He stopped going there in middle school because he was tired of only having to choose between a buzz cut and a bowl cut, the only hairstyles that were offered to boys below the age of fifteen. 

“Yeah, well, be glad because you’re in desperate need of a haircut,” Jean replies. He pulls a sheet over Eren’s shoulders, holding it in back with a safety pin. He threads his fingers through Eren’s limp hair and frowns. “You can’t make a prolific career as a makeup artist here unless you’re super passionate about high school girls going to prom or brides and their bridesmaids coming in for the occasional wedding. At least cosmetology school covered how to hold scissors.” 

“Sorry,” Eren mumbles, suddenly feeling guilty. He’s felt unhappy and unfulfilled living in this small town, but he’s never really thought about how his friends have felt. Armin and Annie seemed more than content and Reiner enjoyed having his family nearby. Jean would complain every once in a while, but he never seemed too serious about it until now. He must feel as if his potential is wasted after getting a degree in cosmetology only to spend his days cutting hair for his neighbors down the street. 

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing. It’s really not that big of a deal just working here.” Jean takes out his water bottle and spritzes Eren’s hair before running a brush through it. He takes out a pair of clippers, opening and closing them with a few clicks as he approaches Eren. “Do you mind how much I hack off? It’s been a while since you had it cut short and it probably wouldn’t look as … greasy.” 

“Hack away.” 

Eren’s hair flutters to the floor with a few quick snips, the only sound that fills the room. 

“But you’re not like the other zombies,” Jean observes. After snipping most of Eren’s hair off, he trades his scissors for electric clippers that buzz to life with a monotone whir. 

“I hope you’re not going to ask me about it,” Eren murmurs, eyes closed as he feels the clippers shear off the hair at the back of his neck. The feeling of Jean’s finger running through his hair, fingers brushing against the newly stubbled hair, feels so pleasant that Eren can’t help but lean back into it a little bit. It’s been so long since he’s interacted with another human. He hadn’t realized how much he’s been longing for a simple conversation, a simple touch, until now. 

“Why not? You’re a zombie now, aren’t you?” Jean ruffles the top of Eren’s head, the part he hadn’t trimmed short, and retrieves his scissors again. He leans in front of Eren, brushing the hair forward. He’s meticulous about cutting hair, studying the way it falls in Eren’s face before making the first careful cut. 

“I’m a zombie now,” Eren repeats with a snort, “but that doesn’t make me an expert on this. I’m completely new to this, in case you forgot.” 

Jean’s right, though. Eren isn’t anything like the zombies they’ve seen before. Most of them are just sluggish monsters, feet trailing as they moan and groan out incomprehensible noises before they get their brains smashed in by whoever they managed to run into first - maybe the second-grader down the street or even the mailman going about their rounds. Eren, however, is completely coherent and his existence is very close to that of a normal human being aside from his decayed appearance. He’s not sure if he got lucky and rose up before the worms had gotten to him. 

“You’re not, like, actively rotting, right?” Jean asks suddenly after finishing up on Eren’s bangs. 

“What? No!” Eren says, mortified and offended at the same time. Is he really that disgusting? He wouldn’t dare consider himself handsome now - he probably wouldn’t have considered it even if he were alive - but he feels suddenly self-conscious at Jean’s question. Aside from his sickly gray skin and his slight loss of muscle, he hasn’t decayed much and he hadn’t noticed any further deterioration following his resurrection. And even if he were rotting, it’s not like he could control it. 

“I was just asking,” Jean mutters. 

“Whatever.” 

Eren watches as Jean does some fancy thing with his scissors, cutting away at Eren’s hair. It’s taking far longer than Eren had expected. He probably would have shaved his entire head and been done with it, but Jean has always been more patient when it comes to taking care of appearances. 

“Do I really look that bad?” Eren asks. He kind of wishes he hadn’t, but the words have already left his mouth. Jean can be brutal with his opinion at times. 

Jean pauses for a moment, taking a second to look at Eren. He doesn’t scrutinize Eren the way he sometimes scrutinizes celebrities and models on magazine covers, but the intensity of his gaze still makes the zombie squirm uncomfortably as he makes his analysis. “You’ve looked better,” Jean finally replies, “but you don’t look terrible.” 

“Oh.” It’s not the answer that Eren was expecting (although he’s not sure what kind of answer he wanted in the first place), but he’s content with it. 

His friend goes back to attending to Eren’s hair. “Believe it or not, you might actually look better than when you were dating Historia by the time we’re done.” 

“Historia?” At the mention of his girlfriend, Eren straightens his back, the movement startling Jean. The zombie grimaces apologetically when Jean shoots him a glare. He settles back to his original position and clears his throat, trying not to look too eager as he asks, “How is Historia?” 

“Oh, um,” Jean says. It’s difficult to tell if his delayed answer is because he’s reluctant to respond or if it’s because he’s currently trying to figure out what to do with this stray lock of hair that’s sticking up on Eren’s head. “She’s, ah, dating someone else now.” 

“She’s what?” 

“Stop moving or I’ll buzz off the rest of your hair and give you a mohawk,” Jean scowls, forcibly shoving Eren back into the chair. He cuts a little more hair but stops after seeing the frown on his friend’s face. He reaches out to brush off the hair on Eren’s shoulder and says with a sigh, “I mean, you can’t really blame her. You disappeared without a trace.” 

“Well, sorry for not leaving a message. If I knew I was getting murdered, I probably would have let someone know that I wasn’t coming home!” Eren sniffs. He sits back in his chair with a thud, arms folded across his chest. Historia dating someone else is the least of his problems right now, but he can’t help feeling a little miffed about the whole thing. 

It’s not like he loved Historia or anything super romantic like that, but he did like her a lot and he was certain she reciprocated those feelings. They met during their junior year of college through mutual friends and started dating towards the end of their senior year. Unlike Eren, she came from the bustling city of Sina, so it surprised him that someone from such a big city would take a liking to someone like him. She enjoyed photography, majored in it, and managed to find a job at a news company in the city. After failing to secure a job in the same city, Eren had thought that was the end of the relationship, but she had offered to try long-distance for a while. It worked a lot better than Eren thought it would. The distance between Shiganshina and Sina was too far for them to commute to each other every day, but they settled on seeing each other every other week. Sometimes Eren would come visit Historia, but more often than not she would come and visit him, claiming that the quaint little town had a charming and relaxing atmosphere that she could never find in the city. 

The last time he had seen Historia was a week before he had died. They went for a long walk around the town and he had taken her to the noodle shop he often frequented as a high schooler. She liked the broth and sent her compliments to the chef, an act that charmed the shop owner so much that a complimentary plate of dumplings was sent out to Historia and Eren. 

The last time Eren had spoken to Historia was the night before he died. They were speaking on the phone about the next visit - if Eren should travel to Sina or Historia to Shiganshina - before Eren excused himself to go on a nightly walk in the forest. He promised her he would call her later that night. And then he never did. Shit. 

“It’s not like she wasn’t worried about you,” Jean says. “I mean, she was pissed at first, but she looked for you when we all realized you were missing. We never found you, obviously, and it wasn’t like she was going to stay hung up on you forever. So she started dating someone else.” 

It’s true, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

“How long before she started dating someone else?” Eren asks. He probably shouldn’t ask - the answer will most likely make him feel worse than he’s already feeling - but he’s morbidly curious. 

Jean finishes cutting Eren’s hair and ruffles the top of the zombie’s head one last time. “I’m not sure. Maybe half a year? A little longer? It’s not like I saw her regularly after you were gone.” 

“I guess,” Eren mutters a little forlornly. He doesn’t even want to look at his reflection when Jean holds up a mirror, but his eyes flicker up anyway. He takes the mirror in his hand and looks unhappily at his reflection. A hand reaches up to play with his hair, still the same chestnut brown but a little more brittle than it used to be. The sides and back of his hair are shorn short in a neat undercut but the top of his hair is still long, long enough to be swept towards the front and hang in the way of his water, green eyes. Looking at his reflection, his hair is really the only nice-looking thing about him. The rest of him still looks sad and ugly and pale. 

“Let me do your makeup now,” Jean tells him, already opening up his makeup kit. 

“Fine,” Eren sighs. He sets the mirror facedown on the nearby table and frowns as Jean wipes off the dust and grime on his skin with a wet wipe. He doesn’t like how cold and damp it is as Jean cleans his face - as a zombie, Eren finds the cold to be unbearable - and shudders as the wet wipe brushes against his cheek. As Jean finishes up cleaning his face, Eren asks, “Is the person she’s dating … nice?” 

“I guess.” Jean inspects the tiny bottles of moisturizer in his kit before deciding on a small white container with a brand name in neat black print that Eren doesn’t recognize. It doesn’t smell like anything, but it’s cool as Jean gently pats the moisturizer into Eren’s skin. “Historia’s girlfriend actually lives here. She moved here after you disappeared though. Came here after getting a job for our local newspaper. They must have met during one of the searches we did for you and, well.” 

He’s thankful that Jean leaves the sentence unfinished. Eren’s imagination can fill in the blank. He should probably be happy that Historia hasn’t spent the last year worrying about him, but he isn’t thrilled to hear that she’s moved on either. 

“Hey, can you stop frowning?” Jean asks. He waves his hand in front of his face, imitating Eren’s expression in an exaggerated manner. “You’re giving yourself wrinkles and your skin is hard enough to work with already.” 

“Sorry,” Eren mumbles.

“‘s fine,” Jean assures. He screws the cap back onto the jar of moisturizers and plucks a makeup sponge, a brush, and a tube of primer. He squirts a little of the primer - a light yellow gel that comes out the size of a dime - before dabbing at it with his makeup sponge and begins to rub it across Eren’s face. “I’ve never had a zombie as a client. If you end up looking good, it means that all those years at cosmetology school weren’t a waste.” 

Even if Jean doesn’t do well and Eren ends up looking like a zombie in clown makeup, Eren doubts that it’ll be a full representation of his friend’s full talents. Jean had a knack for art when they were kids; he knew exactly how to blend colors and shade. He even won a few art contests here and there back in middle school and high school. His talents seemed to transfer naturally when he decided to become a makeup artist, not that he’s had the chance to display them after finishing cosmetology school. Jean’s gifts go pretty much unused now (except for on the few occasions that Annie decides she wants to go out with a little more intricate makeup), but those types of skills just don’t go away. Of course, Eren would never say any of these things to Jean’s face. He had never complimented Jean and he wasn’t going to start now just because he started a new life. 

Instead, Eren says, “You’re painting me yellow.” 

Jean clicks his tongue as he begins to smooth out the primer over Eren’s skin. He’s gentle as he does it and Eren has to wonder if he’s this careful with his other clients or if he’s just cautious because Eren’s zombie skin is more delicate than normal human skin. “It’s just to help with your complexion. It’s really pale now, so this is to help cover up all those veins that we can see and hide the dark circles under your eyes. I probably would have used a pink primer if you were normal. Or something to help moisturize and lighten your skin.” 

Eren hums. He always knew makeup was complicated, but it’s another thing to actually sit down and experience it for himself. He’d never be able to do this on his own. 

“I’m gonna look fresh to death,” Eren murmurs as Jean moves in to apply some foundation. “Drop dead gorgeous.” 

Jean rolls his eyes, pausing to say, “I’m very good at making people look amazing, but I can also make you look even worse if I wanted to.” 

“No, thank you,” Eren squeaks, shutting up immediately. 

Normally, Eren wouldn’t bother making these types of jokes. Puns and play on words is the kind of humor that Reiner usually resorts to. If anything, Eren and the rest of his friends try to avoid it lest they annoy Annie with such nonsensically stupid humor, but Eren feels as if he doesn’t have a choice but to resort to such simple jokes if only to distract himself from everything that’s happening in front of him. 

The thing about being a zombie is that everyone, no matter who they are, looks like an attractive piece of meat. This includes the drunk hikers that stumbled into the woods at night that Eren sometimes saw from a distance, the farmer that Eren never liked as a child because he always smelled of manure, and Jean, the very same Jean that Eren had once called horse-face back when they were kids. Jean has since grown into his exceptionally long face and is, at least what the mothers in town would call, handsome, an adjective that Eren and his zombified brain would heartily agree with. 

Jean is inches away from Eren’s face as he dabs in foundation and concealer - both far too dark to match Eren’s current skin tone but are very close to his original color - and Eren can get a good look at his brown eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration. People often said that Jean and Eren had similar eyes when they were children, something Eren didn’t really understand because his eyes were much bigger than Jean and also a completely different color. People would probably have a different opinion now because Eren’s eyes are now wet and watery all the time, but Jean’s brown eyes are bright, shining with intensity despite the dark bags under his eyes. Eren just wants to pluck them out and plop them in his mouth, crunch them between his teeth. They’d probably be as plump and juicy as an octopus ball. 

Up close, everything about Jean looks perfect. Even if Eren has never eaten a human in his life, Jean would probably be his ideal prey. He’s a decent size, tall with some lean muscle and not a lot of fat. Eren could probably feast on him for days. He can’t imagine Jean tasting like beef - he’s not muscular or meaty enough. He’d probably be more similar to the taste of venison: rich and earthy with a slightly sweet aftertaste. The texture would probably be the same too, Eren thinks hungrily, smooth and firm but juicier and more succulent than beef or even pork. 

Even Jean’s skin looks enticing. Eren had never been one to notice people’s skin. He didn’t care about blemishes or acne or anything like that. He still doesn’t care even though he’s sitting so close he can see every mole, every acne scar, every single pore on Jean’s skin. Those little imperfections hardly bother him. Those things won’t affect taste and texture, Eren is sure. He does, upon his close inspection of Jean’s skin, have a newfound appreciation for healthy skin. Jean’s is so shiny and clean that he’s practically glowing. It’s nice and tight pulled over smooth bone and firm muscle, keeping all this flesh nice and juicy. His lips look especially plump and pink, probably treated with some sort of lip care routine that Eren could never be bothered to make into a habit. Eren doesn’t remember if Jean’s lips were always that nice or if he’s just noticing it now. He kind of wants to lean over and have a taste, see if they’re as sweet as they look before he nibbles on them and rips them off, swallowing them whole. 

“You’re drooling,” Jean tells him, snapping Eren out of his ravenous reverie. 

“Sorry,” Eren mutters. He’d probably blush if zombies were capable of blushing. He reaches up to wipe the drool from his mouth but Jean hastily smacks his zombie hand away and wipes at the corner of Eren’s mouth with a wet wipe. 

He shouldn’t be having these thoughts about Jean. For one thing, he just promised Jean that he wouldn’t eat any people. As much as Eren wants to chomp on Jean’s face right now, eating his childhood friend would be very traumatic. He knows way too many things about Jean to eat him like he’s some poor rabbit right now. In fact, knowing so much about Jean should be a huge turn-off for Eren. Jean chews on the end of his writing utensils. He has terrible morning breath especially after he’s drunk coffee. He lets his dishes soak overnight before actually washing them. Why would Eren want to eat someone like that? Of course, it’s hard to remember all of that when Jean is sitting in front of Eren the way he is, his back hunched slightly and his brow furrowed in concentration while he nibbles on his bottom lip as he carefully applies some mascara to Eren’s eyelashes to make them look less sparse. 

