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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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ghouljams · 10 months

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Living vicariously through Bee, can we have Bee either impulsively purchases or has new livestock bestowed upon her, except…she has no place to put them. And Königs like god dammit (affectionate) and helps her build a ramshackle paddock to keep them in for the time being. Can include whatever kinky or plot shit you want, competency kink, size difference, stronk, whatever. I just need validation cause I just had to help my dad build a quarantine paddock in the burning sun this afternoon cause he impulsively bought more sheep 😭

Maelstrom you fuckin beauty I am so here for this. Bee is exactly the type to fall victim to the supply store chicks and bring home way too many because she wanted them to have friends. She is not made for farming but she loves animals and is so stupid. This is going to be very little relevant plot stuff and mostly me making König's life harder.

You call König as soon as you get home, worrying your lip with your teeth and staring at your new family member. You need to have a good long talk with yourself about impulse decisions and saying no to your neighbors. The line hardly rings twice before it picks up.

"What's wrong?" König asks instead of a greeting. You don't know why something has to be wrong for you to call him. Although thinking about it there's usually something wrong when you call him.

“You have to promise not to be mad.” You hear König exhale over the phone, a slow release of pressure.

“I promise I won’t be mad.”

"Ok, I- actually don't know where to start," you tell him honestly, that seems to work best with him. There's a short beat before he tells you,

"I'll be right there."

König stares down at the little pig you hold aloft for him to see. It’s eyes are almost as big and shiny as yours, it's little nose snuffles as you stare entreatingly at him and god dammit he can't say no to you.

"You need a paddock, and a shed." He tells you, already making a mental list of what he’ll need to grab from his place.

"Is a paddock like a little fenced area?” You ask, holding your squirmy piglet like a baby. König nods.

“Do you have a paddock?” Sometimes it feels like he’s really holding your hand through a conversation. You swear you’re not normally this stupid.

“I have a busted up fence behind the house.”

“Show me.”

König crouches next to one of the old fence posts behind your house, testing its stability before nailing up the wire netting he’d grabbed from home. He tips the brim of his hat with his finger to glance at the rest of the posts in the area, quick mental math buzzing and filling in where he’d need to put missing posts. When he stands again the roll of his shoulders as he straightens to full height is mesmerizing. You don’t think you’d properly internalized just how strong he must be. Watching him work is certainly… enlightening.

He’s really good at this, and you- you have nothing to add that could help. If you’re being totally honest with yourself, you would’ve been completely lost without him to here. Your heart clenches in your chest watching him twirl his hammer idly. You should really be doing something besides watching him. The flex of his bicep as he wraps his hand around the next post and shakes it, the tightness in his back as he raises the hammer and brings it down hard on the top of the post to force it further into the ground... You let out a pleased hum involuntarily. Are you proud of your ineptitude? No. Is seeing König work sort of worth it? Absolutely.

“You sure I can’t help?” You ask, more to be polite than to actually offer. König glances at you, the soft patterned sundress, the sandals, and shakes his head. No, the only thing you need to do is keep looking at him like that.

“Don’t need any help,” He sits back on his heels, staring at the fence post for a moment, before he looks back at you, “actually, if you had something to drink?”

You nod quickly, feeling like just the worst host in the world. You’d been so busy drooling over how hot your poor neighbor is you’d forgotten how hot he must be working out here. You can see the sweat on his skin, the wetness of his shirt where it sticks to him, of course he’s thirsty.

“I’ve got some lemonade, how’s that?”

“Perfect, thank you Hummelchen.” You smile at the nickname, whatever it means it feels affectionate and it makes you happy. You’ve never had a nickname before.

You steal a last look at the flex of his biceps before scurrying back to the house. This you can do, piling ice high in a glass and pouring lemonade just to where you think it might spill. You pop another glass in the freezer for later and feel fairly pleased with yourself, thinking ahead for once. You grab the glass to take out to König, careful not to spill as you cross the grass.

He's back to working hard, tapping nails into fence posts, and making sure everything is as secure as possible for you. For you. He's doing this for you. Just like he does everything for you, and doesn't ask for shit in return. It would be hot if you weren't starting to worry you're taking advantage of him. He looks up when he hears you approaching, his eyes crinkling pleasantly at the edges. He doesn't seem to mind helping you out. You should really find a way to return the favor.

You hold the glass out to him, "Looking good!"

He hums, fingers bumping yours as he takes the glass causing some of the drink to spill over your grip. He wants to tell you you're more than welcome to stay and watch, that he likes feeling your gaze so heavy on him, so appreciative, but he stops.

You lick the sticky sweet drink from your fingers without thinking, a terrible habit you've picked up living alone. König's eyes trace the motion, the soft pink of your tongue as it slides over your fingers. His own fingers tightening on the cool glass, feeling the creak of it trying to hold up under his grip. You don't know what you do to him, making an inquisitive noise at his staring, wiping the wet of your fingers on your skirt.

"You need something else?" You ask, König's voice catches in his throat. You. You. God, only you. You're all he needs and then some. You really must not know. Fuck, he wants to show you, wants to make sure you know how your every movement affects him. Maybe then you wouldn't be so spectacularly naive.

"No," he finally grits. You grin, just happy to have helped even a little.

"Just grab me if you do, I gotta finish up the laundry but I'll be back for your glass." You pat the post nearest you with finality and turn back to the house. König watches you go, thumb rubbing at the condensation on the glass.

König's hand settles on your shoulder as you're pinning sheets in place on the line. It makes you jump a little, you'd been thinking and hadn't heard him walk up.

"Paddock's done," His hand is damp with sweat and dirt, his voice almost as warm as the air. You glance over your shoulder at him and have to pretend you're not staring. It's weird he'd lose the shirt and not the bandana but you're not complaining. He's littered with scars but they only add to the appeal of the cut musculature, did he walk out of a museum? He's gorgeous, and your throat feels dry for any sane words but "wow" and "Holy shit" and "do you mind if I just touch you for a little." You tear your eyes away from his abs to look at the paddock.

Perfectly straight fence and evenly spaced poles, your new critter already snuffling about in the grass. There's even water and food troughs, you wonder if he found those in the old shed or if he brought them from his place. Somehow the well fit fence makes him all the more attractive.

