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woahjo · 2 months

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The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else.

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment.

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear.

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent.

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight.

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula."

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity.

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands.

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed."

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?"

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit."

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane.

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid."

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess."

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now.

"Got a name?" he asks.

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?”

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling.

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?"

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am."

He nods his understanding.

"Come with me."

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both.

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed."

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost.

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising.

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to."

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?"

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it.

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step.

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees.

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you.

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation?

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!"

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room.

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him.

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned."

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost.

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while."

"Well, I'm back," he says.

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word.

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?"

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check."

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.”

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?"

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?"

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone."

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell?

"Sounds like a good deal," you say.

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock.

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki.

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..."

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him.

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you.

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.”

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting.

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't."

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation.

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?"

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day."

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen.

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this."

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it.

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can."

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months.

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up.

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit.

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks.

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words.

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.”

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together.

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.”

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away.

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”

You nod.

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.”

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric.

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet.

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks.

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them.

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant.

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing.

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge.

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring.

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark.

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back.

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit.

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway.

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment.

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now.

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner.

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner.

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?”

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.”

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.”

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group.

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows.

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder.

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.”

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina.

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.”

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning.

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues.

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.”

“Mhm,” Mina says.

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.”

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.”

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy.

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.”

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri.

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever.

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.”

You swallow thick and nod a little.

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.”

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree.

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from.

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink.

“Nothing really,” Mina says.

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly.

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?”

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask.

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?”

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides.

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.”

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude.

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?”

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond.

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.”

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting.

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.”

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds.

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.”

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in.

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us.

—

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation.

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop.

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it.

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough.

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago.

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize.

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.”

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.”

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.”

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?”

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.”

You recognize Katsuki’s voice.

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.”

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman.

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.”

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays.

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?”

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto.

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?”

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding.

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.”

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg.

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit.

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.”

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find.

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts.

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod.

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look.

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.”

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen.

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop.

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.”

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you.

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.”

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes.

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary.

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant.

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.”

You listen as you eat your crackers.

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.”

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat.

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.”

Mina laughs a little.

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.”

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile.

“You’re really forthcoming with information.”

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers.

“Can you blame me?”

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked.

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.”

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you.

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop.

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder.

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down.

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl.

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it.

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula.

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper.

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.”

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely.

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering.

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners.

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at.

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now.

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly.

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask.

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from.

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back.

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it.

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it.

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from.

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it.

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him.

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up.

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones.

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward.

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind.

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks.

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.”

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion.

“Got everything?”

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it.

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers.

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread.

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well.

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out.

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe.

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way.

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk.

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation.

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says.

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?”

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?”

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again.

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something.

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?”

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm.

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world.

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.”

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way.

“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.”

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb.

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days.

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any.

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it.

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be.

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source.

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet.

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.”

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice.

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.”

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.”

The group grows quiet for a moment.

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.”

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says.

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?”

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?”

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?”

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.”

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?”

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.”

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds.

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control.

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it.

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect?

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open.

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house.

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place.

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal.

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling.

—

“Need some help?” You say.

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck.

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?”

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him.

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably.

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?”

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.”

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work.

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly.

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch.

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively.

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.”

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?”

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others.

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.”

You tilt your head.

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?”

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is.

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.”

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little.

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-”

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.”

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side.

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun.

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable.

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that.

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character.

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow.

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task.

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket.

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.”

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out.

“You’re doing laundry.”

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?”

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.”

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit.

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.”

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive.

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick.

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering.

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence.

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace.

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.”

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid.

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little.

“Were you?”

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you.

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.”

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway.

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh.

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?”

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?”

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.”

“She’s pretty,” you say.

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.”

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you.

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little.

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant.

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?”

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused.

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little.

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.”

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food.

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him.

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into.

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you.

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both.

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position.

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet.

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.”

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope.

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.”

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes.

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier.

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house.

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel.

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better.

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator.

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?”

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in.

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader smut #mha smut #bakugou fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #apocalypse au #tw.violence #tw.blood #tw.loss of identity #tw.derealization #tw.depersonalization #tw.exhaustion #cal.writing #char.bakugou

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agentstarkid · 9 months

Text

SERENDIPITY ✦ DR3

“Serendipity is an unexpected and very lucky finding, that is, a coincidence that fills us with happiness. Serendipity in love implies the feeling that the universe conspires in our favor, bringing that special person into our lives at the right time and oh boy, did the universe send her everything she ever needed in the form of a 5'10" man with a built-in accent, a love for Tim Tams, adrenaline-fueled spirit and a smile that could light up a whole town.”

✦ pairing: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ type: social media au

✦ face claim: becky g

✦ warnings: female!reader, covid-19 & quarantine mentions, age gap, language.

✦ pit wall live: HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DAY BESTIES! 🤗💗 I've been working on this for a month, honestly I thought I was gonna finish it fast but tbh that was really naïve of me 🥴 the amount of times I ended up changing almost every little thing is insane lol but today I sat down and commited to finish and post this! this is my first ever smau or any kind of 'x reader' really, so please be kind 🤍 and of course it was going to be about the love of my life!

— oh btw, my idea is to get to present time and make it angsty so let me know what you guys think! I really hope you enjoy!

─── The Joker & The Queen (Masterlist)

JANUARY 01, 2020

yourinstagram and danielricciardo added to their stories!

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danielricciardo has followed yourinstagram!

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yourinstagram

♡ liked by anitta, danielricciardo and 6,546,214 others

yourinstagram 2019 was full of happiness, pain, healing and growth. I loved a lot, I cried a lot and I laughed a lot. I'm grateful for a lot of things in life, but I'm specially grateful for you guys ❤️🥂 I LOVE YOU! ❤️

tagged: selenagomez, fioamato, iamdannaschwarz, itsvittoriasousa

View all 17,321 comments

fioamato It's out with the old and in with the new ⏭️😜

iamdannaschwarz this could be the start of something new indeed 😏🤭 yourinstagram 🙈 user yourinstagram girlieee does this mean you found your Troy Bolton tonight? 👀👀👀

iamdannaschwarz what a year it has been! Through the ups and downs you prevailed. So proud of you! Cheers, amiga! 🥂❤️

itsvittoriasousa u deserve the whole world, i wish everyone knew ur heart 🥺 love you biiiiiiig ❤️

user1 can we talk about that dress!!!! jaw dropped 🤯

user2 Mami 🔥🔥🔥

selenagomez ❤️🥂🎆

user3 danny ric you ain't slick baby we can see u 👀

user4 words on the streets that they were seen pretty close the whole night 👀

user5 girlies do we think the writing on the napkin belongs to mr. ricciardo? 🧐

user4 what about the last pic?? could it be about a nod to him???

user3 somebody call the fbi and the cia we need to decode this 🔎🔎🔎

sebastianyatra una locura de año 🚀 happy new year penguin!