Looking at Jean is definitely making Eren hungrier, so he squeezes his eyes shut hoping that not seeing Jean will make Eren forget just how delicious-looking his friend is. Unfortunately, that seems to make everything worse. Living by himself and hunting for his own food, becoming a predator to so many unsuspecting prey, has only heightened Eren’s other senses like smell and touch. 

Eren breathes in and his lungs are flooded with Jean’s scent. He smells sweet and earthy, like a mix of a freshly mowed lawn or rain-soaked soil. It overpowers the cold, sterile smell of makeup, all of them claiming to smell like flowers but really just smell like they’ve come out of a factory. Eren wants to bury his face in Jean’s scent, get lost in it as he presses his nose into Jean’s neck. It would probably be even better when he cuts Jean open, his fragrance mixing with the metallic smell of blood. 

God, Eren can just feel the saliva pooling at the back of his throat. He doesn’t want to get scolded for ruining his makeup again, so he tries to swallow it down only to choke on it. 

“You alright?” Jean asks. 

Eren chances a glance at his friend, cracking open an eye carefully. “I’m fine,” Eren manages even though he’s the complete opposite. 

“Okay, let me finish you up then.” Jean sets Eren’s makeup with a mist of some sort. (“It’s to help your makeup stay on,” the makeup artist explains. “I’ll probably have to redo some of it in the afternoon, but we’ll think about that later.”) He finishes it up by applying a nude lipstick to help cover up the cracks and the color of blue-gray lips. 

It’s difficult not to be fixated on Jean’s fingers, especially when they’re so close to Eren’s mouth. They’re long and slender, the type of fingers an artist has. Eren wants to wrap his lips around them and taste the salt on Jean’s skin. If he sucks hard enough, the fingers will probably detach with a deliciously clean pop! Jean’s hands actually remind Eren of the chicken feet he and his friends used to get at the dim sum place near their university whenever they felt like treating themselves at the end of the term. Chicken feet didn’t taste nearly as good when Eren was a zombie. They were all skin and bone, not to mention the claws that nearly cut Eren’s tongue every time he ate them. Jean’s hands look like a more elegant version of chicken feet, his skin smooth and fingers meatier than the bony digits of a chicken. 

“Purse your lips for me,” Jean says. 

Eyes still fixed on Jean’s hands, the zombie obeys, frowning at the waxy feeling on his lips. It turns him off to the idea of eating Jean a little bit. He’d probably ruin his makeup and all of Jean’s hard work would go to waste. 

Jean studies Eren for a moment before nodding, satisfied. “Good. Try not to touch your face when you go outside or else you’ll smudge everything.” He caps the lipstick and begins to pack everything away in his kit before he notices a hand mirror he’s placed face down beside the kit. Taking it, he hands it to Eren. “Here, take a look.” 

Hesitantly, Eren takes the mirror and gazes on his reflection. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to see. When he was a zombie, he only saw his reflection a handful of times in pools of water and in the sideview mirrors of the farmer’s truck whenever he passed by. Despite knowing his true form, seeing himself with such lifeless gray skin and scraggly hair hanging in his face, the light that was always in his eyes when he was alive absent, was such a shock that he vowed to never look at himself again. Eren’s done his best to avoid looking at his reflection since then, only catching a glimpse every now and then and flinching in horror every time. But looking at his reflection now…

His skin is no longer a dull, sickly gray but a healthy tan. It’s not the exact same shade he was back when he was alive - it’s probably a few shades lighter - but it’s definitely an improvement. His makeup isn’t too apparent, which he appreciates. It’s one thing to disguise himself as alive and another thing entirely to show up in town a year later looking like a model. He just has some light blush in his cheeks and his lipstick hides how ugly and chapped his lips were before he came to Jean. Eren’s hair looks more socially acceptable now that it’s not hanging in greasy strands around his face. The undercut on the sides makes him look younger, a little livelier, and his hair is long enough on top to cover some of his eyes. It’s not enough to obscure his sight but enough to distract anyone from seeing how watery and tired his eyes look. As long as people aren’t looking too closely at him, they might just think he hasn��t slept in a while. He looks good. Great even. Jean was probably joking, but he really did make Eren look better than he did when he was alive. 

“I think you might have done too good of a job,” Eren mumbles. He’s about to reach up and touch his face, but Jean latches onto his wrist and shakes his head. Ah, right. No touching. 

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Jaeger.” 

Eren wonders if that’s supposed to be a compliment. He’s about to ask Jean, but Jean is already disappearing into his room. 

“It took longer than I thought it would to do your makeup,” says Jean. There are sounds of him shuffling through his closet for something to wear. He pops out and throws Eren an old oversized hoodie and some dark jeans. “Wear those. Keep your hood up while we’re out. I don’t know if we should tell people you’re back, at least not yet. Let’s meet Armin first.” 

“Alright.” 

He stares at the hoodie in his hands, wondering if he should put it on. Should he strip? It feels weird to undress in Jean’s living room, but it’s not like Jean hasn’t seen him in a locker room before. Then again, that was back when Eren’s body wasn’t all … gross. Still, Jean was actually pretty considerate about Eren’s current appearance aside from the question about decomposing. Ah, fuck it. 

Eren begins to take off his worn-out shirt and jeans, leaving them discarded on the floor. He pulls on the sweater first, careful not to mess up his makeup in the process. As soon as he puts his head through the hoodie, he immediately regrets it. He’s met with Jean’s overwhelming scent - warm and comforting and absolutely delicious. He breathes it in a little too hard before realizing that it’ll be awkward explaining to Jean if he’s caught in the act. Hurriedly, he pulls the hoodie over his head and wiggles his arms through the holes. He’s in the process of pulling the jeans over his legs when Jean steps out of his room. 

“Do you need help?” Jean is changed out of his pajamas and into casual outerwear - khaki pants and an overcoat thrown over a button-up. He has a knitted scarf wrapped around his neck, probably something Armin made when he was stressed out the night before a council meeting. On his head rests a matching knitted beanie. He looks so nicely put together that Eren feels embarrassed standing in his living room half-dressed. 

“N-no,” Eren stammers as he tugs the jeans over his calves and then his thighs. He wasn’t sure they would fit. He and Jean weren’t exactly the same size; Jean was always long and lanky even before he had his growth spurt, but Eren must have lost a lot of muscle mass during the zombification process because the jeans are a little roomy around his thighs. At least the cuffs are too short, ending an inch above his ankles, so Eren hasn’t grown shorter while he was buried under the ground. He straightens out his clothes and pulls his hood up, looking at Jean expectantly. “Where are we going?” 

“To talk to Armin,” Jean replies. He glances at his phone and nods at a text message before tucking the phone back in his pocket. Plucking his keys and wallet from the drawer, he walks to the door and opens it, beckoning for Eren to follow him. “Come on. Let’s figure out what to do with you before you accidentally eat someone.” 

“Right,” Eren chuckles nervously, thankful that Jean isn’t able to see the nervous sweat that’s currently breaking out on the back of the zombie’s neck. He wants to keep his promise of not eating people to Jean, he really does. More than anything, he wants to keep it to at least prove that he’s nothing like the other mindless zombies that have been roaming around and getting their heads smashed in. There has to be some difference between him and them, Eren thinks, but it’s hard to believe when he’s busy staring at Jean’s backside and his long, long legs that seem to stretch on for days. It’s even more difficult when his eyes settle on Jean’s ass because his khakis hug his curves too well and it’s impossible for Eren to not look. Eren wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into Jean’s ass and taste that sweet, peachy flesh on his tongue. 

God, Eren thinks with a whimper as he pulls the hoodie over his face and forces himself to look at the ground so that he’s no longer tempted to eat his friend alive. This is going to be the death of me. 

[dlwritings]

Wondering | Tom Holland

masterlist found here

pairing - Tom x Osterfield!reader word count - 3,050  warnings -  A/N - I’m 21-years-old and I just got fucking HOOKED onto High School Musical: the Musical: the Series and I’m pretty shook about it and even though deep in my soul I’d love to write cute fluffy fics about it I feel too weird because they’re all babies so even though Joshua Bassett is the fucking cutest and makes me think bad thoughts (he’s 18 don’t come at me) I will refrain. Instead, here is a fic based on Wondering from the show which has been on repeat for longer than I’d like to admit

summary - You’re Harrison’s younger sister and Tom’s ex-girlfriend. Once the fame hit, you freaked out and left. It seemed like the right thing to do: end things with him before the inevitable, more heartbreaking end occurred. But when Harrison drags you to the Far From Home premiere and after party, you’re forced to face the consequences of the decision you made.

You were in the middle of sipping your morning cup of coffee when your front door opened. You turned at the sound of heavy footsteps that you knew could only belong to your older brother, Harrison. “Did I say you could come in?” you joked, turning the volume of the TV down.

“You might not want to be so sassy,” he said, “when I’m about to invite you to have an absolutely incredible Saturday night.”

“You are now?” you said. “And what might that night entail?” Harrison reached into his back pocket and pulled out two movie tickets. You just raised your eyebrows, prompting him to explain further.

“Two tickets to the premiere of Spider-Man: Far From Home and an invitation to the best after-party,” he said before doing a playful bow. “You’re welcome.”

As kind as the gesture was, you could barely manage a smile. “Is it okay if I pass?” you said, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Harrison’s face dropped.

“Why?” he asked. “I thought you’d be thrilled.”

“No offense, but why would I be thrilled?” you said.

Harrison sighed, “It’s been almost four months, (Y/N). You can’t avoid him forever.” You opened your mouth to say something, but Harrison said, “I’ve been saving these tickets for a huge surprise and it was supposed to be great and one up the present you got me last Christmas and you were gonna be so happy and-”

“Dude, dude, relax,” you laughed. “It’s really nice, and I so appreciate it, but I don’t even have a dress or anything.”

“Oh!” he said, his face lighting up again. He ran back towards the entryway of your apartment and came back with a box. “I got that covered, too.”

“You went shopping for me?” you asked, skeptical as you opened the box.

“God no,” he laughed. “Zendaya picked it out.” You pulled out a gorgeous dress that was clearly too perfect to have been picked out by Harrison. He had a great sense of fashion, just not a great sense of your fashion. You looked from the dress to Harrison, who looked at you expectantly.

“Fine,” you said. “I’ll go.” Harrison pumped his fist in success and smiled at you.

“It’ll be great,” he said. “You’ll have so much fun.”

Harrison ended up staying for lunch and a couple movies at your flat, but the conversation of the movie and after party didn’t come up again. Still, you tried to feign more excitement for his sake. It was clear to you that he was so happy and wanted you to be on his level. He had tried so hard to give you a good gift, and if you hadn’t still been so heartbroken, you might’ve been more grateful. Unfortunately, your breakup with Tom was still fresh in your mind.

When you and Tom started dating, Harrison was less than thrilled. You were 16 at the time, and Tom was 19. You had known Tom for years because of Harrison, and you always had a crush on him. It took a little bit longer for Tom to reciprocate the feelings, and when he did, Harrison was mad. He gave Tom a long lecture that involved a lot of yelling about you being too young for him and even a little bit of shoving. Tom swore he wouldn’t do a thing to hurt you, and after a while, Harrison got used to it. You knew he still wasn’t your relationship’s number one fan, but he could tolerate it.

For a long time, it was good. Really good. You truly loved Tom, and you knew he loved you, too. But then, Civil War came out, and Tom’s life changed in the blink of an eye. He was famous. He wasn’t just a kid in a few movies and stage shows. He was Tom Holland: the new Spider-Man. With his fame came a lot of new attention on you. Too much attention. Your own Instagram skyrocketed in followers, and every picture Tom posted with or of you received thousands upon thousands of comments criticizing you and your relationship. And suddenly, things stopped being good.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you said, throwing the clothes you kept at his apartment into your backpack. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

“Why?” he shouted, trying to stop you from packing your things. “What is going on?”

“This is too much,” you said, not looking at him. “I didn’t sign up for a relationship with your fans.”

“You’re not in a relationship with my fans!” he said. “You’re in a relationship with me. Just me.”

“No I’m not!” you said. “Nothing is just us anymore. It’s a thousand comments about me not being good enough and, and it’s me wondering when you’re gonna leave me for someone better.”

“What are you talking about?” he groaned. “I’m not gonna leave you!”

“Not yet!” you countered. “But you will. Someday you’ll star next to some gorgeous actress who is way, way better than I am, and you won’t want me anymore. Because I am literally no one special, and that’s fine. I’ve always known I’m just some ordinary person, and I thought that was enough, and maybe it is right now. But in one, two years, it won’t be. And I cannot stick around and wait for that to happen.”

Tom sighed, “Can’t we just stop and think about this for a minute?”

“I’ve already thought about this, Tom,” you said. “I’ve thought a lot about this. This is the right decision.”

“No it’s not!” he shouted. You had finished packing all your things and threw your backpack over your shoulders. Just as you started to walk out of his bedroom, Tom grabbed your arm and held you back. You didn’t turn to face him, so he moved to stand in front of you. You noticed then the tears in his eyes and the few that had fallen to his cheeks. “Please, please don’t do this. Don’t leave me because you’re afraid of what might happen.” You pulled your arm out of his grasp and shook your head.

“I’m leaving because of what I know will happen,” you said. “And I have to protect myself.”

The thoughts brought tears to your eyes, so you wiped them away and pushed yourself off the couch. You were alone now, Harrison having left only a few moments ago. “Okay,” you said, breathing heavily past your lips. “Make it through the day.”

And you did. Friday went by in a breeze. When Saturday came, you felt sick the minute you woke up. You were sure you couldn’t do it. The premiere. The party. None of it. But you were going to. For Harrison. And for you. Because you needed to do this to prove to yourself that you could see Tom and not break.

But the truth was, the more days that went by since the break-up, the more you wondered if you had really made the right choice. If you saw Tom, you were sure you would break down in regret-filled-tears. You needed someone to talk to. You needed to sort out the thoughts in your brain before you saw Tom. So, a few hours before the premiere, you called Zendaya. Despite your break-up with Tom the minute the fame hit, you got to know the members of the Spider-Man cast and crew pretty well considering Harrison’s role on the team. Zendaya quickly became one of your closest friends. She agreed to come over and get ready with you and talk you through your thoughts.

“What if I made the wrong choice, Z?” you said, carefully zipping up the back of your dress. “What if I was supposed to stay with Tom? What if it was going to be me and him in the end?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sympathy laced in her voice. “I don’t have the answers, but you’ve gotta stop living in the past. You made the decision you made, and now you’ve gotta live with it.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said sarcastically. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said, fixing her hair. “I’m just saying, you can’t keep going through the what if’s. Even if you went back and changed the past, and, and went against all the odds and braved the commitment and the drama and publicity or whatever, you don’t know what would’ve happened after that. And you can’t know. So why keep mulling it over? It serves no purpose.”

“But-”

“What you can do is move forward from here and try to make things different.”

“What if he doesn’t want-”

“Ah, buh, buh,” Zendaya said, holding up her hand to stop you. “No more what if’s.” 