"You'll need a shed for it, but it should be fine for tonight." König tells you, you nod a little and swallow the drool you're working on.

"Piggy smalls can sleep in the house, he's little so-" you cut yourself off, the questioning concern in König's eye makes you think you've said something wrong again.

"Is that what you've named it?" You nod quickly and hear him snort.

"You like it?" You ask, just to hear him tell you no.

"It's very... you." He says after a moment, smile wide enough you can almost see the edges under his bandana. Butterflies kick up in your stomach and you twist your fingers into your skirt so you don't reach to try and touch him.

"Are you staying for dinner?" You ask quickly, before you lose the nerve to say anything to him.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes."

He likes the way you say it, like a sigh. Like you could never say anything else to him. "Then I'll stay."

#cowboy!König #oc: bee #könig x you #könig modern warfare #könig x reader #x reader #god theyre so silly #hes stalking you queen!! stop inviting him over!!!#bee reads dark romances shed probably think it was hot #thats Love levels of crazy

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peavhyshy · 5 months

Text

𝗣𝗘𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦 (oneshot)

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: In which you keep JJ company while he recovers from COVID-19, playing nurse and cuddling up to take care of him.

Warnings: covid-19, sexually suggestive comments, fluff, some angst?, mild language, mention of JJ's dad, JJ kisses reader even though he has COVID, obviously you shouldn't kiss someone if you have covid but this based on that one Lana Del Rey lyric

Words: 1,424

Outer Banks Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Peppers (the lana song)

You knocked on the screen door of the worn-down beach house, peering inside for any signs of life. "JJ?" you called out.

A round of violent coughing echoed from down the hall followed by a raspy voice. "In here!"

You let yourself in, wrinkling your nose at the lingering scent of beer and cigarettes that permeated the Maybank home. You found JJ curled up on the couch, wrapped in a tattered blanket. His nose was red, his blond hair a tangled mess. Used tissues littered the coffee table in front of him.

"You look like death," you said, plopping down on the couch next to him.

JJ cracked a smile. "Thanks, that makes me feel so much better." His voice was hoarse.

You playfully hit his arm. "You know what I mean. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, just dandy," JJ said. "Peachy keen." He erupted into another fit of coughing.

You grabbed a half-empty glass of water from the table and handed it to him. "Here, drink this."

JJ took a few sips to soothe his throat. "So I'm guessing you got my text about testing positive for the 'rona?"

"Yup, got it this morning," You said. As you absentmindedly pushed JJ's hair back from his sweaty forehead to feel his temperature.

"And you still came over?" JJ asked in disbelief. "I'm like super contagious right now."

You shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a ride or die. Gotta make sure you're okay."

JJ grinned and pulled you in for a big sloppy kiss. You squealed and pushed him away.

"Ew JJ! What the hell?" You dramatically wiped your mouth.

"Hey, you're the one who came to see me, COVID cooties and all," JJ said with a laugh that turned into a cough. "Might as well seal the deal and swap some germs."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. "You're disgusting." you tossed him the TV remote. "Now pick something to watch while I make you some soup or something. We'll ride out this quarantine together."

JJ clicked on the TV, settling back into the couch. "You know, you really are the best."

"Yeah, yeah," you waved dismissively but you were still smiling. "Just don't cough on me anymore."

JJ grinned mischievously at you despite his sickly state. "Don't tempt me, I have no problem about getting you sick too if it means more time with my best girl." He faked a dramatic coughing fit, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you though he could tell you weren't actually annoyed with him.

"You're just loving having me play nurse for you, aren't you?" You joked as you headed to the kitchen. He could get used to being quarantined if you were taking care of him, that was for sure. Maybe he'd milk this illness a little longer than necessary.

JJ stretched out languidly on the couch, the old springs creaking beneath his weight. He grabbed another tissue to blow his nose which was growing raw and irritated from constant wiping. At least he could still vaguely taste and smell - the steaming bowl of soup you soon presented to him was evidence of that.

"You're a lifesaver, I don't know what I'd do without you Y/N," JJ said earnestly after finishing the entire bowl in record time, his appetite apparently unaffected. He playfully patted the spot on the couch next to him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Now, nurse, I believe your patient requires some additional tender loving care, if you know what I mean."

"Come on baby, you know you want to play nurse with me," he cajoled, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. He faked another dramatic coughing fit. "I think I need some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," he joked, making exaggerated kissing noises.

Truth be told, he just wanted you close to him, to feel your soothing presence. Having you here taking care of him made him feel cared for in a way he rarely experienced from his drunk deadbeat dad. He reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you down onto the couch. You let out a surprised squeak as you fell into his lap. JJ wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck.

"Mmm you smell good," he mumbled, breathing in the sweet floral scent of your skin and hair. You squirmed against him but didn't fully pull away. JJ reached up and playfully tugged on one of your strands of hair.

"Just let me hold you for a bit," he pleaded, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. "It'll help me feel better, I promise." He cracked a mischievous grin. "Unless you want to do more than cuddle…" he added suggestively, waggling his eyebrows.

You felt your cheeks flush as JJ pulled you into his lap, his arms holding you close. Despite his illness, that cocky grin of his still made your stomach flutter.

"JJ!" You tried to scold, but couldn't keep the smile off your face. His enthusiasm was infectious. You playfully swatted his hands away as they drifted to your chest.

"Cuddle only mister. I'm immune to those puppy dog eyes," You said firmly. Still, you relaxed into his embrace, nestling your head on his shoulder.

"For now at least," JJ teased, his warm breath tickling your ear.

Maybe you’d regret this later, but right now taking care of a sick JJ felt natural. He needed you- and knowing that filled you with purpose. You glanced up at him, heart melting at the open affection in his eyes. You reached up and traced the bruise on his jaw from his latest fight.

"I'll always be here to patch you up JJ," you murmured. Impulsively you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. JJ sighed in contentment, tightening his arms around you. For now, you simply held each other, letting the steady beats of your hearts lull you into comfort. The rest of the world could wait.

''Will your dad be back soon?''