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JANUARY 25, 2020

justjared

♡ 9.075 Likes

justjared New couple alert?! YN LN, 21, and Formula 1 driver Daniel Ricciardo, 30, were spotted on a walk and getting cozy during a night out in New York. More photos now on JustJared.com #YNLN #Daniel Ricciardo Photos: Backgrid

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user1: well that's a couple nobody saw coming 😶 good for them tho

user2: These pictures are so creepy as to get these they literally have to stalk these people and are probably hiding in bushes or wherever to get the shots

user3: he's a full-grown man in his 30s messing around with a teenager how shocking 🙄

user4: how is she a teenager if she's 21??? she is a consenting adult and has been for a while...make it make sense user5: it's a 9-year age gap not 25 😑 y'all should learn to mind your own fucking business

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FEBRUARY 05, 2020

danielricciardo added to their story!

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yourinstagram added to their story!

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yourinstagram

♡ liked by danielricciardo, greeicy and 7,452,325 others

yourinstagram starry nights, sunsets, little moments, deep conversations & special feelings 💖🃏

View all 19,358 comments

iamdannaschwarz pov: you were there to witness the first conversation 🤣

itsvittoriasousa never knew a person could blush that hard 😂 yourintagram you are both getting blocked 🙅‍♀️

fioamato 🃏🃏🃏

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michaelitaliano and scottyjames31 have followed yourinstagram!

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MARCH 11 & 12, 2020

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yourinstagram has added to their story!

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APRIL 09, 2020

yourinstagram

♡ liked by danielricciardo, jbalvin and 5,723,498 others

yourinstagram Quarantine with an aussie boyfriend: turns out, 'G'day mate' is the only greeting you'll ever need. Who needs handshakes anyway? Also, you get to excessively use the word 'mate' without being judged. It's basically a linguistic free pass 🤷🏽‍♀️😂🇦🇺

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user: OMG OMG IT'S FUCKING HAPPENING!!!! EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!!

user: Dan-Y/N nation how we feeling today? 😍

user: wasn't she dating sebastianyatra tho?

user2: nah they've been friends for years

user3: «cristina» is lowkey about her tho 🤭 "you were 19, i was 23"?? and there's a 4 year age gap between them?? they deffff had something going on a few years back AT LEAST 👀

user2: who knows maybe they did, but they refer to each other as "like-a-brother" and "like-a-sister" so as far as we know they are only best friends 🤷🏽‍♀️

fioamato what do you say titi yourmomsinstagram does it get the seal of approval?

yourmomsinstagram 🤔🤔🤔 yourinstagram she face-timed me and told me to pass the phone so she could talk to him. They talked for an hour. They are besties now, she's just trying to play hard-to-get 🙃

danielricciardo and 5,345 other liked it

fioamato 😂😂😂

jbalvin encantado de verte feliz hermanita ❤️

danielricciardo tell your boyfriend he's really lucky 🤙🏼

yourinstagram thanks will do, mate 🤙🏼

user OMG??? you guys are so unserious 😭

user2 MOM??? DAD???

user3 danielricciardo yourinstagram i'm glowing, flourishing and thriving 🥰😭

michaelitaliano shitty accent though

yourinstagram I love my haters ❤️ you guys are my motivators ☺️ btw don't you have a kangaroo to fight?

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APRIL 29, 2020

yourinstagram

♡ liked by michaelitaliano, danielricciardo, lewishamilton and 6,498,498 others

yourinstagram Spanglish country…we’re doing it!! Watch kanebrown_music and I blend sounds, languages and dance moves in #LostInTheMiddleOfNowhere (Spanish Remix) 😜 song and video OUT NOW 🔥

View all 11,598 comments

iamcardib OKAAAY MAMAAA 🧊🧊🥶

lali ALTA DIOSA 🔥

user she 👏 never 👏 misses 👏

itsvittoriasousa BRO U ABSOLUTELY ATEEE

user jaw drops to floor eyes pop out of sockets hearts out of chest 😍

danielricciardo wow caliente 🔥

user the amount of unwell I am in this exact moment

user2 daniel is right. muy caliente 🥵

user3 i'm losing my mind over 2 words + emoji okay

user4 daniel stop being a cunt and make an appearence in one of Y/N's ig lives

user5 user4 you could totally hear his voice in the last one lmao

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MAY 03, 2020

danielricciardo

♡ liked by pierregasly, jensonbutton, iamdannaschwarz and 710,610 others

danielricciardo Just a bunch of life 🤠🚜🇦🇺🇺🇸

View all 1,097 comments

yourinstagram awesome taste in music mate 👍🏼

danielricciardo big fan of hers 👍🏼 love finding new underground artists ☺️ user imagine calling THE yourinstagram an "underground artist" lmaooo user2 they're both such little shits i love them your honor 😭

kristenanniebell ❤️❤️❤️

scottyjames31 I see you're in good company mate

corey_wilson goodness I miss the ranch so much

user daniel said lemme give you thirsty bitches a few droplets of water

user2 there's so much to unpack here omfg

iamdannaschwarz you're welcome 😌 also there's a no-return policy in the contract ok bye

fioamato you're welcome 😌 x2 itsvittoriasousa you're welcome 😌 x3 danielricciardo nah i think i'm gonna keep it for a long while thanks. i'll rate you guys with 5 stars 👍🏼

user3 THE LETTER ON THE LAST PHOTO ???? I'M SENDING Y'ALL MY THERAPY BILLS

user4 THE MATCHING RINGS PLEASE!!!!!!! 😭😭😭

user5 all this soft launch shit is killing me guys help somebody let them know that we already know so they can stop playing!!!

yourinstagram but where's the fun in that babes? 😌 user holy shittttt!!!! y/n ???? i- 🤯 user5 OH MY GOD!!!! HI MOTHER AJKFFLAHDASD user2 it's a fucking confirmation!!!! dan-y/n nation we got it!!! it's crumbs but we got it!!!!!

user6 we stan a suportive bf ☝️🤩

user7 999 for grammy's best album of the year ✨manifesting✨

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─── Please don't forget to reblog & comment! ♡

#daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #latina!reader #famous!reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo social media au #daniel ricciardo instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #( agentstarkid's works )

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gvfgal · 1 year

Text

Grovel (Make it up to Me)

Josh Kiszka x Reader

18+, Minors, kick rocks!

Content Warnings: Anger, arguing (lots of cussing and mean words, sorry), angst???, graphic sexual content, body worship a lil, oral (f rec.), unprotected sex (don’t do it), probably some more but you get the gist.

A/N: Stuck in quarantine, never written a fic before, so needless to say this is my first. Be kind I’m sensitive (:

Word Count: 3.7k

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You stormed through the front door of your home in a fury, not caring that your purse, which you aimed to throw on the barstool chair, toppled clumsily to the ground.

Josh was hot on your heels, his anger matching and fueling yours.