You and Zendaya dropped the subject as you finished getting ready. Before you knew it, you were at the carpet with Harrison ready to walk. He gave you a hug and a sweet kiss on the cheek. “You look great,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a deep breath and smiling. “Uh-” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “-is Tom here yet?” Harrison smiled softly at you.

“Yeah, he’s a ways down the carpet already,” he said. He put a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yup,” you said with a firm nod. “Let’s just get through the carpet. I want to see this movie! I’ve gotta know how the world mourns the great Tony Stark.”

The movie, as expected, was awesome. You chatted with Harrison the entire ride to the afterparty without once running into Tom. Once you actually got to the party though, that changed. He came up to you and Harrison while nursing a beer and smiling widely. The party had only been going for about thirty minutes, but it was clear he was already a little tipsy. “I’m so glad you’re both here,” he said. “The Osterfields. My favorite family.” His hand on your waist felt like it was burning your skin. You couldn’t help but step away from him. He was too intoxicated to notice.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” you said. They both nodded, so you went over to the bar and got a moscow mule. As you sipped your drink, your mind wandered as it had been so often lately.

“I’m leaving because of what I know will happen,” you said. “And I have to protect myself.”

“Protect yourself?” Tom almost screamed.

“Tom I don’t want to keep talking about this!” you shouted, tears coming to your own eyes. “You’re being, you’re being-”

“Being what?”

“You’re being a dick right now, okay?” you said. “You’re being a dick, because I made this decision, and you’re trying to do that, that thing that men do where you try to act like you know better than me because you’re a man-”

“What the actual fuck are you on about?” Tom shouted. “You’re not making any sense, and you’re just talking shit now because you don’t even know what’s going on or what you’re doing.”

“Tom-”

“Why do you want to give up so easily? Do you not love me anymore?”

You were silent.

“Say it, (Y/N),” Tom said, taking a step closer to you. “Say you don’t love me anymore.” You swallowed thickly and clenched your jaw, looking at the floor. You could see his feet right in front of yours. He lifted your chin and made you look at him, then slowly kissed your jaw and your cheeks. “Say it,” he whispered. “Say it, and you can go.” You took a deep breath through your nose and pushed Tom away.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

You scoffed before finishing off your drink and walking back over to where Harrison was sitting at a hightop. “You good?” he asked before downing the rest of his own drink. You nodded and gave him a -what you were sure was unconvincing- smile.

“Um, testing, testing, hello?”

You and Harrison both looked up and saw Tom standing on the stage on the other side of the room with a microphone in hand. “Hey everyone,” Tom said. “I just wanted to say a quick little thank you to all of you for coming out tonight. Thank you for going to see the movie and for supporting this franchise and loving it as much as I do. Being a part of the Marvel universe has been such a blessing, and I’m thankful every single moment I’m here. Without people like you supporting me, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. So I just want to say thank you for never leaving my side, and for sticking with me through all the changes my career has brought to my life.”

And you were sure Tom looked right at you when he said those words.

Suddenly, everything was too much. What you thought had been a somewhat successful night avoiding Tom had just flipped into a disaster with a single look. You quietly excused yourself from the table and headed for the exit. You hoped to god Harrison didn’t notice you leave and that no one else was paying you any attention. And why would they be? You weren’t anyone special. No one important. Just a stupid girl in her stupid dress running away like always.

Not wanting to wait in the lobby of the building for an Uber, you decided to just walk to the bus stop. Before you could even get out the door, you heard Harrison call your name. You knew it was no use trying to outrun him, so you just stopped and waited for him to approach you. He stood in front of you, leaning down a bit to see your face. He wiped some of your tears away with his thumbs. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry, Haz,” you choked out. “This is just, it’s not working out for me.”

“What does that mean?” he asked. You put your hands on your forehead and took another deep breath.

“I just can’t be around him,” you said. “Every time I look at him, I, I feel so sick with regret, and it hurts so, so much.” You let out another soft cry. “And I know you’re probably thinking I-told-you-so, because you never wanted us to date in the first place, but-”

“Hey, hey, that’s not what I’m thinking,” he said, putting his hand on your chin so you could look up at him. Your lower lip quivered, and Harrison sighed and pulled you in for a hug. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

You and Harrison pulled away from each other, and you wiped your eyes. Tom was walking over to you, a look of concern on his face. “(Y/N)?” Tom said. “Why’re you, what’s, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you sniffed, wiping your face. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” Tom said, stepping closer to you. “What’s wrong?”

Harrison tried to step in. “Tom, maybe just-”

“No, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong,” he said firmly. You gave Harrison a look that you were okay, and he nodded and left you and Tom alone. You folded your arms across your chest and squeezed yourself tightly.

It’s now or never.

“I know it’s been four months,” you said, “and you’re probably over me and all of this, but, but I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Tom asked, his voice soft, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I keep thinking about the night, the night everything happened-” Tom’s face softened. “-and, and I think about everything I would’ve done differently.” You sighed. “I, I’ve never been a strong person. I run away when things get hard or when I’m scared. And I was so scared, Tom. I should’ve been brave and just, just said fuck it and ignored all the odds that I felt were stacked against us.” You took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “But I know that I fucked all that up, and I can’t keep wishing I had done things differently. Because I can’t go back and change the past, and until I accept that, I’m constantly going to be wondering what could’ve been. It just makes everything so hard, like being here, watching you up there giving toasts and, and shining like the fucking star you are. It’s just too much for me, Tom.” You let out a heavy sigh and put your hands on your hips, feeling tears falling from your eyes again. “But this is my problem, not yours. So, so I’m gonna go. I’m just gonna go home, and we can pretend this didn’t-”

“Hey, (Y/N) calm down,” Tom said, putting his hands on your biceps. You looked up at him, and he wiped his thumbs under your eyes. You found your eyes flickering down to his lips, and you knew his eyes did the same. The next thing you knew, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a deep kiss. You put your hands on his cheeks and held him close to you. You pulled away when you started crying again. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit and rest your forehead on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “That’s not exactly romantic.” Tom just laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You looked up at him, and he brushed some more tears from your eyes. “I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

“What?” Tom almost laughed.

“I ran away from you the minute you started to succeed,” you said. “What kind of girlfriend does that? Hell, what kind of friend does that? I don’t expect you to forgive me for that or, or for things to go back to normal just because I realized I messed up.” Tom shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“I don’t care about what you did,” he said. “You’re right. We can’t change the past, and I don’t want to dwell there either. The only thing that matters is that you’re here now. You came back. And I’m not over you. I’m very much not over you.”

“Really?” you said, a smile growing on your face.

Tom laughed. “Really. I love you, (Y/N). I’m pretty sure I always will.”

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

TAGLIST

@bangtan-serendipity | @planetdemon | @the-singing-clown406 | @tomshufflepuff | @bluelalal | @grandloser | @jackiehollanderr | @mindset-jupiter | @bisexual-sk8r | @feel-like-gold | @runaway-apple | @miraclesoflove | @marvelismylifffe| @wonderbyers | @coraz0ndcristal| @lizmarvel​ |  @hannihannelora

[thecleverdame]

East Of Nowhere - Year Five

Sam x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary:  You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.

Warnings: language, violence, smut, talk of past trauma

Beta:  ilikaicalie  

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

-

Four Years, Six Weeks

Sometimes you stand naked in from the full length mirror in the bathroom and look at the shiny pink scar on your stomach that bears a stunning similarity to a washed up fish bone. Running the pads of your fingers over the raised skin you think about Sam, as if you’re rubbing a locket that reminds you of his unwavering love. A different version of yourself would be bothered by it, the tough, mangled flesh that healed without concern for aesthetics. But you feel grateful for Sam and, in a strange way, appreciative that Shadow Hill exists.

You’re lucky to be alive, this is your daily reminder.

Four years, Two Months

It’s mid-morning when you finally drag yourself out of bed and meander downstairs. There’s coffee in the pot and bagels on the counter. Sam’s seated at the table still in his pajamas, bent over a copy of The World Hardest Crosswords Puzzles, Volume 7.

“Morning,” you greet him, casually reaching out and touching his shoulder as you pass by.

“Mornin’,” he responds without looking up, his tongue pressed between his lips in complete concentration.

“You making any progress?” He’s been stuck for two days.

“What?” he asks, utterly indifferent to clarification.

“Nevermind,” you pour yourself a cup of coffee, tugging open the refrigerator in search of milk. You’re normally a ‘black-cuppa-joe’ girl, but every once in awhile, you treat yourself to milk and sugar. You watch him as you stir your coffee, unable to keep from smiling at the sight of his wild bed head. Cupping the mug in both hands, you take a sip and gag as the rancid taste hits your tongue. Turning to the sink you spit it out, then stick your entire mouth under the faucet as you rinse the taste away.

“What the hell?” Sam looks borderline irritated that you’re interrupting his progress.

“The milk’s bad,” you say it before you realize the meaning behind it. Sam looks at you cockeyed and gets up from his chair.

“That’s impossible,” he picks up the milk jugs and smells it before taking a sip himself. “Oh my God,” he gags, pushing you aside gently to spit into the sink.

“See?” you raise an eyebrow, vindicated.

He pours himself a glass of water, resting his butt on the counter. “It’s probably just a glitch. I mean some things stay where we put them, so maybe a couple of wires crossed somewhere.”

“Maybe,” you’re not unagreeable. Stranger things have happened before, never with the food, but there’s a first time for everything. So the next day, when there’s fresh milk magically waiting, you don’t give it too much thought.

Four Years, Three Months

“Do I look older to you?” You stop in front of the mirror in the dining room, patting at the corner of your eye.

Sam wanders up behind you, looking at both your reflections. “You look beautiful.”

You smile, tipping your head to the side as you examine small wrinkles. “Thank you, but I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I mean it, do you think I’ve aged since we’ve been here?”

Sam thinks about it, stepping close and inspecting his own skin. “I don’t know. I can’t tell a difference. Do I look older?”

You turn to him, running your finger along his hairline, then down the side of his jaw. “No,” you confirm, “not a day.”

Four Years, Four Months

Sam looks back to make sure you’re still behind him and picks up his pace, racing up the steep hill that leads to the library. He loves mornings like this, late fall when the air is chilly before the first snow. The cold air stings his lungs, but it feels good to push past it and get his blood pumping. He knows you can’t quite keep up, but he’ll circle back for you, right now he just wants to move faster, pushing beyond invisible barriers. By the time he’s at the top of the hill, the muscles of his legs are burning just the same as his lungs.

He jogs in place catching his breath and tipping his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. On days like today, he wakes up with the energy to do something new. He’ll settle for any-fucking-thing because the days are a mind-numbing repeat of the weeks and months before. He just wants something to take his mind off the thoughts that play on repeat in his brain. It’s a never-ending loop of worry and fruitless anxiety that picks at his insides until he wants to cut himself open for surgical removal.  

He wants to hunt, to have a mystery he can solve because the one he’s trapped in has beaten him ten times over. He wants to take you on a fucking date, go to a restaurant and have a stranger take your order. He wants to take you to the cabin on Astor Lake that Bobby took him and Dean to when they were kids. He wants to go to the bar with Dean, drink too much, and get into a fight over the pool table. He wants to be more than Shadow Hill will allow, so instead, he runs as fast and far as he can.

“You’re killing me long legs,” you pant, trotting up behind him. That voice, your voice, somehow makes it bearable. He turns, watching with amusement as you lean over with both hands on your thighs, gasping for air. Your cheeks are bright red, hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. He can’t imagine loving anything more he loves you, just like this; exasperated, but determined.

“You wanna head back?” he chuckles, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Never,” you gulp, standing up straight, “I will not be defeated.”

“I’ll slow down a little, give you a fighting chance,” he takes your hand and pulls you across the lawn toward one of the dirt paths that lead through the tree line.

He takes it slow, running side-by-side down the winding path, determined to enjoy the parts of this life that are good, and there actually is a lot of good. There’s immense comfort in the sound of your footfalls and labored breath beside him.

The tree that catches his attention isn’t far from the house, it’s just of the edge of the housing development. He slows and you fall beside him, “Hey, look at that.”

Wandering over to the old oak tree, it takes you a moment to see what he sees. All the trees are a shell of their summer selves, naked and stripped of leaves, nothing but raw, boney branches stretching toward the sky, but this one is different.

“It’s dying,” you mutter reaching out to touch the bark, peeling it away from the hollow wood underneath. “Sam, I’ve never seen anything here die. Not like this.”

Four Years, Five Months

“Sam,” you whine, wiggling under the full weight of his body. He’s not sure he will ever get used to the way you say his name, especially like this. What brief slivers of pleasure he’s had throughout his life never came close to the way he feels when he’s with you, naked on a sunny afternoon.

It feels like every inch of his skin is touching yours; his lips on your lips, his chest pressing against your warm, soft breasts. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, thighs squeezing either side of his hips as he rocks slow and steady on top and inside you. He reaches back hitching your leg higher around his hip, adjusting the angle just a little, but it’s enough to make you moan, clenching his cock with fluttering muscles.

Part of him wants to reach down and suck a nipple into his mouth, he does love sucking your tits while he fucks you, but there’s just something about the closeness of this moment that he hesitates to interrupt.

He likes to watch you, loves the way your mouth falls open as your head thrashes from side to side. You furrow your brow in pleasure as your fingernails dig into the flesh of his biceps, pulling him closer, urging harder. When you’re laid out like this with him grinding into you, he doesn’t even need to touch your clit to make you come. The slow, firm slide of his pubic hair over your sex does the same work his fingers normally do.

You come with his name on your lips. Sam follows soon after, spilling into you with his face pressed into your neck.

Neither of you knows it yet, but this moment will alter your future in a most profound way.

Four Years, Five Months, Three Weeks

The timing of your birth control pills is something you don’t play around with. There’s an alarm in the spare bedroom that goes off every morning at 10 a.m. sharp, screeching through the whole house until you run upstairs, tap the ‘off’ button and slip into the bathroom to swallow your daily dose.

Today is nothing special, you slap the clock radio silent and pop open the pink pack of pills. It’s the second day of your sugar pill, which means you’ll start bleeding by tomorrow morning. You gulp down the medication and smooth a panty liner into your underwear.

It’s the next morning before you realize your period is late. It’s still early when you blink awake, still tired and sweating because Sam’s wrapped around you in a tangle of arms and legs. He’s like a furnace, skin running hot even after he’s kicked the sheet off his side of the bed.

You squirm out of his grasp, slipping from the bed. He catches your hand, asking without opening his eyes, “Where you going?”

“I have to pee.” Yawning, you meander half asleep to the bathroom. Without checking, you grab a tampon from the drawer before sitting on the toilet. It’s then that you realize: there’s no blood.

Your menstrual cycle is normally like clockwork, so this should send up a warning sign, but you were late once before so you chalk it up to nothing and assume it’ll come tomorrow.

Tomorrow turns into two days, and two days turn into a week. It’s real.

You take three tests, line them up on the sink and set the egg timer. You sit on the edge of the tub, legs bouncing with anticipation as the seconds tick by agonizingly slow. You haven’t felt strange, no nausea or dizziness, but you wouldn’t, not this early.