JJ glanced nervously at the front door before settling his gaze back on you. "He shouldn't be back for a while," he said quietly. "Went on one of his benders last night so he'll probably sleep through the day."

JJ shifted on the worn couch, wincing slightly as the movement aggravated his sore ribs. He hoped you wouldn't notice - the last thing he wanted was your pity. "I wish he'd just disappear for good," JJ muttered bitterly. He scrubbed a hand across his face, not wanting to dwell on his useless excuse for a father.

"Anyway, enough about him," JJ said, forcing a grin. "I've got way better company right now."

He playfully tugged on one of the hair strands, admiring how the sunlight filtering through the blinds brought out the highlights in your hair. You were so beautiful it made his chest ache. JJ wished he could freeze this moment - just the two of you here together, your kind eyes gazing at him with understanding rather than judgment.

"You're too good to me Y/N," JJ said quietly. Before he could overthink it, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. Your skin was petal soft beneath his lips.

JJ pulled back, heart hammering in his chest. He gave you a crooked smile, hoping you couldn't hear how loud it was beating. "So, wanna raid the crappy cable TV options with me? We can trash talk all the awful daytime soaps."

You looked shocked, unable to speak for a few moments before recovering. You composed yourself before answering, "You know I'll always be here for you JJ, whenever you need me." You give him a soft smile, trying to convey your sincerity. If he wants to drop the subject of his father and move on, you'll happily oblige.

"Daytime TV sounds perfect right now. Let's see who can come up with the most ridiculous plot summaries for these shows," You say with a playful grin. You grab the remote and start flipping through channels, settling on a particularly melodramatic soap opera.

Leaning into JJ's side, you point at the screen. "Okay, that guy definitely just found out the kid he's raising isn't actually his. And that woman is clearly his scorned ex-lover who's out for revenge." You dissolve into giggles, amused by your own silly narration.

You are glad to see JJ's somber mood start to lift, a small smile creeping onto his face. Moments like these make all the chaos and hardship feel worth it. As long as you have each other, you'll be okay.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #obx #outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #obx imagine #jj obx #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks jj

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writing-for-marvel · 8 months

Text

Quarantine

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 7 | Series Masterlist

Summary: When you get sick at work, Bucky ensures you’re well taken care of.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, reader gets sick at work and collapses, Bucky being worried and an absolute sweetheart while taking care of her

Word count: 1.3k (I know this is just a short one but my plan for the next part is quite long)

A/N: so I’ve been sick in bed all this week with covid and the only thing I’ve wanted is Bucky taking care of me. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Bucky takes the stairs two at a time.

He’s treated many patients in the field who have tripped on steps doing exactly what he is right now, but he doesn’t care.

All he cares about is getting to you.

Bursting out of the stairwell at level two, Bucky searches for the room Wanda quoted to him over the phone. He’s never been to this area of the hospital before, all the corridors and nurses stations look the same, but as soon as he spots her characteristic red hair, he feels respite from the anxious constriction in his chest.

Wanda thanks him for coming so quickly, as if the news that you were ill, collapsed during a shift and now in a hospital bed of your own didn’t send him into a panic and have him rushing here like his life depended on it, before guiding him to where you are.

The room is dark, curtains pulled all the way over the spacious windows, and serenely quiet other than the whizzing mechanical sound coming from the infusion pump connected to the IV inserted in your arm.

You groan when you recognise that it’s Wanda and Bucky who have entered the room.

“Wan, you didn’t have to call him.” Bucky can immediately tell, just by the sound of your unusually hoarse voice, that you’re clearly not well.

“He’s your emergency contact and you are in no state to work nor drive yourself home, so yes, I did have to call him.” Wanda proclaims in a stern, slightly exasperated tone which indicates to Bucky she likely had this same conversation with you multiple times before he arrived.

“Bucky, I’m okay, you don’t have to be here.” You try convincing him, though you’re not very compelling when your sentence ends with a hearty coughing fit.

“If you were fine you wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed coughing up your lungs.” Bucky comments as he makes his way over to beside your bed. You look completely fatigued, struggling to even keep your eyes open.

Bucky’s never seen you look weak before, and the clench of his heart at the sight strongly suggests he doesn’t like it one bit.

“I just need a little rest and some IV fluids, then I’ll be fine to go back to work.” Your words almost sound comical with how raspy and fragile your voice is, but Bucky knows your insistence is a testament to your dedication to your job. “There’s really no reason to be worried.”

“I’m always worried about you.” Bucky mentions in a low tone, for your ears only, before placing a gentle kiss to your burning hot forehead. He takes your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Baby you can’t treat patients when you’re like this, you’re at risk of infecting them. Let me take you home.”

You concede as you lift yourself onto your forearms, sitting up in the bed, not without a dry cough being forced from your lungs by the effort. Bucky winces in response to the gravelly sound and the pain twisting in your face.

He wishes he could take it all away. All your suffering, all the sickness. On the job, Bucky is always able to provide assistance - relief from pain, to reduce bleeding, to ease anxiety. But for the one person in this world he cares about the most, he’s subjected to watching her suffer.

“Could you help please?” Holding out your hand where the catheter for your IV is inserted, you look up at him with helpless, wide eyes which makes Bucky smile and his heart flutter in his chest. It’s always nice to be needed.

Sanitising his hands and pulling on latex gloves, he places a sweet kiss to your knuckles before working to remove the IV, aware of your gaze on his every move.

“There you go darling, all done.” Bucky declares with a kiss to your nose, keeping pressure on your hand with his thumb to stop any bleeding before being able to tape a cotton round to it. “Ready to go home?”

“With you, always.”

Bucky protectively keeps his arm around you the entire way down to the staff parking until buckling you in the passenger seat of your own car, cautious knowing you had a moment of lightheadedness earlier today.

You rest your head against the side window, arms curled around yourself as Bucky begins the short drive to your place, turning the heating up to ensure you don’t get cold now that you are out from under the blankets Wanda had acquired for you.

“So… you made me your emergency contact.” Bucky broaches, having previously been unaware of this fact. He contemplated the reason Wanda called him today is because she knows the two of you are in a relationship, but warmth blooms in his chest at the notion you have officially designated him as the person you want to be contacted in a crisis.