In your mind, he had no reason to be upset, and you had every reason. Typically, you weren’t one to get jealous at your boyfriend’s silver tongue antics. His mindless flirting whenever the two of you went out was something you’d grown accustomed to. You knew he never meant any real harm at the end of the day, and who were you to stop his shine?

But tonight was different.

For starters, the young lady he had found himself in conversation with was gorgeous. Drop. Dead. Gorgeous. And to make matters worse, she was the complete opposite of you. While you had more of an edge to your style, usually clad in leather and 80’s metal band tees, this girl was a bubbly little something, dressed in a matching pink skirt set, and heels that made your feet hurt just looking at them.

Josh was, in your opinion, overly eager to introduce himself to her, and he must have complimented her at least a dozen times while you sat sidelined listening in on their conversation.

You had no doubts in your own appearance, but seeing him so enamored by someone who couldn’t be any more different than you had you questioning your boyfriend’s attraction to you.

Secondly, while on a normal night, his flirting would only last a total of ten minutes, tonight, the conversation carried on for what seemed like forever. As you nursed your amaretto sour, you checked your phone every so often. Ten minutes turned to 15, 15 to 30, and before you knew it, a whole hour had passed of them chatting away, and Josh barely acknowledging your existence.

Only once during their conversation had he turned to speak to you, and only then it was to say, “check and see where the guys are, would you, y/n?”

As if that weren’t enough, the straw that broke the camel's back was when the girl invited him to the dance floor, and he hastily obliged, not even bothering to get the go ahead from you first.

Not that he needed it, you were by no means in control of him, but it was the principle of the situation; a courtesy, if anything. For fucks sake, he hadn’t even danced with you yet.

Your anger brewed inside of you as you watched him twirl the barbie doll around on the dance floor, smiling and enjoying himself a little too much to your liking.

As you watched, you felt a hand grace your shoulder, and you snapped your head over venomously, more than ready to lay into whoever it was, but upon seeing that it was only Danny, you un-tensed only slightly.

Danny looked at you in confusion, “what’s got you foaming at the mouth, Dollface?”

Your eyes left his and landed back on Josh, Danny following your line of sight.

Once he was privy, his eyes widened a touch.

“Oh… yikes.”

“Real comforting Daniel, thanks for that,” you bit out.

You both continued to watch the two, dancing around without a care in the world, until the mystery girl leaned in and whispered something to Josh that caused him to throw his head back in a fit of laughter.

At that moment, you decided you’d had enough.

Slamming your empty glass down, you snatched your purse off of your seat and stormed out of the bar, Danny calling your name from behind you, but at that point it was all background noise.

Josh immediately noticed your absence and looked to Danny for some sort of answer. Danny simply shrugged, then nodded his head towards the exit you just blew out of.

You were in the car, Josh’s car for that matter, about to put it in drive and abandon him at the bar, when you saw his figure rushing towards you, jumping into the passenger seat before you had a chance to speed off.

Curse your anger for making you forget to lock the doors.

Without a care in the world, you put the car in drive anyways, and it jerked forward as you raced out of the parking lot.

Josh’s expression was bewildered, “what the fuck y/n? What are you doing? Were you really just about to drive off in my car and leave me here?”

You were in no state to be civil, and your response was quick.

“Oh please, Josh. Your head was so far up Malibu Barbie’s ass I’m surprised you came up for air long enough to notice I was gone.”

Josh let out a humorless laugh, letting his head fall back into the passenger seat.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t know it would make you that upset.”

It was your turn to laugh, “really? You didn’t think flirting with some bimbo in front of me all night, buying her drinks, dancing and snickering with her would make me upset? Guess you’re a lot dumber than you look, Joshua.”

His expression changed to one of anger, “hey now, no need to get disrespectful.”

“No, what’s disrespectful, is you carrying about like you don’t have a girlfriend, when in fact you fucking do. Have you forgotten that?”

And so the bickering began, back and forth you went during the duration of your car ride. His words only make you angrier, and yours did the same for him, curse words and jabs fly about in the tight space of his car.

Jealous crybaby.

Disrespectful asshole.

Fuck you.

No, fuck you.

Granted, both of your behaviors were spurred on by the number of drinks you’d had throughout the night, neither of you drunk, but definitely looser in the tongue.

He had tried to apologize a number of times, but as the arguing continued, his apologies became less and less sincere, and more so as a way to get you to shut up.

And it hadn’t been any different by the time you reached your house. You tried your best to put distance between you, feeling yourself growing more and more irate by the second, and there was no telling what would fly out of your mouth next.

Josh had followed you up to your shared bedroom, still shouting behind you.

“For fucks sake, y/n? Any other time you have no problem with what I do and tonight you decide to act like a raging bitch about it. We aren’t at the bar anymore, I’ll never see that girl again, I fucking apologized a thousand times already and you’re still going on about the shit.”

Your back was turned to him as he spoke, but as the words left his mouth, you spun around so quickly it should’ve made you dizzy, and you marched up to him until your faces were inches apart.

“A raging bitch,” you spat, laying heavy emphasis on the last word, “so now I’m a bitch because I don’t want my boyfriend disrespecting me? In my presence on top of that?”

You could see a minute change in his demeanor, knowing he fucked up by letting those words leave his mouth, but still he didn’t back down.

“I didn’t call you a bitch y/n, I said you were acting like one.”

“Oh don’t even try to pull that shit. Just own up to what you fucking said.”

You turned around and stormed into the closet, an idea sparking in your mind. If he wanted a raging bitch, you were gonna show him one.

“Maybe I should’ve chosen my words more carefully, and once again I apologize. But damn, can you blame me? I mean look at how you’re acting over something so small.”

He gestured to the way you were slinging your discarded clothes and shoes about, not caring that you were causing other things to lose their place in the process.

“It may be ‘something small’ to you Joshua, but it isn’t to me. And the fact that you can’t even see that, says a whole fucking lot.”

Josh ran a hand over his face in pure exhaustion of the situation, but you paid him no mind, changing into a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt from your alma mater. He watched you silently as you paced about angrily, ignoring his presence completely, that was until you retrieved your duffel bag from the top shelf, and began slinging clothes into it, disregarding the fact if they were clean or not, you’d figure it out later.

“Really,” he sighed in defeat, no longer angry, “mama, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like,” you responded through gritted teeth, “and save your ‘mamas’ Joshua, that shit isn’t gonna work.”

He watched as you finished stuffing your bag full, signaling that you planned to be gone for a while, before you pulled your Ugg boots on, slung your bag over your shoulder, and brushed past him out of the door.

“Damn it y/n,” he hollered after you, following your quick feet descending the steps, “I already apologized, are you really about to just leave?”

You were by the front door now, “I already told you, just as many times as you apologized, that your apologies don’t mean shit. You can’t even see the wrong in your own actions.”

He sighed once more, only this time, you could tell his anger was starting to return, “So what do you want me to fucking do, huh? You want me to beg for your forgiveness?”