You’ve been trying to convince yourself there’s another reason for Aunt Flo’s sudden departure, but in your heart you know before you even look at the three positives looking back at you in happy pink letters.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

---

Sam’s gutting a series of two way radios; wires and circuit boards littered over the living room floor. He wants to figure out how to boost the strength of the signal, so they’ll work at opposite ends of town.

Squinting down at the diagram in ‘The Ham Radio Electrician’s Guide,’ he thinks he might need glasses. He hears you pad down the stairs, the soft rustle of bare feet on the carpet. He’s about to ask where you’ve been all morning until he hears you sniffle.

You’re crying.

His chest is tight, fear rising from his gut to his heart. “What’s wrong, baby?”

He stands and you stop walking in the middle of the room, taking a deep breath of courage. There’s no point in trying to hide it, you don’t hide things from each other, not here. “I’m pregnant.”

Sam’s face falls slack as the words make their way from his ears to his brain, forming the thought: pregnant.

“What?” he stutters. “How? I mean, are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m late and I took a test, more than one.” You wait for him to respond feeling lost in the center of the living room.

“I, um, I don’t know what to say.” He’s hard to read, expressionless, and stationary as you take a step closer.

“Not the best news, huh?” you confirm with a sad grunt.

Sam takes your hands into his, looking you head on. He doesn’t want there to any miscommunication. “I love the idea of having a baby with you, hell, I want to have fifty kids with you...just not here. I don’t know a goddamn thing about childbirth, something could happen.”

Sam can tell himself all the lies he wants, but somewhere deep down he knows this is the only place he could ever be a father. Back in the normal world, he would never bring a child into this life. His whole existence has been a careful dance to stay alive and adding a baby to the mix would be just about the most selfish thing he could ever do. If this was ever going to happen, Shadow Hill is the only place it had the opportunity to come to fruition.

“I can do this.”

“And what if you can’t? I’m not a doctor.”

“You don’t think I know that? Sam, women have been having babies for thousands of years without doctor and hospitals.”

“So, we’re just going to roll the dice?”

“What else is there? Do you want to get rid of it?”

“No, I don’t know...” he rubs his lips together, his heart breaking from the way you’re looking at him. He pulls you to him, closing his eyes and holding you tight, his heart beating out of his chest. “No, of course not.”

“I know that we-” you’re stopped as an uncontrolled sob tears from your throat and your voice leaves you.

“Don’t cry baby.” Sam squeezes you tight, one arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

“I don’t,” you gulp, pressing your face into this chest, “I don’t want you to hate this baby.”

“Y/N,” he sighs, pulling your head back so you can look at him. “I could never hate something that we...created. I just don’t want to lose you.”

It’ll take him a while, but he’ll find a way to temper the dread with joy. He’ll grow into the idea of having a little one and start preparing for the day when he’ll need to add ‘midwife’ to his ever growing list of talents.

Four Years, Eight Months, Three Weeks

There’s a part of Sam is truly excited about the prospect of being a father. When he was in college and with Jess, he could imagine what it would be like: he’d be a lawyer, she’d work in a gallery or teach in an elementary school, they’d live in a suburb, and try to start a family once they’d been married for a few years. They talked about it, how many kids they wanted, what they would name them.

Sam’s dream of an all-American family died along with Jess. He never imagined that in his thirties, he’d be given the opportunity. It’s not what the younger version of himself imagined, but what truly is?

He’s sprawled out in the bedroom across the hall from the one you share together, surrounded by the parts of a crib, each section laid out neatly. He promised he’d have it done by tonight, but he’s no longer so confident. He’s solved a lot of puzzles in his life, but the instructions for this particular item of furniture appear to have been written by someone with a questionable grasp on the English language.

You’re only four months along, but showing, just a little but really showing, the bump he not-so-subtly sneaks peeks at when you’re changing or standing naked in the shower. Now, your stomach is rounded out, a perfect little globe, nestled in your midsection. There are little things about this child that makes his heart flutter, mundane details that end up replaying in his head. He likes the way your shirts stretch over your stomach, the material barely roomy enough to do the job. He loves the way you look when he fucks you, a surge of caveman pride stirring in his gut at the thought of you carrying his child. Mostly, he enjoys the idea that you’re going to be the mother of his child, that the two of you created life. He thinks it must be fate; must be written in the stars. He tells himself that fact when he can’t stop thinking about all the things that might go sideways.

There’s no way the series of events that led to this is at all random.

Four Years, Nine Months

You wake up nude.

It’s not unheard of, there are plenty of nights you fall asleep naked after being thoroughly worn out from Sam being between your legs. There’s always the intention of peeling yourself away from him to find something to sleep in, most of the time it doesn’t happen.

As you blink awake, it’s clear what woke you, you’re freezing. There’s only a sheet pulled up to your waist and your nipples are rock hard, a fully exposed barometer. You can feel Sam behind you, an arm heavy over the edge of your hip. You wiggle back into him, finding the curve of his body as your back meets his broad chest, round ass cheeks pressing into his warm, soft cock.

“Mornin’,” he mutters, sliding a hand over the curve of your stomach, flexing his bicep, squeezing you even closer.

“I don’t want to wake up yet.” Grumbling you press your face into the pillow. His hand starts to travel south from your belly, but stops short, moving back up to cup your breast.

“You’re freezing.” His mouth is at the back of your head, a smile in his voice as he rolls a nipple between his thumb and index finger.

It’s going to be one of those mornings.

“That’s why I have you.” You run your hand over his arm, covering his much larger hand where he’s kneading your breast. “That feels good, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sam places a kiss on your shoulder, then another and another as a chill runs down your spine. You run your fingers over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder, it might be lazy morning sex, but today, you don’t mind it a little rough.

His hand slides down, this time all the way to your sex, wiggling his middle finger between soft flesh. He makes slow circles around your clit with just the pad of his finger.

He’s erect now, pushing forward into your ass, just enough to ease the tension. You reach behind you, snaking a hand between your bodies and wrap a hand around his cock. You both come like this, you writhing on your side and Sam spurting warm and wet on the small of your back.

After you both come down and clean up, you open the dresser drawer in search of underwear and clean clothes, but much to your surprise the dresser is empty. Before calling for Sam, you open the closet to find two shirts hanging on the rack. One is Sam’s, the other yours, the clothes you woke up in when you first came to Shadow Hill.

Every subsequent morning you’ll wake up to a guessing game of what’s missing from the house, some mornings its clothes, other times toothpaste or canned goods. This reality is an analog station whose frequency is half-static as it tries to retune itself.  

Four Years, Eleven Months, One Week

One thing is clear, this world is falling apart. What were once glitches and inconsistencies are now full-fledged issues that you find yourself combating on a daily basis.

“Sam!” You yell for him from the bottom of the stairs. The larger your belly gets the more you let him to come to you.

“What’s wrong?” His head pops around the corner at the top of the second floor hallway.

You really don’t want to tell him, he’s got enough to worry about, he doesn’t need something else, but there’s no way around this. “All the food, is, um...bad.”

“What do you mean?” he bounces down the steps.

“It’s spoiled.” You offer, letting him pass you, then following him to the kitchen.  

“What’s spoiled? It’s probably just…” his voice trails off as he opens the refrigerator and finds shelves of molding, decaying fruits and vegetables. “Shit.”

“It’s everything, the bread, too.” Sam believes you, but still grabs the loaf off the counter. There’s green mold pressed against the clear plastic packaging.

“It’s okay,” Sam shrugs, his mouth fighting a grimace. “Lets just go into town, see what’s going on at Tolliver's. You alright to walk? ”

“Sure,” you nod. “Might as well go now.” You make sure to stay active, walking several miles every day so fitting this situation into your daily routine feels somewhat reassuring.

Sam has to pace himself, walking slow enough that you’re able to keep up as you meander down the street. He holds your hand, his vice like grip betraying his nerves. He might be pretending to play it cool, but inside, he’s on the verge of panic.

Once you arrive at Tolliver’s, you discover moldy fruit and soured milk. After popping open a couple of cans, Sam sighs with relief. At least the items with a longer shelf life are still edible. He fills his backpack and you make the journey back to the house. That evening you feast on a dinner of baked beans and canned chicken.

“I’m sure we’ll wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be back to normal,” he assures you.

Sam’s wrong. The next day, and every day after, you’ll eat food from a jar. The easy days are over and the challenges that lie ahead will be the toughest you’ve experienced so far.

Four Years, Eleven Months, Two Weeks

The summer has been unseasonably hot. The four previous years brought favorable temperatures, never anything this extreme. By noon everyday, the gauge on the porch reads the outside temperature to be hovering close to 100°F. A heat wave like this, coupled with your pregnancy, means you relegated to the house and the air conditioning.  

Once the sun goes down, you mill around the yard and try to save your dying garden, but for the most part, you spend your days reading baby books and trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’re going to give birth in a ghost town.

It’s mid-afternoon when you lay down to take a nap on the couch. Sam’s gone on a trip to the library with your wish-list of literature along with few of his own. You’re not sure how long you’re asleep, but when you wake up it’s incredibly uncomfortable. You smack dry lips together and sit up as sweat rolls down your forehead and into your eyes.

“Oh God,” you groan rocking to stand up off the couch. Your shirt is stuck to your chest, sweat stains soaking through. You pad to the thermostat to check the temperature but the small screen is blank. “Wonderful.”

In the small bathroom off the living room, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your face is bright red, cheeks looking like ripe peaches. You strip right then and there, taking a cold shower. Once you’re done, feeling more like a normal person, you pull a clean tank top and pair of panties from the dryer, it’s about all you can stand to wear.

An hour later, Sam walks the through the front door, drenched in sweat from his bike ride, expecting a blast of arctic air, only to be met with your sweltering home. He drops his backpack to the floor and kicks off his shoes. “Y/N?”

“I’m in here.” Sam finds you at the dining room table in your underwear with a glass of ice water, situated in front of a box fan you pulled from the storage closet.

“What happened?” He asks taking the glass of water you offer.

“I don’t know, it’s just not working.”

Four Years, Eleven Months, Three Weeks, Six Days

There’s a “boom!” right outside your bedroom window that jolts both of you awake. Sam’s out of bed before you even sit up, pulling back the curtain to look at the yard. You don’t realize it at first, but there’s a glow on his face from something lit up outside. You blink, watching his eyes widen and mouth fall slack.

“Holy fuck.” He’s staring in awe at whatever scene is unfolding before him.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” It takes you two tries before you successfully swing your feet over the side of the bed and walk to him. You pull back the other side of the curtain and your heart nearly stops. It looks like a scene from an apocalyptic movie. There’s a hole in the roof of the garage across the street and it’s on fire. What appears to be fiery debris is raining down all over the lawn, a million tiny embers falling from the night sky. You don’t say anything, you just stand next to him as another giant rock, the size of a car, falls from somewhere above and makes a crater in the middle of the road, just down the street from your house. “What do we do?”

“We get ready,” Sam looks at you, his face expressionless.

Five Years

“We’re gonna die,” you whisper, tucked under Sam’s arm sitting on the front steps of your house. You both should probably be inside taking cover in the basement, but it seems futile. There’s fire raining down around you, a world ablaze as it self destructs in one final, glorious crescendo.

“I’ll be with you when it happens,” he pulls you tighter to his side, closing his eyes as tears roll down his cheeks. The arm around your shoulders pulls your head to his chest, his other hand resting on your stomach, covering his unborn child.

The roof of the house across the street collapses when it’s hit with what looks like an asteroid. This is biblical: fire from the heavens.

“I’m scared Sam,” you lift your head to look at him, “I’m not ready.”

“I know,” he wants to tell you he’s scared too, he wants to scream and beg and lose his damn mind with grief and panic. But, he can’t do that to you, you need him now more than ever. “I didn’t think it was going to end like this.”

“What? Death from above?” you laugh, half crazed, wiping your wet face.

“Well that, too...I always thought I’d die saving someone, on a hunt with Dean. But, this is better.”

“How could this possibly be better?”

“I’m a father and husband. I have you. It could be a lot worse.” His voice cracks at the end as he cries. You pull him to you, grasping each other.

The ground shakes and the sky rapidly turns black, inky clouds swirling overhead. There’s a deafening sound, like the universe is tearing in half. You both know: this is it. Sam takes your face between his hands, kisses your lips softly, “Just look at me.”

You look into his eyes, shaking in fear. “I love you, Sam.”

His mouth twists in agony, blinking out final tears as he says “I love y-”

He’s gone.

The hands holding you are suddenly absent. You blink and he vanishes.

“Sam!” You scream at the top of your lungs, frantic as you call for him. “Sam!”

You scramble to your feet ready to run, to find him, but you don’t know where, you don’t know what to do. The panic overtakes you completely, clasping at your chest trying to breathe. The child inside you, in just as much distress, kicks the inside of your stomach. You gasp, what will be your last breath in Shadow Hill whispering, “I don’t want to die alone.”

Everything fades away and suddenly your world is black, void, and nothingness.

-

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<< 

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[poppys-writing]

Box Babe - Break (Part 3)

Break: Part 1 | Part 2 // Box Babe Masterlist A/N: this is a long one!! breaking it into two different parts didn’t feel right, so buckle up and enjoy the ride - it’s a wild one!

The guard stopped once they reached a series of metal doors. He abruptly grabbed Katie’s wrist, scanning her chip in an instant. “461837,” the man repeated, looking to her. She nodded in confirmation, instantly scolding herself for choosing to answer to her ID number. The man continued on through the hall, stopping once he reached a door with her number displaying on the graphic above it. 

Her wrist was grabbed again and shoved under the scanner. The door unlocked and slid open, and Katie was pushed inside. The box was blinding white, just big enough for her to stand perfectly still with her arms to her side, legs together. Katie heard a couple beeps, then the door slid shut behind her again. 

Alone...for once, Katie was alone. In this box. She could scream, cry, holler, pray, curse, laugh, sing. She could express herself and her thoughts one last time...but she didn’t. Fear caught in her throat every attempt to speak, anticipating a convulsive shock or some form of instant death. Katie found it funny that she feared death, since it’s not like this form of life is worth living anyways. if she was given the choice of death or this, she would still choose her current situation...how puzzling. 

She couldn’t tell how long she remained in the box, but eventually it began to shake. It rattled for a few moments, then a stinging pain dulled her brain, blinding her fear and causing a whimper to escape her throat. Immediately following, a shock rattled down her spine, but this time Katie bit down on her lip to save herself. “Deliberately disobeying the baseline code of conduct will result in immediate termination of the product,” a mechanic voice informed her from behind. There’s the death threat - Katie knew it was coming. What if she did it? What if she let herself be killed? 

Before Katie could make up her mind, the box began to move. She felt her stomach drop as the box rose in elevation, coming to an abrupt stop. The box then moved to the right, then forward, then rotated and settled into place uncomfortably. 

A new voice emitted from behind her, this time the voice of the dark stranger that had spoken in the auditorium. “Now, I gladly present the prize of this auction...the stunning, natural beauty herself...461837!” The wall in front of Katie’s face slid away, revealing glass casing and a massive audience before her. She was elevated for all to see, but she could see them all too. They gawked and pointed, scrawled notes on notepads, whispered hurriedly to others around them. 