“I changed it about a week ago. It was my mom, but she lives out of state… and I thought you’d probably want to know if something terrible happens to me.” It is probably such a minor thing in a normal relationship, just something which sits unutilised in an employee file, but to Bucky, who works in a profession where emergency contacts are critically important, it feels like an honour bestowed upon him to be appointed as yours. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay, darling.” Bucky smiles as the hand he is not using on the steering wheel comes to rest on your thigh, squeezing gently. “If anything happens to you, I wanna be the first to know, good and bad.”

With a snuffle of your nose and the best smile you can muster given your current energy levels, you interlace your hand with his and say “you’re always the first person I want to tell every piece of good news to, Bucky.”

When you arrive home, the first thing Bucky does is lead you straight to bed and tuck you in with two different blankets and the stuffie he won you during your date to the local carnival which visited town last week.

He gathers all the supplies you’ll need for the rest of the afternoon - cold and flu tablets, a water bottle, tissues and throat lozenges, making sure they’re all within reach of your place in bed. Bucky gently washes your feverishly warm face with a cool, damp face cloth, and insists you take a drink of water to prevent from becoming dehydrated.

Then, when you start to say goodbye, for whatever reason thinking Bucky is going to leave you here to be sick on your own, he pulls his Henley off, and climbs into bed behind you.

“No, Bucky…” You whine, feebly attempting to push him away from lying beside you in bed, which is a new and strange experience for Bucky.

“I think the fever has made you delirious, darling.” Bucky chuckles, taking your hand against his bare chest and covering it with his own as he snuggles even closer next to you.

“You’re gonna get sick too if you stay.” Bucky kisses your chapped lips, to prove that he’s not afraid of being with you whilst you're unwell.

“Baby, I had my tongue down your throat last night. If you’re already sick, I’m bound to get sick too.” Even if he weren’t already fated to contract the same illness as you, he’d take that risk just to fall asleep beside you.

You provide no more protest, surrendering to Bucky’s warm embrace and quickly falling into a deep, recuperative sleep. Bucky watches as your chest rises and falls, treasuring every moment he gets to spend by the side of the woman he loves, even if you are slightly sweaty and phlegmy.

When you both wake the following morning, still tangled in each other, you have matching runny noses, sore throats and dry coughs. The following week is destined to be spent curled up in bed together and taking care of one another. At least you don’t have to suffer alone.

Part nine coming soon

Be added to the taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @princezzjasmine @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @kayden666 @amiimar @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet

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writershapeholeonthedoor · 8 months

Text

My AO3 acount

writershapeholeonthedoor

My Masterlist on Tumblr

Requests

SUPERCORP

One-Shots

Yellow Sun: Lena had never been more comfortable in her entire life

It's Cold Outside: 6 times Lena feels cold and 1 time Kara promises to keep her warm

Good Luck Kisses: There's a new trend around

You marked more than just my skin: Kara gets a tattoo and Lena is an tattoo artist

Dino gear: Kara’s main goal is to make Lena happy

You look perfect: Lena can't stop staring

I'm slowly dying (with or without you): Lena has a panic attack, Kara’s there

Old friends: Sam attends Alex's wedding.

Baby Driver: Lena doesn't know how to drive and Kara offers to teach her so she can take her license, however, driving proves to be harder than Lena thought it would be.

Drabbles

Kara declaims short poems at Lena part 1

Kara declaims short poems at Lena part 2

Supercorp at Quarantine part 1

Fanart/Gif sets drabbles (inspired by fanarts or gif sets from other people)

Wives spending a cozy night at home

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Kara explaining her tattoos

Lena’s Birthday

BISHOVA

Slumber Party: Yelena wants to have a slumber party tonight.

That is not cutlery: Yelena keeps coming back and Kate just might end up wanting her to stay.

CAROLNAT

I Wanna Believe (that we're a masterpiece): Natasha seems to be unable to take care of herself, so Carol decides she will be the one to do that.

WANDANAT

Pillow talk: Natasha is back from a mission and all she wants is to see Wanda. Wanda, however, is already enterteined with another activity.

Take Care: Everyone tries to warn Wanda what a bad idea it is to fall in love with the big, bad, scary spy.

TWILIGHT

Drabble: Cute Rosalie and Charlie bonding moment.

Bella is high: Bella smokes weed.

FLORENCE PUGH X READER

Sunday Plans: It's a lazy Sunday morning and Florence has an important question for you

Happy Together: A cute unplanned date night with your girlfriend, Florence.

Black widow: Cooking With Flo is back and you make an accidental cameo that get the entire world to know about you relationship with Florence.

Kiss me more: This is the first time your friends are meeting your girlfriend and you're excited about it.

Sunrise in the East: Reader is very happy having one-night stands or having friends with benefits, avoiding any serious relationship for a while now. However, things change and she suddenly starts to think that dating wouldn't be all that bad.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON X READER

Mrs Hollywood: It's not always easy to date a Hollywood star.

Make up your mind: You ask Scarlett out on a date.

Mayores: Someone sends you flowers and your girlfriend isn't happy about it.

ELIZABETH OLSEN X READER

Marry you: During an interview, someone asks you to marry them and your girlfriend isn't happy about it.

Marry you (part 2): Your girlfriend proposed, your friends are happy for you, and you still have work to do.

Marry you (part 3): It's time for the world to know about your relationship.

Cool kids: Elizabeth meets your son.

Love me harder: You are having a nice day out with Elizabeth when a paparazzi stumble over you.

Happier than ever: Your last relationship was toxic and you're still coping with that.

Only girl: You and Elizabeth enjoy a quiet night at home.

She's so lovely: Elizabeth introduces you to the world.

Lay all your love (on me): You get hired to be Elizabeth’s love interest in her new movie and nothing could prepare you to how your life would change upon meeting her.

Skin: *SMUT* There are times when you need Elizabeth to consume you.

Runnin' home to you: After months of trying, it’s time to tell your wife that you're pregnant.

Dog days are over: Elizabeth isn’t a dog person… but you are. After the puppy interview, you try to convince your girlfriend to take one of them home.