Now there’s an idea.

Turning on your heels, you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and do that?”

Josh’s brows furrowed in utter confusion, he wasn’t sure if he had heard you correctly.

A low “huh?”, was his only response.

“You heard me, Joshua. You don’t want me to leave,” you slung your duffel bag to the floor roughly, “then get down on your knees and beg me to fucking stay.”

Stunned into silence, the two of you stood there having the stare down of a lifetime, the silence in the house adding to the suspense.

Finally, after several moments, Josh slowly began moving towards the ground, dropping down onto one knee, then the other, all while keeping his eyes trained on your fiery ones.

Silence continued to linger on, until finally he broke.

“I’m sorry, mama”.

Sure, he knew you had told him the name wasn’t going to work, but you both knew how much of an effect it really had on you.

He took your feet one by one, removing your shoes and placing gentle kisses to the top of each of them.

“Don’t leave, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.”

You could feel that familiar feeling begin to creep in, but too drunk on the power of the situation, you decided to take things a little further.

“Sorry for what?” you pressed, looking down your nose at him.

Still on his knees, his hands reached up to the waistband of your leggings, eyes once again finding yours, a silent question of approval. When you nodded, he proceeded to pull them down your legs at an agonizingly slow pace, eyes never leaving yours.

Once they were at your ankles, along with your underwear, he helped you gingerly step out of them, discarding them on the floor behind himself.

He grabbed a handful of your thighs, a hint of malice in his grip, before you repeated yourself.

“Sorry for what, Joshua?”

He returned his focus back to your lower legs, his touch much more delicate as he began peppering your calves with barely there kisses and flicks of his tongue.

“I’m sorry for disrespecting you,” he finally caved, speaking in between his actions, “for making you feel like anything less than the most important girl in the world to me.”

Moving higher now, he continued his assault, kissing and nipping along your inner thigh, just above your knee, a particularly tender spot on your body.

You did your best to hold back the moans that threatened to escape your mouth, hoping that Josh was too occupied to notice.

“It was stupid of me, giving that girl so much attention when I have an absolute knockout to call my own.”

“Very stupid,” you agreed, only now your body was betraying you, and it came out as more of a whisper than you intended.

Josh smirked to himself, he knew you were slowly breaking.

Trading between both legs, he kissed and kissed, licked and licked, higher and higher, becoming more intentional with his actions, until you could no longer contain yourself, soft whimpers pouring out of you at every contact of his mouth to your skin.

“Yes baby, very stupid. And I’m sorry.”

His eyes locked in on your exposed core, noticing how it was already glistening with your arousal, thanks to the moonlight that seeped in through one of the windows.

“Can I show you?”, he spoke up, “how sorry I am?”. He leaned in and placed a closed mouth kiss to your heat, his eyes fluttering shut briefly before peering back up at you.

“Can I, mama?”

He had you, and you’d be a fool to say otherwise.

“Yeah Joshy,” you purred, allowing one of your hands to find the wild tuft of curls on his head. You yanked slightly, “show me.”

Satisfied with your submission, he hoisted one of your legs over his shoulder, using his other hand to spread your pussy open, before diving in like a man starved.

You inhaled sharply as he began working furiously at you, gripping your clit between his lips and flicking at it with his tongue. He released it with a lewd pop, before flattening his tongue and licking up all of the wetness that was pooling out of you steadily now, simply tasting you.

“Fuck, Josh,” you drew the word out as you tightened your grip in his hair, “yeah, just like that.”

He removed his mouth from you momentarily, looking up at you with a smug look only he could manage, “yeah mama, like that? Is that what my pretty baby needs to get rid of that little attitude of hers?”

“Fuck you,” you sighed, no malice behind your words as your head fell back and hit the wall behind you, “keep going. Don’t stop.”

Heeding your words, he resumed his assault, letting his tongue sink fully into your entrance before retreating and licking a steady path back up to your now throbbing clit.

There was something in the way he was devouring you, a hint of anger still behind his calculated movements that, rather than pissing you off, only pushed you closer and closer to your release.

You whined and moaned shamelessly above him, not caring that he had you unraveling like this when just minutes ago he had you so mad you were seeing red. You deserved this, and more than that, you deserved to enjoy it.

Hardly ever coming up for air, he continued with fervor, practically holding his own make-out session with your desperate cunt.

“Josh, fuck. It feels so fucking good oh my god,” you mewled as you began rocking and swiveling your hips along with his movements, your end swiftly approaching.

“Mmm, I feel you mama, I know you’re ready to let go. You know I know your body better than anyone,” he spoke directly into you, not caring to remove himself from you yet.

“Let go for me, beautiful, all over my face. It’s what I deserve, you deserve to make a mess of me.”

His words had you trembling, and there was no way you could hold back any more.

With one more deep breath, you came hard, all over his face like he asked. He laid his tongue flat and let you ride out your high, words you weren’t even sure were words exactly, spilling out of your mouth as you did so.

Once on the other end of your euphoria, you shivered as he slurped away any of your release that he didn’t catch, seemingly satisfied at his job well done.

He was back on his feet in the blink of an eye, and had you pinned against the wall.

“What do you say,” his tongue darted out to lick over your parted lips, still panting in recovery, “am I forgiven now?”

His fingers dug into your hips so sharply that it caused you to hiss, but quickly you let a mischievous grin creep onto your face.

“Not a chance. You still have some fucking groveling to do.”

A deep growl rumbled up from inside of him, and he swiftly spun you around until your face was flush against the wall.

He pressed into you, and for the first time that night you felt just how hard he was as he began grinding himself against your bare ass. He was so hard you could feel the heat radiating from it, and you couldn’t help but sigh. You needed him badly.

“You’re lucky I like this,” he groaned into your ear as he continued to rub against you, finding rhythm to his movements. He had an ironclad grip on the back of your neck as he pushed you further into the wall.

“No. You’re lucky I’m giving you a chance to make up for your bullshit,” you bit back, tone lazily venomous.

Breathing a long drawn out breath into your ear, he finally pushed away from you as he began to hastily undress himself, removing his plain white t-shirt first, before unbuckling his belt and tugging off his jeans, shoes having been long discarded.

You followed suit and removed your sweatshirt and bra, and when his eyes found your chest, he all but lunged forward and began attacking your breasts.

“Josh,” you moaned as he bit particularly hard on your left nipple, pulling slightly before releasing and wrapping his mouth around it to relieve the sting. He repeated the action on the other side as you reached between your two bodies and began lazily stroking his cock.

He moaned against you at the sensation, having been touch starved during this entire exchange.

“Wanna… wanna suck it,” you pleaded.

“Uh uh mama. You said I still have some groveling to do right?” He pinched your nipple, but before it could hurt too much he released, turning you swiftly back around on the wall, “so let me. Let me make it up to you.”

You nodded, squirming in place at the anticipation of him being inside you, “okay Joshy. Make it up to me.”

His fingers dipped to toy with your folds, and you released a shaky breath you were holding.