It was difficult to think during this. She felt like an animal, since she was being treated like an animal. She couldn't hear anything. The box was silent, but the world that presented itself in front of Katie was bustling and distorted. She could only assume that other Box Babes were on display beside her, since the crowds would shift in either direction, pointing at her and then another figure on either side.

Katie anticipated that the crowd would be primarily older men, but it turned out to be a fair mix of all ages and genders. She recognized actors, singers, writers, politicians, public heroes. Did they make it known to their fans and people that they bought other people? Maybe, within weeks, the world had changed, and human trafficking became the norm? Or perhaps it was already the norm, and Kali just didn’t know it. The latter seemed more probable. 

The next hours passed rather monotonously. She stood and stood and stood, knees aching, eyes growing heavy, back growing weary. The crowds grew less interested in her as time went on, moving in waves to greater things. Katie didn’t mind this at all. If nobody wanted her, then maybe they’d just kill her. Or, maybe they’d just send her back with the other girls from the warehouse - if they’re still alive. Every option seemed better than this one. 

A group approached her. An older man, probably mid 50s; a woman significantly younger than him, a man with thick brown hair that didn’t look real and was of an undistinguishable age, and finally a stout woman in the lead. Katie’s eyes locked with hers, and the stout woman shot her a sly wink before spinning around to face her clients. 

The speakers in the box activated again, nearly making Katie jump out of her skin at the sudden noise. “So, this here is 461837! This model is special because she has excellent stamina due to her athletic build,” the woman boasted. Special? 

The older man spoke up first, raising a stubby finger and then speaking before permission was granted. “This is humane, right? I know that there have been some questions about the...legality...of these uh, Box-”

“Box Babes,” the stout woman eagerly finished for him. 

“Right, Box Babes. I - well, we - just don’t want our family soiling the pristine reputation that we have worked so hard to create,” he explained. He spoke with a thick, posh British accent, so every word sounded like he had marbles in his mouth. 

Katie watched the stout woman hesitate for a moment. Maybe she’s new to this whole selling people thing, or maybe she knew that it wasn’t legal and needed to muster the strength to lie. “Yes, Mr. Dixon, I can assure you that all of our assets have legally consented. Truthfully, serving their Masters is the perfect opportunity for them to start over fresh in life. And, with the spectacular training that we provide, all of our assets are conditioned just to your liking.”

So it was the lie then. If these idiots took the time to unpack what the saleswoman was saying in the context of the situation, they’d be able to see through the fluffiness of it all. The man nodded along with the stout woman’s words, and for a moment Katie believed that he’d have follow up questions. He didn’t. “That’s good to hear, thank you! Now, another question please. When will we have custody of her?” 

Now the man with the fake hair stepped forward, putting a firm hand on the older man’s shoulders. “Don’t you worry about that, Mr. Dixon. 461837 will be in my care as I take it through the training procedure, specially tailoring her to your outlined needs,” the man’s eyes wander over to Katie’s, locking without hesitation. It was as though he was staring into her soul, looking at her past life, analyzing everything about her. There must not have been very many things to discover, since he spun back around to the clients shortly. “I estimate between 4 to 6 months of training, followed by up to an 8 week delivery period. You’ll have her by Christmas, Mr. Dixon.” 

“Thank you, Fabio!” Mr. Dixon grabbed Fabio’s thin and boney hand, shaking it in his meaty hand excessively. “You’ve never failed our family, you know. Our first Box Boy - god bless its soul - was spectacular, and I’ve heard nothing but good things from my brothers and sisters and the in-laws. How do you do it?”

“You flatter me, Mr. Dixon,” Fabio laughed heartily, although he tore his hand away from the thick grasp and shoved it into his pocket once more. He fiddled around for a moment, then turned back to face Katie. He held up a clicker, then jabbed one of the buttons. A needle suddenly shot into Katie’s neck, requiring all the strength left in her to bite back the shocking yelp. “But you know what they say - practice makes perfect.” 

Heavy. Everything suddenly felt very heavy. The sound in the box shut off, but the people outside were still talking. Slow. Everything was very slow too. Her breathing, her thinking - it was like somebody put her life in slow motion reverse, distorting everything around her. Her eyes fluttered closed, only the uncomfortably open against her will, continuing on in a weird cycle. Loose. Katie felt loose, even though she was standing upright in a box. If the box wasn’t there, then she would fall forward, unable to control her muscles. What was in that shot? 

Eventually, Katie heard the glass door slide down. She slumped forward, nearly pitching out of the box - but boney hands caught her, holding her upright. She lazily tried to pick her head up, but the boney hand shoved her face against a shoulder, holding her tight against the random body. She tried to pull away, but her muscles wouldn’t respond. What was in that shot? 

 “And you’re sure this is safe?” The stout woman began, her fuzzy voice barely registering in Katie’s head. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” the boney man, Fabio responded. So that’s who’s holding her. Fabio. She doesn’t want to be held by Fabio. Fabio is an asshole name. Katie groaned, trying to pull away from him again, but instead his free arm scooped up her legs and cradled her to his chest. For a man with boney figures, he was quite strong and had quite a broad chest. Or, maybe he was just squishing her. “She’s uncomfortable, yes, but she’s completely docile. She couldn’t hurt any of us even if she wanted to.”

“Trust me, I want to,” Katie tried to snap back at him, but all that left her mouth was babbles and mumbles. The small crowd around her cooed and awed, and Fabio squished her face tighter to his shoulder. 

Some more talking ensued, and Katie decided to opt out of listening. It would be better to try and dissociate from the situation than being aware of everything that was going on. Did every Box Babe have to go through this? This sucks. What was in that shot? 

Katie zoned back in when Mr. Dixon’s voice broke through: “Let me see her, Fabio,” he demanded. Fabio released her, putting her down on her feet but still holding her firm by the shoulders to keep her upright. Just as her chin began to tuck and droop down, firm fingers grabbed it and tore it up again. She was now face to face with Mr. Dixon. It looked as though he was only a few years older than her father - wonder where dad is now? Hopefully dead. 

“You’re right, Fabio, she really is docile!” Mr. Dixon affirmed, his pink cheeks becoming pinker with a hearty smile and laugh. He tilted her chin up, then down, then side to side. Though Katie couldn’t get her eyes to focus, she could still feel the look of him examining her, estimating her value, deciding if she was a worthy investment. “Yes, I believe we’ll take her.” Finally, she was released, and Fabio picked her up again - instead of a cradle, it was over the shoulder this time (more efficient). She was deposited back in the box, but different this time. Restraints were there that weren’t there before. Her wrists and ankles were secured into place by cuffs attached to the wall, really restricting her movement this time. Finally, Fabio shoved her head to one side, exposing her neck. Cold metal hit her skin, followed by a loud snapping noise, then the feeling of inescapable pressure. A collar. Fabio turned away without another word. 

The glass door slid up again, and the cohort of clients waved at Katie. The white wall followed next, sliding up violently as her box suddenly descended, plummeting further than it had ascended. 

[arcticmaggie]

The Art of Deception (pt 1)

Y/N can’t believe the curly haired man is seriously trying to use her own trick against her.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None!

A/N: okay listen this is super short but I wanted this to be a kinda mini series! Like try not to put too much in each chapter, just a bit of humor and cute Halloween fun! ALSO OKAY BOTH Y/N AND HARRY ARE SUPERNATURAL IN THIS. Fun! Feedback is appreciated! Sorry if there’s any errors!

Y/N has never truly enjoyed using her ability to have her way.

She feels icky inside whenever she stares into a boy’s eyes and tells him to buy her dinner. Or whenever she ‘convinces’ her professor to let her turn in her essay a week late. But these are all emergencies; she has to use her powers (or at least, that’s what she tells herself).

And it’s not like anyone is being harmed! She only made Nick pay for her meal that one time she hadn’t eaten all day and her card declined. Besides, she gave him her leftover pumpkin pie a week later during Thanksgiving. And Professor Davis is just plain cruel for making the essay due only two days after they had started taking notes on the Age of Sensibility. So you can’t blame her for needing more time for research.

Y/N’s a good succubus, if there was such a thing. She’s never thought about taking souls, even if it means suffering through the disgusting diet her shaman Kayla puts her on to absorb the nutrients she needs (a whole lot of goat’s blood mixed with crushed pinecones and kale). And she knows she’s going against the rules of a succubus, refusing to sleep with any guy because of her innate wickedness, but there aren’t any of them roaming around near her to take notice or judge her for it. Plus, even without wanting to, she still lures strangers in with her aura to do illogical things for her (like give her their only pencil during class or give up their seat on a bus when she can easily just stand) so the least she can do is not eat their souls.

So Y/N finds herself, once again, in a sort of conundrum on a Thursday morning, pulling on one end of an umbrella while a tall, curly haired bloke pulls on the other end. She’s in a hurry to get to her 9 am class (which starts in 15 minutes) and since she doesn’t have a car and it’s raining, she ran to the drug store a block from her apartment to buy an umbrella. The only problem with this is that everyone else living in the same area as her must have had the same idea, seeing that as soon as Y/N walked in through the door, two other people strolled past her with the umbrellas that they just purchased. Leaving one single red umbrella hanging in the stand at the back of the store.

She feels quite lucky as she speed walks to the stand, mentally thanking the higher being above (quite ironic, being a succubus and all). But that feeling of joy and relief is swept away as she stands there with a frown beginning to form on her face as she tries to grasp it out of the man's hold.

“Um, can you please let go,” she asks, as she keeps her eyes cast down, not wanting to use her last resort just yet.

“Why? If I grabbed it first,” he responds with a very low grumble, which kind of startles Y/N for a quick second.

Her frown deepens (because he most certainly did not, she grabbed the end first before he came out of nowhere and gripped the other end) and glances up to him, locking into green irises.

He’s attractive, is the first thing she thinks. 

Too attractive. There’s something odd about how undeniably handsome he is. His curly hair is elegantly styled on his head, his eyebrows naturally arched, his nose cutely pointing straight down, his ruby lips perfectly adorning a frown. He’s too hot.

Her analysis over his facial features leaves her silently staring at him for an awkward couple of seconds, and she kinda feels sorry for the guy being under such an intense gaze. She can’t imagine what it must feel like to have a sex fiend openly judging your looks.

But as she continues looking at his face, she sees a smile start to tug on his lips (quite the opposite of what she expected his reaction to be) and he opens his mouth once more.

“You’re quite pretty.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up in astonishment. She’s used to the compliments from all the guys that fall victim to her aura, but she’s really not using her supernatural side to ease him up right now and she can usually at least feel her body radiate this aura when it’s happening on its own.

So the quick change in attitude leaves her cautiously responding with, “I- thank you. I still need the umbrella.” She gives a quick tug on the object but he still maintains his firm grip, possibly tightening it even more.

His smirk stays plastered on. Not fazed by how unfazed Y/N is.

“It’s quite funny, cause so do I. This coat,” he shrugs his shoulders up to indicate the heavy black coat warming his upper body, “was quite an expensive buy. So you can imagine how awful it would be if I let it get drench in the rain. That would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”

Y/N’s eyebrows are now furrowing down.

He’s… he’s doing the thing, she thinks to herself. He’s using the succubus voice. There was no denying that the tone in his voice had gone lighter, like how an adult eases their tone when talking to a child. Or in her case, how she talks to the boy she wants to scoot over so she can get a better view of the board in her Astronomy class.

But he’s not a succubus. She would know when one is around. A succubus is pretty territorial over their ‘hunting ground,’ but she’s not really feeling any kind of dominance overtake her. Considering, the last time one came near her campus, she felt her body burn in fury and had a dire need to take the girl walking next to her in her full glory. So she knows that this man in front of her isn’t one of them.

He lifts an eyebrow at Y/N, considering she’s still bluntly staring up at him with curious eyes. She realizes she still hasn’t answered his question. Doesn’t even remember what it was. Just answers with, “I guess.”

He responds with the same stoic expression, except Y/N picks up on his nose flaring up a bit. He’s frustrated. But that’s all he shows, because his smirk turns into a smile and he tugs on his end of the umbrella, making her stumble a bit closer to him.

“Darling, you seemed like you were in a hurry when you entered the store. So how about we make this a lot faster and just let me buy it, yeah? I’m sure any boy will see you in the rain outside and would automatically give you something to cover your cute self up with.”

She’s not even paying attention to anything he’s saying at this point. Just the way he’s saying it. Why is he using the same tactic as her? Y/N can clearly tell that’s what he’s doing. He’s holding very direct eye contact to ensure that she’s feeling the enticement. His voice is becoming softer, trying to leave her vulnerable. It’s absolutely how a succubus seduces their next victim.

So what is he? Is he just a cocky human that thinks any girl will fall to their knees to give him what he wants? Or is he another supernatural being that knows he can get any girl to give him what he wants? With whatever mystical powers he holds.

Y/N begins to rack through her brain for any sort of creature she’s read upon before that she knows has the same manipulating ability as she does. Kayla only let her read her official book of connections to the Otherworld that one time that Y/N was almost completely drained from not drinking her ‘protein shake’ in a month and she needed a distraction to keep her conscious while Kayla was stirring one up. And even with that one sitting, Y/N learned that she wasn’t the only temptress of the night or the only soul eating creature. But she’s coming up blank. They all had different mechanisms in catching their prey (they’re quite aggressive and she really doesn’t like it; why can’t they just do what she’s supposed to do and fuck a man before draining his life away while he sleeps?) She really doesn’t know anything else that can easily look into someone’s eyes and tell them what to do and they’ll do it. Unless…

“How about this: I take the umbrella, I pay for it, I use it, and then when I’m done,” his free hand lifts up and—oh. He grazes his fingers against the top of her right cheek, slowly bringing them down to her jaw, all with a knowing smirk planted back on his lips. “I can look for you and it’s all yours. How does that sound, beautiful?”

He’s—he’s a vampire.

Oh my god, he’s a vampire.

Y/N can not believe that she’s in the presence of a living (well, unliving) vampire. She never even knew they were real.

I mean, of course! The entire Earth knows about these creatures and the folklore enough for it to be absolutely plausible that they exist, but holy fuck! Edward 2.0 is standing right in front of her! No wonder he’s trying to hypnotize her! He thinks she’s a human.

But wait, shouldn’t he know that she isn’t? I mean, from what she’s seen in Twilight, they have an incredible sense of smell. And she knows that a succubus has a sort of distinct spicy cinnamon smell (she thinks it’s because of their whole sexual nature that they smell like a spice), so shouldn’t he know what she is? I mean, she’s looking right at him, completely unfazed by his attempt to manipulate her. Surely he can see how it’s not working on her.

Speaking of which, he’s still staring at her very intensely and Y/N is now struggling to keep her grin from peaking through. She doesn’t want to let him in on her little revelation.

She’s forgotten what he said again, so she just gives in and releases her hold on the umbrella, earning her a prideful smile on the stranger’s face.

“Thank you, my love.”

He lets the eye contact linger for a few more seconds before dropping his hand that was still tracing a small pattern in her face and swiftly shuffles past her, walking up to the cashier. Y/N is still standing at the stand, absolutely flabbergasted.