Tattooed heart: You have tattoos everywhere and your girlfriend suffers from severe anxiety. You learned to walk around with Sharpies to help her out.

Into you: A quiet day at home with the person that consumes your every breath.

| Last updated: Jan. 20th, 2024.

#my writing #masterlist #fanfic #ao3 #supercorp #bishova #carolnat #twilight #florence pugh #scarlett johansson #florence pugh x reader #scarlett johansson x reader #drabbles #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wandanat #wanda x natasha

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cinemastyles-backup · 6 months

Text

Late Night Talking

Summary: Harry shows y/n his new song he wrote

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, oral (f rec), simple cute filth

My original CinemaStyles-blog has been terminated, so I created a new one.

QUARANTINE HARRY

"I wrote a song for the new album." Harry says as he plays with my hair, "I think you'll like it."

"Yeah?" I lean up and bend my arm on the back of the couch, resting my hand on my hand, "Let's hear it."

He smiles shyly and lets out a sigh, "Okay." He taps his fingers on his leg and nods his head slightly as he hums, "We've been doin' all this late night talkin'.. 'Bout anythin' you want until the mornin'..Now you're in my life..I can't get you off my mind."

He looks over at me and shrugs, "It's just- something."

I smile and stare at him, "I can't wait to hear the full song, Harry." I bite my lip, "What's it about?"

His head snaps over to me quickly and a smile grows on his face. He shakes his head, "nothing." He chuckles, "Well, If you really want to know."

I nod, "Kind of."

He sighs and points to me, "You. Us."

"Really?" I tilt my head and smile, "Hmm."

"That a bad hmm?"

I shake my head, "Not at all. I just, I never really thought anyone would write a song about me."

He holds his arms open for me to lay on his chest, "I had to. You were the perfect muse for me."

"Perfect?" I lay a hand on his stomach, "Really?"

"Mhm. It's about, two people. Who.." he pauses and I can hear his heart beat speed up, "kinda.. fell in love during a certain time period.."

I believe he's referring to us being quarantined together.

"And they were away from each other, for only a couple days and ended up missing each other."

I smile and looks up at him, "That sounds very familiar."

He smirks and nods, "Yeah, yeah. Just wait until you hear the full song. It'll really hit you then."

I smile and shift closer to him, I lay an arm over his and play with his hair at the nape of his neck, "So. Late Night Talking.. does that refer to us.. not talking? Or.."

"Yes and no." He chuckles, "All the different conversations we have and had while laying in bed together for all hours of the night."

I twirl his hair around my finger and look over his face, "I like it."

"You didn't even-"

"I don't have to hear it, because if it's a song, written by you, about me. I know it'll be amazing." I lean in and kiss his lips.

He smiles and brushes hair out of my face, "You are pretty great, y/n."

"So are you." I kiss him again, gradually working up to a passionate make out, "So.. are we going.. to do.. some.. not talking.. late night.. talking?" I ask in between kisses.

He nods and pulls me into his lap, "Mhm."

His hands slide down my body and he lifts my shirt up and over my head tossing it behind us, "You don't need that." He says before reconnecting our lips.

I wrap my arms around his neck and grind down onto him. He moans lowly against my lips and kisses down my chest. He slides his hands back up and takes a nipple between each of his fingers.

I tilt my head back and moan as he nips the skin on my boobs.

He pushes his hips up to meet mine and I moan as the friction is applied hard to my clit, "Harry." I breathe out, "I need you."

He looks up at me and I look down at him. He continues to knead and pinch at my boobs, watching as my eyes roll back, "Harry." I whimper, "P-please."

"It has been a couple of days since I've had you, hasn't it?" He asks with a low chuckle.

I nod and pull his hair, "Yes."

"Looks like we have to do something about that, don't we baby?" He wraps an arm around my waist and stands up.

We make our way into the bedroom, and he throws me onto his bed, "I've missed you."

I smile up at him, "I've missed you."

He slips off his tee and pushes his sweats down, "I'm going to make you feel so good tonight." He takes my panties off and spreads my legs, looking over what he's missed.

Without another word he lays down on the bed and hooks his arms under my thighs and presses his tongue to my clit, letting out a loud moan, "Mm."

I arch my back off the bed and I gasp. I slam my hands down on the bed and grab the blanket, "Shit."

He works his way down, his mustache tickles my skin as his tongue sliding up and down my folds. I let out a loud moan, pulling him closer with my legs.

I tangle my fingers into his hair, "H-Harry." I gasp out as I start to pant. My chest rises and falls quickly as he slurps on my pussy, working me up to cum.

"Shit shit." I moan and roll my eyes closed, "Fuck." I whimper as I clench around his tongue. I let out a whine as I cum on his face and my arms fall limp to the bed.

Usually Harry pulls away by now but he didn't. Instead, he slips two fingers inside of me and curls them slowly.

Over and over again.

I arch my back off the bed and moan out his name loudly, "Harry."

He moans against my clit and works his fingers faster.

I'm back to panting and I can feel sweat start to form on my skin, "Fuck. Fuck." I moan, my hands desperately grabbing at his hair and pushing his head into me, "H-Harry."

He brings me to my second orgasm or the night and he leans back slightly to kiss up my thighs. I can feel the wetness from me clinging to the hair on his face and I bite my lip as he crawls up to hover over me.

"You like that?" He asks with a smug smirk on his face.

I nod, "very much."

He nods once and leans down to kiss me. Our lips move in sync as he kicks his underwear off, "I can't wait to feel you again." He mumbles as he kisses down my neck.

I place my hands on his chest and shoulder as he rubs the head of his cock against my soaked pussy. My nails press into his skin as he slowly pushes in and my lips part as a quiet gasp escapes my lips.

He moans and tilts his head back, "Fuck."

I wrap an arm around his neck and look up at him, "I've missed how good you feel."

He nods, "Uh huh." He presses his forehead to mine and slowly starts to thrust, "I agree."

I lay a hand on his cheek and bring my leg up to lay across his back. He reaches down and his hand grips the outer side of my thigh, "Fuck baby."

He locks his eyes with mine, "You-" he shakes his head and moans, "Make me feel so good."

I kiss him and moan into his mouth. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and pulls back slightly. I gasp and pull myself closer to him.