“Look at that, gorgeous. Still so wet, still dripping for me,” his tone turned smug, “you must reaallyyy want it. Must be aching for it.”

“Josh,” you warned, sounding far less authoritative than you felt, “you’re in no position to tease right now. Please… just,” your sentence slipped into a moan as he continued languidly playing with you.

“I know what you need, baby. I’m gonna give it to you. Right now.”

He removed his fingers, and although you couldn’t see him, you could hear him suck them into his mouth, moaning around them, this only made you want him more.

Finally, after stroking himself a couple times against your ass, he gripped himself in his hand, lining up with your clenching entrance.

He slipped his cock over your clit once, then twice, before he nudged his tip in.

“Perfect little pussy,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “I could never want anything else in this life.”

With that, he slipped fully into you, and you yelped loudly at the sensation. Such a burn, such a stretch, but oh so fucking good.

After gaining his composure, he placed his hand back onto your neck to prevent you from moving, before he began his brutal pace.

Your mouth hung open as he pounded into you, the squelching sound of your bodies together sounding like the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard.

“All I fucking need,” he huffed with every rough stroke, “all I fucking need baby. You and this beautiful cunt of yours. God you’re so perfect.”

You whined in response, and he removed his hand from your neck, opting for wrapping it around your throat to pull you into him.

His hips continued to piston as he licked and sucked on your earlobe, “you know that, mama? You’re so goddamn perfect, you’re all I need. Tell me, tell me you know that.”

“I.. I,” you tried your best to answer him, but as your second release approached, it was hard for you to form words.

“Say it baby, come on,” he growled into the shell of your ear.

“I know, Joshy. I know.”

You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy, and you knew he was just as close to climaxing as you were.

“Nobody else does it for me like you do, y/n. No one ever will. Remember that.”

“Baby I’m gonna cum,” you rushed out, though you heard what he said and it made your heart swell.

“Fuck, me too mama,” he huffed, switching to grabbing your hips with both hands so he could work you to your end, “go on then, lemme have it. One more good one.”

With a few more of his lightning strokes you crumbled into the wall, your orgasm ripping through you violently with a long drawn out moan of his name.

Shortly after, Josh’s grip tightened on your waist, and with one hard final thrust, he spilled himself into you, letting out his own loud groan.

Slowly he brought himself to a halt, and the two of you stood there catching your breath, his now softening cock still twitching inside you.

After a moment, he leaned in to place a loving kiss on your cheek, his sweaty chest sticking to your similarly sweaty back.

“I really am sorry, mama. For everything I did and said tonight. I won’t ever let things get that far again.”

For the first time this night, he truly sounded sincere. And you were glad for it.

“I know baby,” you reached back to cup your hand on his warm cheek, “I forgive you.”

He nodded into you before pulling out, both of you hissing at the adjustment.

“Although,” you spoke up again, and he turned back to face you, “that doesn’t mean we won’t be having sex like that again, right?”

Josh smirked his famous smirk, before crossing back over to you and pecking you on the lips.

“No way that’s the last time that’s happening.”

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh gvf #greta van fic #greta van smut #josh kiszka #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka smut #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut

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yoongis-property · 8 months

Text

Wanna read: September

bts & ateez

MASTERLIST

(last update: 09.08.2023)

-ˏˋ BTS ˊˎ-

MIN YOONGI

look down on me like that by @here2bbtstrash

make me by @ppersonna

twirl for me by @gimmethatagustd

Countermelody by @bonvoyagenoona

grey area by @blushoseoks

gwanghae flow by @btssavedmylifeblr

your favourite game by @gimmesumsuga feat. jk

all eyes on me by @here2bbtstrash

drip by @here2bbtstrash

PARK JIMIN

drabble by @eoieopda

no strings by @kpopfanfictrash

him after all by @mercurygguk

cherry flavored by @ppersonna

physical by @ppersonna

JEON JUNGKOOK

never thought by @yoongiphoria

Oh My God, They Were (Quarantined) Roommates by @ot7always

MCD*CKIN by @jinned

caught me by @jeongi

your favourite game by @gimmesumsuga feat. yg

seven days by @hisunshiine

bangtan scouts by @hisunshiine

candles & flames by @taegularities

-ˏˋ ATEEZ ˊˎ-

PARK SEONGHWA

animal crossing by @kyufessions

Love From Italy by @atinytinaa

paradigm by @yoongiseesawmp3

fuel lines by @chaseatinydream

KIM HONGJOONG

deal by @hongism

Coming Home by @mia-tiny

Horizon by pxedpiper

wildflower by @jumilkies

steeeam! by @feltednettles

JEONG YUNHO

just between friends by @honeyhotteoks feat. mingi

KANG YEOSANG

The Roommate Agreement by @ateezreactionsandscenarios

Longing by @sxcret-garden

CHOI SAN

only one by @just-some-random-blogger

The sound of our tied souls by @jaehunnyy

Soggy Cereal by @mingtinys

Good luck kiss by @ateezlovely

Our Little Star by @littleocean-rose

SONG MINGI

lavender haze by @feltednettles

just between friends by @honeyhotteoks feat. yunho

in each other’s arms by @kimsohn

JUNG WOOYOUNG

Unknown fever. by @a-soft-hornytiny

All 'Cause of a Neck Kiss by @cocobeanncteez

Beans on Toast by @naesarangyunho

CHOI JONGHO

Million Words by @justwritedreams

OT8

into the aurora by @honeyhotteoks

The Buccanneer Queen by @harmonie-writes

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shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck · 3 months

Note

Theory!

Once infected, it starts sucking out all your magic, like bleeds you dry of it. The infected NEED magic to keep the infection at bay, and when they run out of magic, they start deforming.

THIS is why nightmare was able to not be infected for so long, he had a lot more magic stored up than the gang, due to eating the apple.

THIS then plays into why magic ATTRACTS the infected, they're looking for fuel, their lifeblood. The infection is a parasite of sorts, that just takes and takes magic.

Therefore, I think a cure would involve finding a way to starve the infection WITHOUT killing the host. Maybe figuring out a vaccine that would make the cells that infect cluster together, like quarantine inside the body.

I also think enough magic at once could temporarily make the infected more sentient again. But then once they run out, they'd be more magic hungry, and be more violent.

I'm working on like research documents that the survivors have made to try and understand the disease. The first part is pretty much how the infection works and as for the cure... (◕‿◕✿) you shall have too wait and see my friend :) The reason Nightmare took so long to transform does involve the large amounts of magic that come with being a guardian. He was naturally more resistant to sickness and such. Killer taking longer involved the fact nightmare wasn't transformed when he infected killer so it took longer.

Most infected have to bite in order to spread the disease but because of his goop being made of corrupted magic any wound caused by him will infect. that makes him all the more dangerous. The tentacles aren't gone bc the infection has a bit of a hard time consuming the corruption. I don't know 100% if the infection would be classified as a parasite though.

this is such a well thought out theory I feel honored to have made something that you enjoy X3 <3

#herrings rambles #herrings mailbox #infected au

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 24 days

Note

Hello! Sorry to hear youre in quarantine, I hope youre doing ok :)

Would you want to write something for your do androids dream of angel cyborgs au?