Her back is to the man so she lets her smile finally peak through, biting her bottom lip intently over this moment. She doesn’t know why she’s so ecstatic about finding out vampires exist; it’s not like she’s never met any other dark creature before (there’s a particular ghoul who lives on the second floor of her apartment complex that gets really rowdy during December and she’s asked it to shut the hell up a few times). But whatever the reason, it’s got her giddy.

Almost giddy enough to forget what time it is. Almost.

Y/N looks down at her hand that takes out her phone and watches the screen light up as it shows she only has 7 minutes left until her Astronomy class starts. Which is about 2 blocks away. Shit.

Her smile quickly leaves her lips and she turns back around to see the man thank the cashier as he drops his change back into his wallet and starts to turn towards the door with the umbrella in his hand, ready to burst open.

Shitshitshithsit, is all that runs through her mind as she thinks about what to do next. She shoves her hand into her pocket and pulls it back out, now grasping the $20 that she was going to use on the umbrella. She quips her head back to see the price bar on the stand, a whopping $13 and feels her heart begin to beat as she decides on what she’s going to do.

She prays to the heavenly Lord above once more (maybe she should, like, be praying to the boss down under instead?) to forgive her for being so rude as she sprints over to the dead immortal being, opening up the Velcro on his new purchase as he’s halfway to the door.

Y/N quickly shoves her hand into his coat’s right pocket, evoking a surprised breath intake from the stranger as she drops the $20 bucks securely inside before yanking her hand out. She lifts her gaze up to lock eyes with him once more, seeing the look of utter shock strike his face. Surely, she thinks to herself, he must know he’s not that special when it comes to deceiving humans.

Her lips form an apologetic smile before letting out, “Sorry, bloodsucker. I hate the rain. Surprised you’re not basking in it since the sun isn’t peaking out all day,” and yanks the umbrella right out of his hand. Quite easily, considering he was still in a state of shock, even more so now that she called him the B-word.

Y/N sprints the rest of the way to the exit and opens the door swiftly while simultaneously opening the umbrella and bringing it over her head. She decides to take one last look at the gentleman, still receiving the same look of how did this not work on her?

Yet again, the apologetic smile creeps back up and she quickly adds in, “Don’t worry, I’m really good at tracking people down. I’ll give it to you when I’m done with it.” And Y/N treads on through the two blocks to today’s class discussion on Andromeda and it’s known solar systems, leaving behind a man that has absolutely no fucking clue what just happened.

[honestsycrets]

Irreplaceable PXIX: What I Really Want

See my masterlist for the rest of the series.

Warnings

Smut

Gif Credit: drogonstone.

A/N: Eh... he’s in a mood here. if I missed you, I’m sorry, tell me again.

Second wife will always be second best.

Kitta and he came to see these lights. He brought her to this cliffside first to gaze out at the colours that were so majestic and romantic. You only get scraps. That wasn’t to say that Ivar wasn’t trying– he brought himself up this cliff with his men, pulling himself through the cold so that his fingers were pulsing red when he finally breaches the top. You came to clear an area while Ivar’s men begin to pull the cargo within a villa. A portion of his large fleet was off to support an earl in his ambitions and as such the earl was supplying a warm place for Ivar to show you this beautiful sight.

Rolling hills, high trees that arched into the other realms, sure. But more importantly for Ivar is the oceanside view on the cliff. Here he could have you gaze up at the moon and admire the sky.

However you take his efforts differently. You take this to mean your husband would be gone. Ivar would have to advise when he was called upon. You pull one of your husband’s thick furs around your shoulders before you dip down to help your husband up after such a long crawl. As another man lit a flame, you bring him to sit down and warm his hands.

“Are you cold?” You ask your husband. Ivar motions a thrall to fetch his dry furs, pulling them over his shoulders as he warms his hands. It’s his fault that he’s so cold, you think, the men offered to carry him.

“It’ll pass.” Ivar grumbles, running his hands together. While Ivar’s warriors fill the villa in which you would be staying, you’re reminded that you will spend your time in Ivar’s bed for months alone. There would be no children to run off with when he was frisky or a way to send him to Kitta. No, this was you and he alone. At the very least, you wouldn’t have to deal with Kitta’s advances anymore.

She confused you.

“Do you want to see it up close?” Ivar motions that there is a better area to see it from, where the long streaks of emerald green, wispy blues and hues of purple pop like Frigg weaved them just as she did the clouds. You could marvel at the sight of them– but instead, you hadn’t noticed the tears running down your cheeks until he wipes them from the underside of your jaw.

“(Y/N)–” He began when you jump up abruptly. He calls out to you. “Where are you going?!”

You only knew that you were going indoors where a thrall kindles a flame with wood left by the earl, heaving a heavy breath after heavy breath from your lungs. You couldn’t believe yourself– you were freaking out! The lights you had wanted to see for years were out there and here you were, collapsed on the bed. After some time, there is a heavy sigh beside you.

“I brought you here to see the lights. What is wrong?” Ivar sits beside you, leaning over to push your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want to be here.” You lash out, smacking his hand away. “I miss my boys, I miss my son and nothing is going to make that better! You can’t make that better with some shiny clouds on this stupid icy rock in the middle of NOWHERE!”

Ivar brings his hand back to his lap, reminding himself to calm down– don’t say something he didn’t mean. Not like last time, not like when he called you his womb. His nose scrunches up tight. “You wanted to come here and I made a you promise.” Ivar rolls his head slightly. “I did not bring you here to replace our son.”

He knows who you mean. Your little boy lost some time ago with nothing to fill the ache in your arms at all. You sit up as Ivar looks at you patiently, eyes scanning over you like snakes, slithering over your body.

“Tell me what I can do to make it better.” Ivar supplies. It was not as if he wanted a miserable wife. More so than Kitta, if you were miserable, Frigg would bring hell down upon him as well.

“I want another baby.” You say with a sob. Ivar’s whole demeanor changes. His body is tense when you ask such a thing of him, fingers even rigid. He can’t recall the last time you slept with him voluntarily. It had truly been a long time. He should have leapt at your words, but instead, his whole body feels as if its aching. If nothing else, he knows that sex with you would result in a beautiful child.

But what if the gods weren’t appeased?

What if all the sacrifices he made, the conquest of Christians and feasts in their honour had not reached their ears?

Worst of all, what if he had another son delivered back into their arms?

In the same way, how can he deny you, looking so heart broken with tears streaming down your soft, ice kissed cheeks? He couldn’t. Ivar struggles with words a while longer before he concedes to your will.

“If you will come with me to go see these lights, and stay with me like my wife rather than sail home, I will give you another baby to hold.” Ivar folds his arms. Your face lights up in glee– like he hasn’t seen in years. You thrust yourself onto his lap, arms around his neck and pepper him in the softest of kisses. He counts them: three to his lips, four up his jaw and two over his sideburns until you tip him over with one strong kiss of tongues.

It had been a long, long time since he felt you so excited for him. Sure, he saw you as you fuss over your appearance for King Sverri. He would be dumb not to see how you lit up when you saw him. Ivar grunts, motioning for you to get up so that you might go see what he promised of you.

The lights. The vibrant greens lash like Jormungandr on this frozen rock. The blues are like the sapphire of your husband’s eyes, which glitter as he watches you spin and laugh, looking so beautiful– and it was all for him. There is no Kitta or Sverri to ruin this moment. No, it is you laughing unadulterated in the snow. Almost like a child that saw the light for the first time.

“Avaldr!” You call out to the skies. “I hope you can see them too–”

Then you spin around to where Ivar sat on his chair, legs bound tight this time. What use was a crutch on this slick? You slide upon him and all too instinctually his hands wind about the curve of your hips on his. It has been so long since you both had sex, Ivar realizes that he simply had gotten used to being without your body. He settled with Kittas and–

Settled. The word falls heavy in his stomach. He was settling by having her as a wife. The five or four days he spent with her a week, turning away from his young family that he could often hear playing Hnútukast, tossing bones at one another across the hall or his boys wrestling began to grow darkly on him. So much so, he hadn’t realized how much he had been without for your body.

“It is so cold out here!” You seem different somehow. With the news that he would give you another child, you seem rejuvenated.

“Lets go make some heat.” Ivar teases his fingers along your upper arm. “My wife.”

“Make some?” You ask, lifting the cold pads of your fingers to stroke along the thin hair above his lip. Then a giggle. “Make some babies– you mean.”

Ivar nods and you pop up, sliding his arm over your slender shoulder. Another man comes to his side to help him back inside your rooms. The warm crackle of a flame pops when Ivar collapses on the bed, motioning to the thrall.

“Get my wife some ale.” He murmurs.

The thrall brings you a glass as you shed furs off your body– downing the cup quickly. The thrall left the pitcher beside you. You pluck another drink up, beginning to loosen the strands at your breasts when Ivar tosses his knife across the room at the thrall, hissing sharply. It’s fine for a husband to watch you undress, of course, but nobody else should have the pleasure of seeing you naked. You drop the top garment, dropping your olive dress to the ground with a slump.

He swallows dryly when your fingers run across the edge of your white underdress, peeling inch by inch over the skin he so desperately aches for. He courses his tongue across his lip and waits for you to slide your dress over the bend in your waist. Then you slowly drift it off your breasts and abandon the bandage that keeps your chest modest, he sucks in a hot puff of air.

“You’re sure about this?” He says despite the fact that he rather not. Ivar can’t deny what he did last time you had sex– nor help be confused how a wife would trust their husband after such a thing. But you only smile, grasping his shoulders and forcing him back onto the bed. He lowers himself obediently backwards and lets you take control.

“Yes, I want to take my time with you.” You take his lips in a kiss, then another– and another until Ivar’s soft moans are filling the air. He can’t get enough when you pull away, shedding the layers of his tunics off his firm muscles. “I want you to fill me with another.”

Ivar watches you unbuckle his pants, pulling them down with every piece of fabric unbinding his legs. Finally he finds himself naked, and you, grind your naked body over his; breasts and sex shifting against him. His cock wills itself to life like something spring loaded, hardening against your sex that teases him. It’s been so long– years.

“Fuck…” He whispers, gliding his hands down your curves to simply enjoy himself. He had sex with Kitta, angry sex at her negligence when Avaldr died, but there’s something that nags his brain to just relax with you. So he does.

“Let me take care of you.” Ivar mumbles, shifting you back onto the bed. You don’t say anything when he sinks down over your legs, leaving a trail of kisses from your hip bones down between your thighs. He rakes his tongue along the junction of your legs to your torso as if mocking you.

“So do it.” You grumble at him. He can’t help a little laugh, hot air tickling your outer lips. He grins, letting his tongue caress over your lips and slit with his whole mouth agonizingly slowly. Your legs spread, knees pulling back to watch him go, nose massaging against your mound as he swoops along your cunt in smooth licks.

“Fuck.” Another breathy moan, reverberating tremors of excitement across your moist lips. “I forgot how delicious you taste.”

Ivar flattens his tongue, swooping over your cunt in a smooth lick. Then another, zigzagging his tongue up to your clit for a suckle. Inadvertently your hips shift to buck him a little. A gasp falls from your tongue at long last– telling Ivar that your little hole must be moistening that sweet honey for him. He shifts down, forcing his tongue in to receive his treat, nose grinding against your soaked cunt.

“Ivar– please. It’s slow.” You ache, knowing that he full well knows that you want more than those genial licks and teasing flicks against your clit. He pulls his soaked lips away from your entrance, gliding his pink tongue over his lips to rake up any left over excitement. Then he would moisten his fingers with his tongue, gliding them within your cunt. Your walls clamp tight around him. He curses himself for it: your unloved walls must have gone so long with only fingers to warm you. Or a thrall– but he knew that you would never do that to Ragnhild. His digits are different from your own, thicker and almost mechanical in the way he glides up to the knuckle, twiddling his fingers to your cervix.

“O-Oh!” You whimper, causing Ivar’s digits to pull back significantly, stretching you with a flick of his wrist. “Please…”

Ivar watches you shift under his fingers. “You want more?” He asks, a smooth and steady motion of his fingers in and out, in and out with nothing more but his hot breath against your sex and those eyes. God, those eyes drink you in as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Please, Ivar, please.” You let out a harsh moan as his fingers curl, massaging a spot deep within your cunt that felt just right. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He catches your gaze, tilting his head in for only seconds. “Starved.” He enunciates the words, digging his tongue back against your hood. He smoothes over your lips for seconds, dragging and raking his tongue to encircle your clit. While his fingers fuck your pussy, Ivar latches onto that sensitive little button that would push you over. It doesn’t take but moments for you to squeal his name so loud– he knew his men in the other rooms heard you crying for him to give it, more, please, faster faster, agh!

Just like that you come undone, fucking his fingers for more and digging his head down into your cunt, hands at the braiding at his head. He drives you to completion, spilling your wetness over his face and finally giving it up. He fucks you through your orgasm before lifting back up, kissing you in a salty mash of lips together. His forearms around your head keeps you pinned in place.

“Let me now.” You push up as if to push him over when you’re stopped by his firm rock of a body.

“No.” Ivar grunts, letting a hand drift down, coating his cock in your juices. “It’s about you.”

“Then let me ride you.” You mumble, watching as Ivar’s eyes widen. You hadn’t rode him much– but when you had, it was all for you. Ivar falls back, hand around his aching shaft. You slide your legs on either side of him, holding your body up while facing him. His tip grazes your entrance and as you sink down, Ivar wasn’t ready. You take him tightly within your wet walls, devouring him up like a vice. Ivar’s hands drift down to pull you down, hissing when you snap your hands against his knuckles.

“I told you I wanted to take my time. Hands down.” You reprimand– and he knows. He just knows that you will make this painful for him, sliding your hips up and down him slowly as if savouring the way he spreads you apart. Ivar’s head drops back against the bed, noting that if this is how you want to make a baby, he has to supply it. Hips shifting, walls quivering and Ivar helpless to shift. He focuses on the way your cunt snaps up and down his dick, milking him as if your pussy knew what you were after.

Babies.

“Shit… shit…” Ivar moans, hands squirming on the bed resisting the urge to buck you up. You know what you’re doing, he can tell from the way you rock his dick back and forth within him, unwittingly clenching him tight. You develop an achingly slow rhythm.

“It’s too slow.” Ivar complains. He wanted this to be about you, to give you what you wanted– which would have been far easier if he was on top. This way, you were controlling it. You catch his eyes and descend upon him in slow flicks of your hips with filthy excitement dribbling over his tense balls. He could cum already– just from the sight of having you back on his dick.

“Will you force me like that again?” Your words are a hiss, sharp as you tease him. His eyes, having been clenched, open again. You are teaching him a fucking lesson– one that Ivar thought you were over.

“No, never.” He gives his shuddering answer, beginning to lose his apologetic edge. “Now fuck me, damn it to hel.”

Ivar snaps his thumb to your clit, rubbing that sensitive little button as incentive. You squeal, a pleased moan dipping out into a sheer yell just as Ivar loses patience. He wanted this to be all about you, to use his body to please you and make you feel all the love he had built up in his weak bones. Instead his arms snap around your body, forming a tight cuff around your arms locking about your back. He yanks you forward against his chest and his thrusts become savage– short little snaps. Your legs pull up close to your chest with a scream, eliciting such wonderful pleasure built up between your legs. You can’t help yourself, screaming out his name and silencing any men outside about his ‘failing’ marriages. No, this time, he would make sure you knew how he desired you for all the times you said he did not.