I clench around him as I get ready to cum again, "Harry." I whimper as I dig my nails into his back.

He moans and slides a hand up to grip my hair. He tilts my head back and latches onto my skin.

I'll be surprised if there isn't a hickey there later.

I arch my back up, my chest pressing against his, "Fuck." I curse as my orgasm takes over my body for the third time.

He moans and let's go of my hair, "Fuck."

He places his hands on the bed next to my head and his thrusts get harder.

He groans as they gradually slow down and he pulls out, pumping his cock as he cums onto my stomach.

He stays still for a moment as we both catch our breathe.

"Amazing as always." He says with a smile. He stands up and walks over to the bathroom grabbing something to clean us both up with.

He tosses the towel into the basket and gets into bed next to me, planting a kiss onto my forehead, "So what do you want to talk about tonight?"

——

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated and don’t forget to hit follow! ♥

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astranva · 2 years

Text

Planet Evans Universe Masterlist

Following the life of overprotective!dad!Chris x wife!actress!reader!

Disclaimer: You can get to enjoy the one shots/blurbs as stand-alones without knowing the background of the universe but for a full experience, check out the tag! Happy reading. x

Planet Evans Universe Tag

Planet Evans Timeline | pe!reader’s Wikipedia Page | pe!reader's Dating History | Social Media tag | Blurbs tag

One Shots

2014

How We Met - In which Chris was a nervous mess when he met his A+ list celebrity crush, highest-paid, and the most iconic actress, you, at Vanity Fair’s 2014 after party.

2015

Go on a Date With Me - How Chris asked you out on a date.

First Kiss - Teasing led to your first kiss.

Chris' Birthday - First birthday to celebrate together.

2016

Anxious - Chris didn't know that getting drunk would trigger you.

Scared - Seeing you with your co-star, Andrew Garfield, didn’t just make Chris jealous. it made him scared.

2017

Pregnancy Scare - The one where your period was late.

Graduation - Chris talks about attending pe!reader's graduation on Jimmy Kimmel's.

2018

Get Out of Here - Security didn't believe Chris was your fiance when visiting you on set.

2019

Cheating Rumors - Things looked bad during the Knives Out press tour for Chris.

2020

Glambot - pe!reader and Chris pose for the Oscars' glambot.

Buzzcut - Chris posts a video on Instagram of pe!reader giving him a buzzcut during quarantine.

2021

Getting Ready with Vogue - Vogue posts Chris and y/n y/l/n-evans getting ready for 2021 Oscars.

Actors on Actors - Married and in love, you and Chris do Variety’s Actors on Actors interview together.

2022

Celebrities fangirling over y/n y/l/n for 18 minutes straight - Being one of the most globally famous, a-list actresses meant that you were always the talk of other celebrities and shows, and a fan compiles some of these times in one YouTube video.

Your Comfort - Chris can’t help but feel overprotective over his pregnant wife.

Coffee and Bagel - Pregnant, you and Chris get swarmed by paps and Chris loses his shit when you almost trip.

Bagel Secured - Chris would do anything to get you your bagel.

Loving on Live - A few months before River’s birth, you and Chris went live on Instagram as you cooked, reminiscing some memories and making the world freak out over watching their favorite couple.

Sexiest Man Alive - In which Chris is 2022’s Sexiest Man Alive, he can’t stop talking about you and your son, and you already know.

Oprah Winfrey Interview - As one of the most famous actresses in the world, fans watch your tell-all interview with Oprah Winfrey which Chris joins.

TikTok - A fan posts a TikTok edit of pe!reader and Chris.

The Kids as Babies

River - In which you gave birth and Chris is an emotional mess.

Clingy - In which your baby, River, is clingy to you and Chris is upset.

The Kids as Toddlers

Christmas Bliss - With 4 kids, Christmas is emotional and everything but boring.

Blurbs

Overprotective - pe!reader talks about overprotective!Chris in a Jimmy Fallon interview.

The Grey Man Premiere - Pregnant pe!reader attends The Gray Man premiere.

Morning Baby Bump Cuddles - Dodger likes to cuddle pe!reader’s bump every morning.

Hormones - Chris is understanding to pe!reader’s (lonely) hormones.

Wedding Ring - pe!reader feels a little off about Chris not wearing his wedding ring (early marriage period).

Magic Number - pe!reader has been with less people than Chris and he wishes he'd waited.

FaceTime - After tiring press interviews, Chris can't help but sleep during his and pe!reader's facetime and feels bad about it.

Cast Was Great - pe!reader gets asked about her thoughts on The Gray Man in an online interview.

Always Right - When chris gets insecure about pe!reader liking Henry Cavill's mustache.

My Mind & Me - pe!reader in Selena Gomez's documentary.

Do You Love Me? - pe!reader asks Chris if he loves her but he doesn't give her the answer she wants.

Stuck - Chris feels bad about being known for Captain America only and pe!reader assures him.

chris's gifs with dodger. that's the blurb.

Confession - pe!reader admits she didn't know Chris' name when she first met him.

Teenage Crush - James McAvoy finds out that pe!reader had a crush on him when filming atonement for the first time.

Triggered - pe!reader gets triggered by Chris' drinking early on in the relationship.

Full Course Meal - pe!reader knows how to make Chris' bad day better.

Leaked - Chris leaks pictures of himself and pe!reader.

Amy Dune - pe!reader gets asked about Amy Dune as a role model at a press junket.

Shots - River gets his shots a 3 months.

Avatar 2's Dolphin Show - Articles about pe!reader being upset over her movie's press involving animal cruelty.

Rules - Just pe!reader and Chris being flirty on their yacht.

Date Night - pe!reader and Chris have a date night after River is asleep and Chris goes down on his knees for her.

Other Plans - Seeing pe!reader dressed up makes Chris go feral enough to cancel her plans himself.

Cop 'Stache - pe!reader reacts to Chris' 2018 mustache and haircut.

Dior - Dior names a bag after pe!reader.

Butterfly - Chris says why he thinks pe!reader's spirit animal is a butterfly on Jimmy Fallon's.

One and Only - Adele talking about pe!reader at her concert.