The prompt in your list "i like you. A lot. Like a lot a lot" seems like it could be extremely cute

It's been ages since I've worked on this au!

That is a good prompt, perfect for them. :)

For those new to the au, it's a future-based au with Crowley as an advanced android (who was originally naked AJ0440) who accidentally develops free will and had escaped. Aziraphale is a cyborg who runs a bookshop (that technically is just barely avoiding being illegal) that also doubles as a repair shop for out-of-date androids and cyborgs.

On with the fic!

"It's a shame," Aziraphale commented as he opened the door to the roof of his shop, "that the blasted lights and neon display images make it so hard to see the stars here in town."

"That's fine, angel, it's the thought that counts." Crowley chuckled, following behind with a blanket, in Aziraphale's hands was a small basket.

It was a clear enough night to have the moon seen, though stars were harder. Still, Aziraphale thought it would be a nice gesture anyway, to spend a bit of time out on the roof to just enjoy the night, some wine, and each other's company.

"Still, it would have been nice to do some... oh, I dunno, constellation spotting? Is that what one calls it?" Aziraphale turned, pouting a bit.

Crowley smiled and patted Aziraphale's shoulder before moving to lay out the blanket, his fingers blinking pink as he set it down as perfectly as he could. "Sure, you can call that. But it's fine, angel! I'm sure we'll have a good night!"

He wasn't going to point out that his eyes could filter out the light pollution, and he could see the stars, but Aziraphale didn't need to know that. He took his friend's hand and helped him get down, Aziraphale's leg had been aching, came with the changing weather, he had said.

Aziraphale gave him a gentle smile, which has Crowley's insides whirring loudly. This human has such an effect on him, it's... it's a lot that had been building up within Crowley.

A lot that he really needed to get out of his chest. He hoped it wouldn't backfire, emotions are... complicated. And difficult. And sometimes free will was a muddled mess, but if humans could live with it, so could an android.

"I picked an excellent year for us." Aziraphale said, opening the basket, setting out the bottle, then grabbing two glasses. He also pulled out a small covered dish he had prepared before, something that Crowley wasn't really going to touch. Food wasn't completely necessary, but he could use the wine as bio-fuel. And it was delicious, that was a plus.

"Thanks." Crowley replied, watching him before glancing up at the sky. He could see small movements of satellites and air crafts, lights blinking and displaying messages from projections. He adjusted his eyes and they were gone, he could see natural lights, from stars and reflections off planets.

"Are you alright, dear?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley saw him giving him a concerned face. "You're making odd noises, are you overheating? Your lights are flashing too. Goodness, do we need to do a systems check?"

"Uhh... no, no, it's not that." Crowley shook his head, glaring at his hands before shoving them into the pockets of his jacket. He sat down, grumbling, but Aziraphale kept watching him.

"What is it?" He asked softly.

Crowley looked at him, seeing him under the lights of SoHo, of the moon, of the faerie lights that he and Aziraphale put up last week because the cyborg thought it would look pretty.

Aziraphale looked pretty.

Crowley sighed, turning to face him properly. "Angel, listen... there's something that's been on my mind for a long, long time. Something that I've been trying to understand, something that I don't think androids normally feel. I mean, I know that Francis does with Ashtoreth."

He grabbed for one of the glasses that Aziraphale has prepared, taking a sip from it. "And... well, I've realized something about what it is."

"What is it, Crowley?"

Mismatched eyes stared into hazel, and Crowley knew this was his last chance. "I like you. A lot. Like a lot a lot."

Aziraphale blinked. "You do?"

"Yes. I'm aware that these sorts of things don't normally happen with androids, we're technically not supposed to feel emotions, obviously. But I do. I feel things for you, lots of things. Lots of things that overheat my systems, lots of things that make me feel like I'm gonna blue screen when you smile at me, or laugh, or tell me sweet things. It's just... holy shit, it's a lot? Do you know?"

"Yes, I do." Aziraphale said softly. "It's a lot, I understand, because I like you too, Crowley. A lot. More than I had expected, which is not a bad thing. It's a wonderful thing."

They looked at one another, and they didn't say anything else. It was better not to, it so just... it was nice, looking at the sky, holding hands, just being... them.

I like the idea that they don't have to say everything, they understand, they completely understand how the other feels. It's a lot, but it's good.

#good omens #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #do androids dream of cyborg angels au #anthony j crowley #crowley #aziraphale #john's drabbles

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sir-yeehaw-paws · 1 month

Text

I think Kaz is the one who put up the creepy "Big Boss is Watching You" posters.

This is something completely pointless that always nags at me when I replay. I THOUGHT the posters only disappeared after Huey was exiled.

I'm wrong.

I just finished Mission 43 again-and the posters are gone.

Now, I do believe Huey is responsible for the mutation (Kaz is not, its been theorized he is, but I don't believe that. Kaz has utterly no motivation). But I DO think he might be the one who put the posters up.

At the end of Chapter 1, Kaz addresses the Diamond Dogs with a paranoid speech. "Watch the man to your left, to your right." Etc etc. Trust no one.

The posters appear immediately after. Kaz is more on edge in Chapter 2 as well. As if killing Skullface actually made his anxiety and paranoia worse rather than better. (He does say, "It only made it worse" after Mission 43, so that theory is strong for me).

"Commander Miller's gone a little cuckoo after that skull bastard kicked it."

"Well, revenge was his only reason for getting up in the morning."

Kaz is also still convinced they have a spy. He immediately suspects the radiation leak was sabotage (which it sort of was if Huey was messing around), and flat out tells Codetalker in Mission 43 he suspected a spy.

Codetalker also theorizes that because of the encouragement, the men turned on each other in the lab. They were told not to trust anyone, that there was a spy amongst the researchers, and that suspicion added fuel to an already dire scenario in the Quarantine Lab.

Later, when Kaz realizes he was wrong, he ammends that.

"So there wasn't a spy. They were all loyal to you.."

They being the Diamond Dogs. Huey doesn't count in this context because he's not loyal to them. He's there to temporarily save his own skin. Post Mission 43, Kaz reflects on just how damaging his paranoia was. And how much trouble it caused. (His self reflection goes through ups and downs again after this, but here, he's genuinely remorseful).

Following that confession, the posters vanish. Leading me to think Kaz (if he really did put them up) tore em back down after realizing how much his paranoia failed himself, his men, and the base as a whole.

They serve no more purpose, Big Boss doesn't need to 'keep watch'. For Kaz, their loyalty (negating Huey and Quiet; people Kaz doesn't see as "them" anyway) is cemented.

#mgs #mgsv #thought posts #nate rambles #nate theories #headcanons #character posts: kazuhira miller

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hottpinkpenguin · 1 year

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Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us - Part 11

A/N: read part 1 ! read part 2 ! read part 3 ! read part 4! read part 5! read part 6! read part 7! read part 8! read part 9! read part 10!