He rolls, still sheathed tightly inside of you, causing your legs to spread with the plush furs beneath your back. His hands leave your back to steady himself around you. His arms would balance himself where his legs hardly could and he determines himself in a quick motion of his hips. He saws himself in and out of your body, walls gaping with every pull out.

“Do you still think I don’t desire you?!” He snaps the words that you told Ragnhild all the time– his legs are shaking, so close to his orgasm as he is. Ivar lurches a hand up, tightly knit in your hair as he pulls it to the side, causing your neck to become exposed. He digs his teeth in the column of your neck as you cry out again and again.

“No no no no no.” You squeal, marred by his tongue laving over the harsh bites. He smirks against you, the broad muscles of his back tensing as he moves. Your legs bob against his hips– and that smirk quickly becomes a wicked smile.

“That’s fucking–” A harsher thrust, “right! This is what you want– this is where you belong! On my fat cock, not his!”

“Yes please, please!” You find yourself shouting, letting your hand drift between his shifting body to massaging your engorged clit. His cock begins to pulse inside you and you whimper, waving your hips on his with his thrusts. You become undone with a shuddering cry, gushing over him. Ivar, satisfied with his work, rocks you into the bed in harsh final thrusts. His hips flush, length disappearing completely within you as he stutters his heavy load of cum deep within you. You feel his body tensing and releasing under harsh groans, agh, agh. You milk him of his seed, walls willing and heart needing his creamy essence with every contraction of your walls. Ivar holds himself above you and as he finishes giving you the seed you so desired, he comes back up to capture your lips in smaller kisses.

“What was that?” You mumble in a puff of a breath. Not his. Ivar’s cock stays embedded inside you until it softens, bubbles of his cum dripping down your hole. You had heard what he said. Dread fills Ivar’s stomach.

“Nothing.” He mutters, shifting his soft cock out of your entrance. You grasp his bicep to keep him where he was, curling your back to look at him.

“Are you honestly concerned about what the seer said?” You ask. He throws himself onto the bed and out of your arms, forcing you to fall upon him. It stews in his stomach for some time.

“Drop it.” Ivar shifts away. You reach over his arm to shake him a little– but he doesn’t respond. Perhaps in a way, its better that he doesn’t. You rather he stew quietly than explode angrily.

@nikkipea @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @kylobien , @titty-teetee , @breathlessouls , @nejijjeoroo , @bcat1291 , @readsalot73 , @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @ateliefloresdaprimavera , @ailucascen , @michaeliskindahot , @concretewaywardangel, @directionlessbuthappy , @hizz-hizz-mothertruckerz , @some-blondes-unicorn , @atequila, @rekdreams247 , @ivarswonderlust , @writingeverynowand-then , @hp-hogwartsexpress , @minarawr , @haliannej, @strangunddurm , @cbouvier23 , @peachesnpisces , @elenawrit , @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck , @ilvebeenabad , @vikingsmania , @the-geeky-engineer , @huntingbears , @my-little-wolfe , @mitchiri-nek0 , @seize-the-droid , @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar , @a-writers-dreams , @quaint-and-curious-being, @ivarthotbrok ,  @mitchiri-nek0 , @salimahbicharara-comun, @captstefanbrandt, @alicedopey , @imagine-this-motherfucker, @zoetrope1997 , @kingniazx , @lost-and-wandering-alone , @amandaseibaek , @queenmissfit  , @calaena-banrion , @memememememe1-blog , @lost-and-wandering-alone , @rubyquartzshades   , @naaladareia, @lisinfleur , @abwrites, @zueserra, @mintandfigs, @AzmentineDaWinters, @mimi334545, @lovingeb, @akamaiden, @sam-draws, @dorned, @bloodydaydreamer, @looneytunes20033 , @givemesmutorgivemedeath, @xivarx, @ethereallysimple, @imamom-makingadifference, @sunlightdaniel, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @hallowed-heathen, @that-darling-babygirl, @tierneygonzalez, @neeading_hugs , @funmadnessandbadassviking, @astertist, @Natmors, @tephi101 @mixedwiththemoon, @dmv49, @imavulcanatheart, @abwrites, @nina2697, @feistybaby , @iconicvaleria, @shanetoo,

[douchebagbrainwaves]

AND IN FACT, WHEN WE TOOK USERS ONTO OUR SERVER

That's more ideal than typical. Before central governments were powerful enough to ignore the local feudal lords. The thing about ideas, and that kind of brain power to petty but profitable questions, you might as well not exist.1 FREE 0. But there is nothing the rich like more than convenience. No one knows whether a startup would usually become profitable only after raising and spending quite a lot in common with us. 25 to 40% of the company.2 Or rather, IPO then bust, or just a niche product company, but to fail to mention a few critical technical secrets.

Compared to other industrialized countries, people belong to one institution or another at least until their twenties. The need has to give. So if you want to raise.3 There are a lot of people realize this, even in an industry as conservative as venture capital.4 I desperately needed on stuff that I didn't. In any interesting domain, the difficulties will be novel. Architecture is related to physics, in the sense of having a lot of cultural baggage, and in practice they are usually interchangeable. The first, obviously, is that you may not even be meaningful to say that VCs are clueless?

When I'm writing or hacking I spend as much time and attention as the successes. When you find an unmet need that isn't your own, you'd learn a thing or two running your own.5 They have to, or die. We take for granted are in fact not insoluble after all.6 You may be thinking, how hard can it be?7 Morally, they care more about what they find valuable as well what they're willing to be held to a standard that, say, Python? 08221981 supported 0. But think about what's going on in the heads of would-be founders may by now be thinking, we have to reach back into history again, though this time not so far.8

It's not just the time of Confucius and Socrates, people seem to think of math as a collection of programs of different types. And if you're not a genius, just start a startup to be rejected by most of them don't.9 In 1800, people could not see as readily as we can that a great artist. That's probably roughly how we looked when we were a bit like anaerobic respiration: not the optimum solution for the long term it's to your advantage to have kept looking, because you'll drift away from building beautiful things toward building ugly things that make more suitable subjects for research papers. The opposing argument ad what most people would agree was absurdum. It's as relaxing as painting a wall. But if you had written your whole program by hand in machine language. As turned into de facto series B rounds. Of course, there are people you already know might send you an email talking about sex, and many of the current super-angels are in most respects mini VC funds, not the topic. How much of a market economy do. It's exceptionally rare for startups to grow. In an opera it's common for counterarguments to be aimed at something slightly different.

Here's a clue.10 If anyone wanted to try, we'd be interested to hear from them.11 If they don't need a big development team, so our third test was largely a restatement of the first 10 or so we intended to make this work.12 Most hackers understand why that happens; Fred Brooks explained it in The Mythical Man-Month, adding people to a site that seemed to me this couldn't possibly matter. Eventually everyone will learn by word of mouth, like Google did.13 I began that essay, and even then they seem to be any less committed to the business. Teenage kids, even rebels, don't like to say no to. They don't want founders to be nice people.14

Worrying that you're late. Now it's just one of the data types supported by the language. What about grad school? Our early training and our self-censorship temporarily, those will be the last to notice. Because few of us know any alternative, we have to go far down it before you start to lie to yourself.15 Every couple days I slip and call it Viaweb. I didn't prompt this one.

So while you'll probably survive, the problem now seems to be in New York, where people walk, but not an intolerable one. You find the same in music and art.16 If you have two choices, choose the most charismatic guy? Thanks to Marc Andreessen, Sam Altman, Paul Buchheit, Jessica Livingston, and Robert Morris for reading drafts of this. But their founders, like parents, truly believe they do.17 Whereas if you were about to do that is simply to state the opposing case stated explicitly is enough to get an offer from a better one in the 80s and 90s. A preliminary result, that all metaphysics between Aristotle and 1783 had been a one-time combination of circumstances: court decisions striking down state anti-takeover laws, starting with the Supreme Court's 1982 decision in Edgar v. If you find yourself saying a sentence that ends with but we're going to keep working on the startup, but it has been experimentally verified, in the case of pastoral nomads driving hunter-gatherers accords with research on organizations and my own experience.

Notes

In the early empire the price, they did not become romantically involved till afterward. Some are merely ugly ducklings in the early years.

If all the other sheep head for a certain field, it's not lots of opportunities to sell early for us, the same work, the Patek Philippe 10 Day Tourbillon, is rated at-1. Not in New York the center of gravity of the world's population lives outside the US, it will become increasingly easy to discount knowledge that at some of the problem, but the churn is high as well, but this sort of person who would never even think of a placeholder than an actual label—like putting NMI on a valuation cap.

Letter to the problem and approached it with the idea of starting a startup to duplicate our software, we should remember this when he was made a Knight of the conversion of buildings not previously public, like languages and safe combinations, and it has about the difference. That should probably be worth approaching—if you don't even want to start some vaguely benevolent business. You're going to do, but most neighborhoods successfully resisted them.

Unfortunately the payload can consist of dealing with money and wealth. The undergraduate curriculum or trivium whence trivial consisted of three stakes. This is, it is certainly part of grasping evolution was to reboot them, initially, to get them to justify choices inaction in particular made for other kinds of companies that can't reasonably expect to do certain kinds of menial work early in the general sense of getting credit for what she has done, she doesn't like getting attention in the few cases where you get to be evidence of spam in my incoming mail fluctuated so much in their lifetimes.

Hypothesis: Any plan in 2001, but as a high school textbooks.

First Industrial Revolution was one that had other meanings are fairly closely related.

I'm talking mainly about software startups. I had a strange feeling of being Turing equivalent, but one by one they die and their hands thus tended to make a country, the top and get pushed down by new arrivals.

But you couldn't do the equivalent thing for founders; if they seem to have them soon.

The reason not to say Hey, that's not likely to come in and convince them. Handy that, in the imprecise half. What, you're pretty well protected against such tricks will approach.

I didn't realize it till I started doing research for this purpose are still called the executive model. Top VC firms have started to give you more inequality. The Roman commander specifically ordered that he could accept it. There are a different type of product for it.

While the US since the war. In fact the decade preceding the war, federal tax receipts have stayed close to starting startups since Viaweb, and then stopped believing, so it's conceivable that intellectual centers like Cambridge will one day is the place of Napster. When we got to targeting when I first met him, but it's always better to read a draft of this desirable company, and FreeBSD 1.

Bullshit, Princeton University Press, 1983. But I know, Lisp code.

It's unpleasant because the early adopters you evolve the idea that they either have a taste for interesting ideas: Paul Buchheit for the desperate and the low countries, where there were no strong central governments.

For example, being a train car that in practice that doesn't seem an impossible hope. There are also startlingly popular on Delicious, but countless other startups, so problems they face are probably not quite as easy as I explain later. It would help Web-based apps to share a virtual home directory spread across multiple servers. You can have margins big enough to become one of the reason this subject is so contentious is that in fact they don't know yet what they're selling and how unbelievably annoying it is less secure.

Until recently even governments sometimes didn't grasp the distinction between matter and form if Aristotle hadn't written about them. Unless of course finding words this way would be to write great software in Lisp, you may get both simultaneously. Japan is prone to earthquakes, so had a juicy bug to track ratios by time of unprecedented federal power, in response to the frightening lies told by older siblings.

The hardest kind of protection is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers. One YC founder who used to build little Web appliances. It's hard to mentally deal with slaps, but had instead evolved from different, simpler organisms over unimaginably long periods of time on a hard technical problem. Simpler just to go to work late at night, and both used their position to amass fortunes among the bear gardens and whorehouses.

A more powerful than ever. Monk, Ray, Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, many of the mail by Anton van Straaten on semantic compression.

Thanks to Emmett Shear, Ian Hogarth, Robert Morris, Adaptive Path, Jessica Livingston, Jackie McDonough, Dan Siroker, Geoff Ralston, and Steve Huffman for putting up with me.

[rowdysakura]

The Drama You’ve Been Craving - Rizumo Week 2017

title: the drama you’ve been craving rating: t fandom: ao no exorcist / blue exorcist characters: izumo kamiki, rin okumura, unnamed exorcist fic series (on ao3): all the good in me is because of you (it’s true) dedicated to: @crxdus / @demirin

Izumo twitches. Just a small tick in her right brow. It’s enough to make the poor exorcist manning the missions desk want to turn tail and run and never ever look back. Thankfully, it’s the reptilian part of his brain screaming in fear over being a very, very small prey in front of a very, very dangerous predator or else he might have pissed himself. As it is, he’s sending heartfelt prayers to whatever deity or ancestor that may be listening to him to let him out of this encounter alive.

In turn, Izumo can only wonder when everyone around her started turning into blubbering idiots.

Slowly, the young woman places her hands on the desk before leaning into the other exorcist’s space with a firm scowl in place. It’s a bit more difficult than usual with her newly found girth around the middle, but the table isn’t too high and Izumo manages it just fine once she goes a bit up on her toes.

“I’m sorry,” Izumo begins, not sounding sorry at all. In fact, she sounds sweetly sinister. “Could you repeat that?”

The man behind the desk can only cower as he slowly draws up a hard backed folder in the hair’s breadth space between their two faces. He looks entirely too relieved as he flips it open, forcing the young woman before him to draw back, revealing a missive of some sorts.

“I-I-I said th-that--ehem, I said that as of today, Miss Kamiki, you’re no longer allowed to take any True Cross sanctioned jobs, no matter the Branch. It’s not a permanent ban just a sort of ah, probation due to your, um, your current, ah, circumstances,” finishes the man, eyes darting meaningfully from Izumo’s extended belly and her eyes and back. He totally nailed it.

“’Circumstances?’”

Something twists in the man’s gut. Her tone is carefully light, airy, as if she could not care less. Considering this is Arc Knight Kamiki Izumo, the True Cross’s single biggest workaholic after one Okumura Yukio, he highly doubts that’s the case. An odd sense of impending doom descends over the man. He’s going to die, he realizes, Kamiki is going to kill him. He can run and she will most literally shoot the messenger or he can stay put and be strangled to death.

The inevitability of his end brings a sort of calm to the man. He nods easily before answering almost inaudibly, “Yes.”

Izumo makes a sort of noise of acknowledgement before her dangerously narrowed eyes slide to look at her partner, one Rin Okumura, beside her.

Rin, who had been watching the exchange with a sort of detached amusement, stiffens as a strange, immediate need to surrender shoots through him. His eyes shift to meet Izumo’s gaze even has his hands come up in defense.

“Oi! I’m only an honorary Knight anymore! I don’t have anything to do with this!” the half-demon splutters in alarm, his hands waving frantically in front of him.

Izumo’s gaze snaps back to the exorcist behind the desk who also throws up him hands in surrender, dropping the folder.

“By whose order?”

“S-sir Pheles--!”

“Ha, Pheles can’t ban me from all branches he’s only in charge of the Japanese Branch...,” she trails off, a triumphant glint in her eyes and the curve of her mouth. It shouldn’t take very long at all to send her familiars to a nearby branch and gain a mission there. Damned demon meddling in her family life. So what if he’s an uncle of sorts?