Time - pe!reader being flirty with Chris.

Necklace - Chris gets pe!reader a butterfly necklace.

Family Gossip - The family of 6 like a good gossiping session in the kitchen.

Gossip Circle - The men in the family feel left out of pe!reader and B's gossip circle.

That Look - Chris gets confident and cocky when he's jealous.

Jealous - A jealous pe!reader makes an appearance.

Tattoos - People magazine write about Chris' tattoos.

Tiny Mic - pe!reader and Chris react to a tiny mic on the red carpet.

#chris evans imagine #planet evans universe #planet evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff imagine #chris evans fluff one shot #chris evans one shot

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 year

Text

We're Somebody's Parents

First Babies of Private Garden Instagram AU

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, neelamthadhani, maggieharlow, quiiso, yungskylark, cozane, and 2,861,052 others

y/ninsta: Axel a.k.a. Lil Urb says hi everyone lol

jackharlow: my main man 😍

saweetie: so happy you came to visit me. he is the spitting image of the both of you. can't deny him if you wanted to

urbanandjack25: wait, why is he called Lil Urb?

y/ninsta: urbandjack25 because of his middle name

urbanwyatt: godfather checking in

neelamthadhani: urban takes his job seriously lol

urbanwyatt: neelamthadhani of course I do. I'm convinced he even looks like me.

jackharlow: urbanwyatt don't fucking start because no he doesn't

yungskylark: urbanwyatt he only kinda looks like you when you both wear bucket hats. don't get it twisted lmao

allthingsy/n: yesss y/n in her mommy era! we stan!

quiiso: if urbanwyatt could just kidnap Axel and have him all to himself, he would

urbanwyatt: quiiso they shouldn't have named him after me. that's my kid now.

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt well in that case come get him. and your dumbass wanted all three of them named after you

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta I don't see the problem?

y/ninsta: softtcurse girl come get your man because he irky

softtcurse: y/ninsta what makes you think I want him?

urbanwyatt: softtcurse outta pocket

y/ninsta: damn. double homicide.

Liked by y/ninsta, saweetie, claybornharlow, dualipa, champagnepapi, urbanwyatt, neelamthadhani, taylorrooks, and 2,791,264 others

jackharlow: Ivy actually stayed still and let me do her hair 😭

saweetie: jackharlow ain't no fucking way you did her hair

jackharlow: saweetie yes I did! ask y/ninsta!

saweetie: y/ninsta EXCUSE ME, MISS MA'AM!

y/ninsta: saweetie he did her hair and did it without my help. jackharlow good job daddy!

claybornharlow: now jackharlow can add hair stylist to his resume

jackharlow: claybornharlow catch me at NYFW next year backstage. I'm putting in weaves next and gluing wigs with lace fronts. y/ninsta come here and let me practice on you.

theestallion: jackharlow lmaooo aye yo

y/ninsta: jackharlow no. get somebody else to do it.

quiiso: those practice sessions with y/ninsta paid off!

allthingsy/n: I LIVE for domestic daddy Jack 😭

urbanwyatt: jackharlow has been doing y/ninsta's hair since quarantine so I would hope that he knew how to do his daughter's hair by now

jackharlowsource: urbanwyatt oh? do tell!

jackharlow: one day when I was of course driving her up the wall, she randomly said, if we have girls you need to know how to do their hair and from then, she let me practice on her.

y/ninsta: never seen a white boy who can part my hair as good as he does so when I'm too tired, he definitely does it for me

jackharlow: in my hair stylist era 🥰

normani: I am living for the heart shaped part in the middle! good job Jack Jack! maybe you can do druski2funny's wig

druski2funny: normani now why am I in it?!

jackharlow: druski2funny I'm charging you extra

druski2funny: jackharlow why?! I'm your life partner!

jackharlow: druski2funny you got a big ass head, that's why

lilnasx: jackharlow lmaooooooo

Liked by jackharlow, maggieharlow, urbanwyatt, claybornharlow, yourmomsinstagramname, danivalentine, djdrama, yungskylark, and 3,702,163 others

y/ninsta: Jackman, come get your youngest NEOW 😭😭😭

jackharlow: WHY MY BABY IN THE FRIDGE?! y/ninsta EXPLAIN THIS

y/ninsta: jackharlow WHAT DO YOU MEAN, EXPLAIN?! HER ASS OPENED IT AND CRAWLED IN THERE

claybornharlow: Autumn is literally the no limit soldier out of the three of them lmao

urbanwyatt: 😭😭😭😭😭

y/ninsta: I noticed that it was a little too quiet and I swear that I only turned around for a second and her ass was GONE. Next thing I knew, I hear something from the kitchen and look what I find

y/ninsta: maggieharlow come get the grandchildren you wanted so much because I am DONE

urbandjack25: NOT Y/N TRYING TO GIVE THE BABIES TO MAGGIE LMAO

jackharlow: well y/n did you at least take her out? lmao

y/ninsta: jackharlow yes and she is now in Harlow baby jail

jackharlowsource: HARLOW BABY JAIL?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?! 😭

y/ninsta: jackharlow it's her third offense this week. she keeps messing around, she'll be there until 21.

jackharlow: y/ninsta 😭😭

maggieharlow: y/ninsta she's so cute!

y/ninsta: maggieharlow now mom..... she has been driving me up the WALL

maggieharlow: y/ninsta she's jackharlow's offspring. did you expect any different?

jackharlow: maggieharlow MOM! WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!

urbanwyatt: maggie stays coming for her oldest lmaooo

claybornharlow: jackharlow maggieharlow she means that you drive your wife up the wall too so of course Autumn does too

jackharlow: claybornharlow let's fight

y/ninsta: jackharlow touch little baby and you sleep on the couch for a week

jackharlow: y/ninsta SERIOUSLY?

claybornharlow: jackharlow love you 🥰🥰

jackharlow: claybornharlow 😐

Liked by y/ninsta, urbanwyatt, softtcurse, 2forwoyne, saweetie, claybornharlow, privategarden, dojacat, dualipa, and 3,802,819 others

jackharlow: first date night with my baby in a while 💕

That ended with us sitting in the car for thirty minutes before we went inside when we got home to our kids after giving ourselves a pep talk lol still can't believe we're somebodies parents

y/ninsta: jackharlow thank you for being the amazing person that you are. I love you, BAD 😭

jackharlow: y/ninsta I love you more and don't you ever forget it

urbanwyatt: can't wait to see how lit the comments under yall posts will be when the triplets get older

jackharlow: urbanwyatt NO.