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Warnings: dark themes; substance abuse; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the game Word Count: 2852 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER

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“You have got to be kidding.” The teenaged girl shot Joel an incredulous look as they stood outside on the curb facing Sunny Meadows Daycare. “No way in hell am I going in there!”

“Language,” Joel chided her automatically, his parenting instincts still quick.

She crossed her arms in an exaggerated pout.

“This place looks haunted,” she observed sullenly.

Joel nodded in agreement.

“That’s why Te-... I chose it.” A surge of guilt surged through Joel’s mind as he thought of Tessa. His last exchange with her had been an angry one, fueled by a whiskey-fog and the initial panic of losing you. It wasn’t how he wanted to leave things with her.

Trying to push her out of his mind, Joel stepped forward, climbing the steps towards the daycare door. After a few steps, he heard soft footsteps behind him, the girl Jaime apparently unwilling to risk standing alone in the street with the sun sinking quickly.

“Chose it for what?” she asked as she caught up to him. Joel stopped her with an outstretched arm, his senses suddenly sharpening as he realized the front door was open. He and Tessa never left the front door open. It was their system, a way to signal if there was something, or someone, inside. Jaime fell silent next to him as he lifted his rifle to a ready position.

“Supplies,” he replied, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Stay close, stay quiet,” he told Jaime. She nodded without complaint, something about the tone in Joel’s voice silencing the retort on her lips.

Joel stepped inside carefully, avoiding the broken glass on the floor. Jaime stepped in after him, her foot placement not as stealthy. A soft crunch of shattered glass underfoot broke the eerie quiet. Joel turned to her, irritation in his eyes as he froze, listening. Jaime froze too, waiting for the signal. Joel strained his ears for the tell-tale sound of a clicker or the harsh, guttural growl of a less-aged infected. Nothing. Only the soft whistle of wind through the shards of glass that still clung to the doorframe.

Joel nodded, extended a hand towards Jaime so she didn’t have to put anymore weight on the glass. Her hand felt small and soft in his: a girl’s hands, like his daughter’s. An extra pluck of adrenaline sang in his blood at the added urge to protect her.

Once inside, Joel turned down the hallway to the left of the front desk. He and Tessa had a large stash at the far end of the building: maps, extra rations, guns, plenty of spare bullets, a few blankets, knives. Anything they might need in case they were headed out and forgot something in the QZ, or if they got stuck on this side of the wall and needed to hole up for a day or two before sneaking back in. Joel hadn’t packed smartly in his frenzy to get to you. He’d realized as the day had worn on that a map of Boston would help him keep track of the ground they’d covered instead of making a haphazard guess. He also wanted to get his hand on some walkie talkies. If he and Jaime got split up, he wasn’t going to risk losing contact with her too. Losing you - even temporarily - was bad enough.

“Why are we here?” Jaime asked, her whisper just loud enough to communicate that she thought he was being overly cautious. He fixed her with a dark, irritated glare as he pressed a finger to his lips in an exaggerated gesture. She rolled her eyes, shrugging in defeat.

They walked deeper down the hallway, Joel assessing each classroom for unwanted guests or a lurking infected while Jaime trailed him obediently. He didn’t let the gun droop, his right eye close to the sight in case he needed to use it.

They passed a classroom where Joel knew there was an old infected - a child most likely, based on the size of the fungus that had eaten away the corpse to the point where it wasn’t able to move anymore beyond an ominous rustle. On cue, the pile of mushrooms in the corner of the room shivered. Jaime clamped a hand over her mouth as a momentary, muffled yelp slipped out at the sight.

Joel froze again, his senses once again casting out as far as he could force them, trying desperately to listen for anything unusual.

That’s when he heard it.

Soft and low, so quiet that it was almost imperceptible at first. As the quiet around him allowed his ears to adjust, it became more recognizable and pronounced: talking. A man’s voice, based on the deep timbre, talking at a normal volume from somewhere further down the hall and around the corner. Close to where the supply stash was.

Shit.

Jaime must have heard it too. She poked frantically at Joel’s shoulder. He nodded, surveying the hall behind them quickly, assessing the options. Choosing what was probably a staff break room at one point across the hall, Joel grabbed the girl by her hoodie and dragged her insistently through the open door.

“Stay here,” he mouthed, pushing down on Jaime’s shoulders until she came to a seat against the wall to the right of the doorway. She gave him an irritated and half-pleading look as she shook her head in protest.

“I’m going with you,” she mouthed back. Joel kept one ear piqued towards the sounds of the man’s voice. It hadn’t moved or changed in pitch; they didn’t know anyone else was here. He couldn’t afford to let that change.

“No, you’re not. Drop it,” he whispered, moving to leave her out of harm’s way. He hesitated before he left, turning back to her. She looked edgy, but not afraid.

Joel grabbed the small handgun he kept shoved into the waistband of his jeans against the small of his back. It was warm from being against his skin, and he felt strangely undressed without it. She took it without a trace of indecision. She’d handled firearms before, Joel noted. She nodded at him in gratitude; he returned the gesture before moving down the dim hallway.

There was another voice now - another man’s voice.

Joel kept moving, keeping himself close to the wall, careful to step around the broken tiles and small puddles on the floor to keep his approach quiet. He was glad he hadn’t thought to bring any whiskey; he needed his head as clear as possible.

He could see the ell in the hall ahead. The voices were clearer now. He was able to hear snippets of the conversation.

Good harvest… know what an infected bite looks like… squealed like a pig…

There was another noise. A wet, grunting noise. Someone throwing up, Joel thought. The man’s voice continued, more and more of his words intelligible now that Joel was almost to the corner.

… yourselves tangled up with a fucking massive horde of infected... We lost the girl’s trail… no idea how to find her… until we met this pretty little thing. She was a feisty little thing. All kinds of grit. Fought til the end, didn’t she boys?

Something in the way the man talked about whoever “she” was made Joel’s stomach tighten.

“She had all kinds of fun little trinkets stashed in this shithole. Guns, ammo, rations, walkie talkies. And maps. All kinds of fucking maps. So, now we know where we’re going, the last thing we need is the girl. She’s our meal ticket in the front gate.”

Joel’s blood felt like it turned to ice in his veins. Tessa was the only one who used this daycare as a stash point: even if someone else chose such a macabre spot, they wouldn’t insist on stashing everything in the most broken down part of the building. This man was talking about Tessa’s supplies: her guns, her rations, her maps. He was talking about Tessa.

Joel’s heart was pounding so loudly he was half-worried they could hear it around the corner. He exhaled silently, his mouth wide open to keep his breath from making a noise. There was a lull in the conversation before the same man’s voice spoke again.

“Pete will make it quick, darling. Gunpowder ruins the meat.”

Joel heard the finality in that statement. He had to act now: the conversation he’d been eavesdropping on was coming to an end.