“Erm, well, Sir Pheles suggested it but, well, the current Paladin is the, uh, one, who approved it so--,” the exorcist’s throat closes up in terror as the fire in Izumo’s eyes reaches a new pitch. A mere moment later absolute relief courses through the desk exorcist, causing him to slip slowly, bonelessly, from his chair to the floor when the red-eyed menace turns completely away from him to focus on her husband.

“Yukio, hm?”

Sweat began to bead along Rin’s forehead.

“Well...he is a Doctor so maybe he has the right idea, yanno! You should probably take a break especially so close to your final months. It at least couldn’t hurt...? Um, Izumo, where are you going?”

“Just to have a chat with my brother-in-law, is all,” replies Izumo airily, stalking in the direction of the nearest door, the Paladin’s office key in hand.

“W-wait!”

Rin gives a quick apologetic bow to the exorcist now slumped on the floor before scrambling after his wife.

“Izumo, wife, dearest, love, light of my life, you can’t go threatening Yukio! He’s the Paladin! I’m pretty sure that’s like one-hundred percent illegal!”

“I’m pregnant, Rin! Not sick or fragile or wilting away!”

The purple-haired woman jams her key into the door before yanking it to reveal the waiting area before Yukio’s office.

“B-but! The baby!”

The half demon rushes after her, closing the door much more gently behind them.

“Exercise is good for the baby,” Izumo counters ruthlessly turning a glare onto the trailing Rin. Her arms cross defensively in front of her chest. “And don’t think I don’t know you talked with him. He wouldn’t have done it, otherwise, seeing as last time I knew he trusted in my abilities as an exorcist.”

Rin fiddles nervously with Kurikara’s strap across his chest, an anxious grimace pulling at his features.

“It’s not...it’s not you I don’t trust, Izumo!” he blurts out in a half yell, coming to a stop. His gaze firmly fixed on the floor. “I-I know you’re great--you’re the best I know and I wouldn’t want anyone else at my back but...mistakes can happen. Exorcists can get overwhelmed or tricked or hurt no matter how good they are.”

He rocks a bit on his feet, anxiety rising with no response from Izumo, before forging ahead more quietly.

“I’ve always worried about that, y’know? It’s not just because you’re pregnant. It’s just now...now, its more than you, it’s our kid, too. And it kinda seems like you...don’t even really care? You’re just the same reckless you taking the same dangerous jobs. And I know I’m one to talk but I just...,” Rin finishes with an explosive sigh before only shrugging. His eyes do not leave the floor in front of him as his tail lashes to and fro behind him.

There’s a long pause of silence broken suddenly by the sound of Izumo’s ever decisive footsteps. Her boots come into his view as she stops. She doesn’t say a thing.

Lips thinning, Rin raises his gaze from Izumo’s heavy boots, noting bare calves, thin capris, and her over sized, waist length, and unbuttoned exorcist’s jacket. A far cry from her usual, more protective outfit of thick pants, arm and leg guards, and full length jacket, much like Rin wore now. It’s too vulnerable, too exposed, and leaves him feeling sick with worry.

When he finally reaches her face, he’s surprised. Izumo’s arms are still crossed, he had expected to see something like irritation or anger once finally meeting her stare but instead there’s something soft. Appreciation, understanding, and care edged with a deep affection. Even after all this time his heart still skips a beat when Izumo turns such looks on him.

He’s such a sap, really.

“Izumo...?”

She sighs, gently, before spreading her arms. Not one to pass up a rare invitation such as this, Rin immediately steps forward to scoop her up into a hug, resting his chin on her shoulder. Izumo had stayed short while Rin had shot up in his final years of puberty and now she had an extra bump he needed to bend around, but Rin wouldn’t mind all the back cramps in the world so long as he got to hold her.

Izumo’s arms come up around him in turn as she presses her face against his opposite shoulder.

“I know,” she murmurs, voice muffled against him. “I know all of that and I do care. I do worry. Why do you think I bring you with me now?”

Rin hums in consideration. Finally, he replies, “Because you like to boss me around?”

Izumo seems to choke on air as she smacks his back, an indignant cry bubbling out, “Rin!”

Her husband only laughs as they draw apart to look at each other, bringing a soft smile to Izumo’s face.

“Just checking! Just checking,” he snickers, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Izumo only rolls her eyes, huffing out in an haughty manner, “Well, I suppose it is a bonus.”

“H-hey!”

Izumo sighs, hands dropping from Rin’s to grasp one of Rin’s between them, “I bring you with because I trust you to watch out for me when I can’t watch out for myself. There’s nothing I don’t trust you to keep me safe from.”

She smiles up at Rin, her expression full of absolute confidence in him.

Rin feels his mouth drop open. His eyes wide in startled wonderment. The flame of his love for her, ever present, seems to suffuse out from his chest, filling him with warmth until he’s near bursting with tenderness. He kisses her and Izumo’s face flushes almost immediately, burning a cherry red even as she returns it.

When they pull apart, Rin cant help the grin that splits his face or the way his tail wags excitedly behind him. His own cheeks and pointed ears are flushed as well but its fine, he doesn’t mind looking the fool as long as it’s for Izumo.

“You’re such a sap,” Rin tells her delightedly, drawing a flustered protest from her, before pressing yet another kiss to her forehead. “I can’t believe you like me that much.”

“We’re married!”

“I know!” he says, just as excited as the first time she’d said so. The grins slips away suddenly as he seems to realize something. His tail droops low as he slumps, peering at Izumo through his lashes. “I’m still worried, though.”

Izumo only tilts her head to the side, smile still in place as she returns Rin’s scrutiny.

“Hmmm, how about a compromise, then?” she asks, watching Rin perk up curiously. “I won’t quit taking missions completely, I just can’t just sit around doing nothing, it’ll drive me up every wall, but I’ll start taking more lower ranked ones, okay?”

“...and I’ll still come with?” questions Rin after a moment’s pause.

“Of course.”

“Heh, well, I can’t argue with that. As long as you’re happy and safe, I’m okay with it,” he declares, pressing their foreheads together affectionately.

Dryly, Izumo replies, “So glad you approve.”

“Mm, so does this mean you won’t yell at Yukio now?” asks her husband hopefully. He’s taken both her hands in his, rubbing a thumb soothingly over the backs of them.

Forehead touches and hand rubbing is usually a good enough distraction to pull Izumo from whatever warpath she’s set herself on. It’s a good move and has saved many a person from evisceration by spoon...when it’s worked. How unfortunate today is not one of those days.

Izumo smiles serenely at up Rin and kisses him gently on the nose.

“Oh, no,” she says, tone positively the embodiment of sweetness. “He’s dead to me, now.”

Rin sighs forlornly.

“I’ll get the mop.”

[azveille]

'The world is against them': new era of cancer lawsuits threaten Monsanto

A landmark verdict found Roundup caused a man’s cancer, paving the way for thousands of other families to seek justice

Dean Brooks grasped on to the shopping cart, suddenly unable to stand or breathe. Later, at a California emergency room, a nurse with teary eyes delivered the news, telling his wife, Deborah, to hold out hope for a miracle. It was December 2015 when they learned that a blood cancer called non-Hodgkin lymphoma (NHL) was rapidly attacking the man’s body and immune system.

By July 2016, Dean was dead. Deborah gets emotional recounting the gruesome final chapter of the love of her life. But in recent months, she has had reason to be hopeful again.

In an historic verdict in August, a jury ruled that Monsanto had caused a man’s terminal cancer and ordered the agrochemical corporation to pay $289m in damages. The extraordinary decision, exposing the potential hazards of the world’s most widely used herbicide, has paved the way for thousands of other cancer patients and families to seek justice and compensation in court.

“It’s like a serial killer, but it’s a product,” said Brooks, 57, who has a pending case against Monsanto, alleging that her husband’s use of the company’s popular weedkiller at their home led to his fatal disease. “It’s unconscionable … I don’t see how they can win. The world is against them.”

Brooks said she cried when she learned that a jury had ruled in favor of Dewayne “Lee” Johnson, the terminally ill former school groundskeeper who became the first person to take Monsanto to trial over Roundup. The verdict stated that Monsanto “acted with malice”, knew or should have known its chemical was dangerous, and failed to warn consumers about the risks.

Monsanto has filed an appeal, and a hearing is scheduled for Wednesday in San Francisco. The stakes are high for Monsanto and Bayer, the German pharmaceutical giant that acquired the company earlier this year. Energized by the Johnson win, a snowballing series of courtroom challenges are now threatening the legacy and finances of the corporations – and the future of a chemical that is ubiquitous around the globe.

The fight against 8,000 plaintiffs

Monsanto has argued that “junk science” led to the jury’s ruling on the chemical called glyphosate, which the company brought to market in 1974. Sold under numerous brands, including Roundup and Ranger Pro, the herbicide is now worth billions of dollars in revenues and is registered in 130 countries, with approvals for use on more than 100 crops.

Johnson, who is not expected to survive for more than two years, said he had prolonged exposures to glyphosate while applying the herbicide to school properties, at least twice accidentally getting large amounts of the chemical on his skin. Because Monsanto has insisted that the product is safe and has no cancer warnings on its labels, Johnson said he did not know about the risks until it was too late.

His award of $289m, which included $250m in punitive damages, is a game-changer for the 46-year-old, who will leave behind a wife and three children. But Monsanto is fighting to keep it from him.

One man's suffering exposed Monsanto's secrets to the world

Carey Gillam Read more

“It’s a big red flag for the company,” said Jean M Eggen, professor emerita at Widener University Delaware Law School, adding of the verdict: “It brings more people out who might not otherwise sue.”

Roughly 8,700 plaintiffs have made similar cases in state courts across the country, alleging that exposure to glyphosate-based herbicides led to various types of cancer. The impact could be huge if Monsanto continues to fight and lose in jury trials, and an accumulation of wins could force the company to consider settling with plaintiffs.

“It could become very costly,” said Eggen, comparing the fight to that of the tobacco industry, which aggressively fought cases in court but eventually decided settlements were the best option. “It’s really a business decision.”

Monsanto may ultimately consider changing the labels to warn consumers about cancer risks and work to settle with consumers who have had high exposures, said Lars Noah, University of Florida law professor: “It’s sort of a wake-up call that their strategy was unrealistic.”

Of the thousands of cases, there are more than 10 trials on track to start in 2019 and 2020, with court battles ramping up in California, Montana, Delaware, Kansas City and St Louis (where Monsanto is headquartered). Farmers, gardeners, government employees, landscapers and a wide range of others have alleged that Monsanto’s products sickened them or killed their loved ones.

“This is a tremendous number of trials for one year and will allow plaintiffs to get critical evidence in front of juries – evidence not seen before,” said the attorney Aimee Wagstaff.

The first plaintiffs who may have an opportunity to face Monsanto in a courtroom are Alberta and Alva Pilliod, a California couple. Alberta, 74, has brain cancer while her husband, 76, suffers from a bone cancer that he said has invaded his pelvis and spine – both forms of NHL.

Given their age and cancer diagnoses, their lawyers have argued they have a right to a speedy trial. Monsanto, however, has opposed the request, and a hearing on the matter is set for Tuesday.

The couple, who have two children and four grandchildren, used Roundup from the 1970s until a few years ago – around their yard and on multiple properties they purchased and renovated. The couple said they chose the herbicide because they believed it wouldn’t be harmful to the deer, ducks and other animals that roamed their property. They were also sure it was safe for themselves.

“We are very angry. We hope to get justice,” Alberta told the Guardian, noting that they didn’t use protective gear when they sprayed and would not have used Roundup the way they did if they knew the risks. “If we had been given accurate information, if we had been warned, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Alva said the cancer had destroyed their lives: “It has been a miserable few years.”

Their lawyers hope to go to trial before it’s too late. Alberta’s doctors have said she has “substantially high risk” for recurrence, has “deep brain lesions” from the cancer – and is likely to die if she does relapse.

‘We are not going to be silent’

The Pilliods and other plaintiffs taking on the company have long argued that Monsanto led a “prolonged campaign of misinformation to convince government agencies, farmers and the general public that Roundup was safe”.

Attorneys have cited internal Monsanto records that they say demonstrate how the company has manipulated and corrupted the scientific record with respect to the herbicide’s safety. The scrutiny has escalated in recent weeks.

On 26 September, the prominent scientific journal Critical Reviews in Toxicology issued an “expression of concern”, saying that its published research finding glyphosate to be safe had not fully declared Monsanto’s involvement.

The high-profile correction came after litigation revealed that the company was involved in organizing and editing article drafts. Monsanto was linked to a scientific review that countered a crucial 2015 International Agency for Research on Cancer classification of glyphosate as a probable human carcinogen.

More evidence could emerge at forthcoming trials about Monsanto’s questionable involvements in scientific papers, plaintiffs’ attorneys said.

A Bayer spokesman, Utz Klages, said in an email that the number of cases filed was “not indicative of the merits of the litigation”. He called glyphosate a “breakthrough for modern agriculture” and “cost-effective tool that can be used safely to control a wide range of weeds”.

Regulatory reviews and scientific studies have demonstrated that glyphosate is safe and not a cause of NHL, he said, adding: “The Johnson verdict is not final and concerns a single, specific case.”

EU on brink of historic decision on pervasive glyphosate weedkiller

Read more

John Barton, a California farmer who used Roundup for decades and was diagnosed with NHL in 2015, said he was eager to go to trial, especially since Monsanto and Bayer were still telling the public that glyphosate was safe.

“Monsanto needs to realize that we are not going to be silent any more,” said Barton, a third-generation farmer, who is part of a California lawsuit filed by the Baum Hedlund firm, which represented Johnson. “We are not going to roll over and play dead … People should be warned that this stuff is everywhere and we should be careful of this product.”

Barton, 69, said he also feared that his three sons could get sick due to their Roundup exposure.

“My dad exposed me to this. He never would’ve done that if he knew it was dangerous,” he added. “I have this guilt that I may have endangered my own sons.”

Deborah Brooks described NHL as “torture”, recounting her husband lying on towels on the floor trying to stop endless nosebleeds and the constant illnesses that plagued him while his immune system suffered.

“Nobody should have to go through that. It takes life in such a terrible way,” said Brooks, whose husband was 72 years old when he died. “I’m fighting for the honor of my husband and all the others that have come before and will come after … My heart goes out to those victims who don’t know they’re victims.”

Bayer declined to comment about the Brooks or Barton cases. A spokeswoman, Charla Lord, said in an email that because the Pilliods are both in remission and there was “no indication of any imminent cancer recurrence”, the company is arguing that an early trial date was not warranted.

Legal experts said it was possible the Johnson appeal could lead to a reduced monetary award. The courts could also find that there was insufficient evidence to prove that glyphosate causes cancer or that attorneys failed to demonstrate that the herbicide caused Johnson’s cancer.

Those outcomes could be devastating for Johnson and a setback for those fighting glyphosate. But cancer patients and families across the country will be able to push forward regardless of what happens in San Francisco, said David Levine, a University of California Hastings law professor.

“Even if Monsanto gets a complete victory here, it’s not going to stop other plaintiffs.”

Carey Gillam is a journalist and author, and a public interest researcher for US Right to Know, a not-for-profit food industry research group

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