He jolted into movement with that realization crackling through his body like high-voltage electricity. Spinning into a half-kneeling position, his already-loaded rifle lifted in front of his eye, his vision froze on one thing and one thing only.

You.

You were hunched over, spittle dripping from your mouth. You’d been the one throwing up, Joel realized. There were two men in front of you: one holding you at gunpoint, the other approaching you like a stalking predator with a knife clutched in one of his hands.

“Pete will make it quick, darling. Gunpowder ruins the meat.”

They were talking about you.

Joel felt his mind snap like a taut rubber band. Black fury burned through him as he squeezed the trigger of his rifle, the man approaching you with the knife falling forward with a dull, heavy thud.

A millisecond of quiet was broken by a flurry of bullets as the others opened fire. Forced to duck behind a desk that had been pushed into the middle of the hall, Joel lost sight of you. Every cell in his body screamed to get to you. He peered around the opposite edge of the desk with his gun scope, shooting another two guys before a renewed spray of bullets forced him to duck behind the desk again. He risked a quick look in your direction: you had scrambled forward towards the first man he’d shot, yanking the knife out of the corpse’s outstretched hand.

More bullets closed in on Joel’s head, forcing him to pull back behind the desk as he tried to organize himself. His mental tally told him there were four men left. The heavy desk vibrated with the impact from the bullets, the wall behind him peppering with holes.

Joel waited, listening as the men at the other end of the hallway continued to shoot with undisciplined fervor. He heard someone bark at them - “save your bullets you fucking fools!” - but their orders went ignored. After a few moments, Joel heard the sound he’d been waiting on: a gun clicking impotently as the shooter exhausted his clip. The others realized they were headed for a similar fate, wasting their ammo on a target they couldn’t see, and slowed their firing.

Using the lull in the fight, Joel popped up over the top edge of the desk. Like him, the men had taken cover behind different objects in the hall. He saw one guy crouched behind a rusted child-sized chair, the faded blue paint barely visible anymore. A renewed barrage of shooting picked up at Joel’s exposed head. He felt a white-hot burn sear the side of his neck as he aimed his sight squarely through the bars of the chair at the man’s skull, exhaling gently as he squeezed the trigger. He didn’t wait around to see if his bullet hit the target before ducking back to safety.

“Fuck, he got Eddie!”

Three left, he told himself.

The sharp pop pop of a handgun to his right startled him. Joel turned, seeing Jaime standing against the corner of the wall, her body hidden from view except for her shooting arm, which was outstretched around the corner, firing bullets in the direction of the remaining men.

With the enemies pinned down by her covering fire, Joel seized the moment and peeked out from the side of the desk again, trying to check on you. A gaunt man with a dingy baseball cap had grabbed you by the hair and was hauling you up by the scalp to your feet. You were scratching at his fist with one hand, the other pressed to your stomach, where Joel could see dark red blood staining your shirt and fingers.

Joel clenched his teeth so hard he thought he might crack a tooth. You’d been shot and you were going to fucking bleed out feet away from him.

His mind shut off entirely as pure instinct took over. Joel rose to his full height, his eyes never leaving you as he shot a man trying to scurry from his hiding place around the last bend in the hall and out of sight.

Aside from the man who had you, there was only one left. Joel could see the outline of his shoulder, cowering behind a tipped over crib. Aiming at the sliver of his upper arm, Joel shot, missing narrowly as the bullet lodged deep in the chipped wood of the crib.

You yelled out his name from where you’d disappeared around the bend in the hall, and the sound burned Joel’s nerves like acid. He shot again at the man’s shoulder, hitting the mark this time. The man cursed as his arm spasmed, the handgun he’d been trying to load falling limply onto the ground next to him.

“Don’t shoot, man! I’m not armed! I’m out!” he called out, lifting his unshot arm above the top of the crib in a gesture of surrender. Joel waited, listening to your rapidly fading grunts and wheezing breath. After a moment without gunshots, the man rose up, turning to face Joel with a look of abdication. Joel didn’t hesitate, the merciful parts of himself charred under his burning anger. He pulled the trigger of his rifle, hitting the man squarely in his chest. The man’s eyes widened momentarily before he crumpled forward, coming to lay still in a limp pile on top of the overturned crib.

Moving quickly to close the distance, Joel rounded the last corner in the hallway after you.

“Put down the gun or I’ll gut the bitch.”

The man with the hat was cowering behind you, using you as a human shield. He had the knife you’d been holding a few moments before pressed against the side of your ribcage. The knife was angled upwards; one strong, swift jab and Joel knew that blade would slip between your ribs and pierce your lung. You’d die slowly, drowning in your own blood. It was an easy stroke and a painful death, the kind of knowledge a person only knew if they were a practiced killer. Tears were streaming down your face, the man behind you gripping and pulling hard on your hair to keep you on your feet directly between him and Joel. Your other hand was still pressed against what could only be a gunshot on your stomach with blood seeping between your fingers. A corner of Joel’s awareness registered a familiar silhouette hanging from the ceiling, but he clamped down on that thought before it had a chance to distract him.

Joel’s eyes flicked between the man and you. Your eyes were wide in pain and fear. The sight made Joel feel absolutely rabid, torn between ripping the man apart with his bare hands or surrendering everything to see you safe.

Struggling to keep his hands from shaking, Joel lifted his gun in front of his shooting eye.

“I ain’t fucking around here,” the man threatened, his voice rising in pitch. “Put the fucking gun down.”

Joel ignored him. He exhaled slowly and steadily, his rifle scope honed in what little was visible of the man’s neck above your shoulder. Joel squeezed the trigger in the same instant the man’s hand jerked upward, sinking the knife into your side.

The sharp gunshot echoed off the walls. You crumpled to your knees with a soft cry as your captor released you, his hands clutching at his neck. Blood gushed out from between his fingers as he futilely tried to staunch the wounds. A wet, gurgling sound choked out of his throat as he stumbled backwards, the color draining from his face.

Joel shot forward, catching you gently before you tipped forward to the floor. You buried your head instinctively in the corner of his shoulder and his neck, hands grabbing at him like he was a liferaft in the ocean. He pressed a hard kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo as he kept his eyes glued to the dying man a few feet from you, his gun still pointing straight at the man’s chest. The man’s eyes were wide and dimming as his hands began to still against his neck, the life draining from him. Joel watched greedily, the sight soothing to him.

A second gunshot split the dim hallway over Joel’s shoulder, a crimson hole blooming in the man’s forehead as he finally stopped moving, his eyes dark with death. Joel turned in the direction of the shot.

Jaime held the handgun he’d lent to her in front of her with two hands, a faint cloud of smoke curling out of the muzzle. She was smiling.

read part 12 here we are approaching the end my lovelies! thank you for everyone who has hung in there for this story! *shameless plug: i am planning to do a joel miller request event after this series wraps up*. as always let me know if you want to added to the taglist!

#joel miller last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller #last of us #last of us imagine #last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x y/n

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