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt Autumn will be the main one, I already know. 2forwoyne how did she do for you tonight? jackandy/naremyparents: love them forever

2forwoyne: y/ninsta if I still have hair tomorrow, I'll be surprised

y/ninsta: 2forwoyne well Jack still has his and he stays fighting for his life so you'll be okay

jackharlow: y/ninsta for now smh

saweetie: wait a minute, what was this pep talk about?

jackharlow: saweetie to hype ourselves up as parents because we felt like we weren't doing such a good job

maggieharlow: jackharlow y/ninsta you learn as you go and the two of you are doing amazing so far. those three are blessed to have you as their parents

y/ninsta: maggieharlow don't make me cry because you already know that I will

maggieharlow: y/ninsta I call it like I see it!

claybornharlow: yeah I guess jackharlow is doing alright

y/ninsta: do I spy a compliment from little baby to big baby? never thought I'd see the day

jackharlow: claybornharlow what you up to? because I know you are up to something

claybornharlow: jackharlow 👀

jackharlow: claybornharlow look I get stressed out enough from my kids and I'm not adding you to that list too

claybornharlow: y/ninsta whenever you're ready to drop him, I'm here

jackharlow: AND THERE IT FUCKING IS!

y/ninsta: play nice you two!

dualipa: I second what claybornharlow said

y/ninsta: dualipa lunch dateeeeee saturday!

jackharlow: yall can't let me live for shit

dualipa: y/ninsta and leave your sperm donor at home!

jackharlow: dualipa HER WHAT?

dualipa: jackharlow you HEARD me jackharlow: y/ninsta baby, how much is a flame thrower? y/ninsta: NOW JACKMAN!

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, theestallion, normani, saweetie, shloob_, 2forwoyne, champagnepapi, estgee, theshaderoom, and 4, 284,097 others

y/ninsta: now I KNOW yall see why I let this man impregnate me 😭

Whewww shit my husband fine as hell

Okay back to your regularly scheduled programming

jackharlow: I mean I can do it again 👀👀

y/ninsta: jackharlow don't play with me

jackharlow: y/ninsta who's playing? do I look like a video game to you?

y/ninsta: jackharlow 👀

saweetie: not yall horny asses plotting on having more children already

y/ninsta: saweetie my man fine as fuck sis and I will give him all the children he wants

jackharlow: y/ninsta OH

y/ninsta: jackharlow WAIT, HOLD ON. WITHIN REASON. WE ARE NOT HITTING DOUBLE DIGIT NUMBERS SO YOU CAN FUCKING FORGET IT.

jackharlow: y/ninsta nah nah, back up all that shit you were talking

urbanwyatt: so late night food runs so you can leave me at wing stop again? COUNT ME OUT

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt you love me and you will do anything for me and that was one time

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta as long as it doesn't get us arrested, I'm all for it and ONE TIME TOO MANY

jackharlow: y/ninsta don't get quiet on me now

theestallion: y/ninsta he about to tear that ass up lmao

urbandjack25: WE WANT ALL THE HARLOW BABIES!

jessicakelce: urbanandjack25 I SECOND THIS

y/ninsta: jackharlow so you can hide in closets again because of my raging hormones? remember that?

2forwoyne: y/ninsta lmaoooo that was wild

quiiso: jackharlow was convinced that his dick was going to fall off

y/ninsta: quiiso I woulda glued it back on

jackharlowsource: Y/N PLEASEEEEEEE LMAOOOOOO

jackharlow: y/ninsta look, we don't talk about dark times

Liked by y/ninsta, saweetie, dualipa, dojacat, urbanwyatt, 2forwoyne, taylorrooks, neelamthadhani, danivalentine, and 5,872,018 others

jackharlow: my favorite MILF 😍😍

y/ninsta: jackharlow well look who it is, my favorite DILF 🤭

blancahood: okay snap back is crazy. TRIPLETS WHERE?

y/ninsta: blancahood oh trust sis, the stretch marks and cellulite are there hiding lol

jackharlow: y/ninsta you don't take the meat off the grill until it's well done with the lines on it

urbanwyatt: jackharlow did you just compare your wife to food?

jackharlow: urbanwyatt fuck yeah I did, I literally EAT HER OUT. she is my favorite meal. suck that shit right off the bone.

y/ninsta: jackharlow you so cute lol and so nasty I love it

thestallion: good lord. number 4 is probably coming soon yall lmao

y/ninsta: theestallion ehhhhh

jackharlow: she's back on birth control so not any time soon

jessicakelce: jackharlow the same one as before? lmaoooo

blancahood: swallowing is the best form of birth control

y/ninsta: blancahood I second this lol

y/ninsta: jessicakelce look I'm to the point where whatever happens, happens. I'm really happy with my little tribe and if we add to it, I'll be happy too

normani: since my predictions are always right. I vote twins next.

y/ninsta: normani WHAT?! NO!

normani: y/ninsta it's less than three!

y/ninsta: normani and that's supposed to make it better?!? jackharlow you better fucking NOT

jackharlow: y/ninsta I DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING

y/ninsta: jackharlow NOT YET ANYWAY with that muthafuckin super sperm your ass has

jackharlow: y/ninsta maybe I agree with normani

y/ninsta: jackharlow well you must be the person carrying them because ISSA NO FOR ME DAWG

jackharlow: y/ninsta you say that now, but you'll fold. you always do.

Taglist:

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#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow x you #jack harlow instagram au #instagram au #first babies of pg

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peachyteabuck · 1 year

Text

cross the line (peggy carter x reader)

summary: after you’re officially coronated, your already-atypical relationship with your personal knight becomes something even more scandalous

commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous

pairing: peggy carter x reader

words: 7649

content warnings: the world’s most historically inaccurate royal au!, knight/personal guard!peggy, queen!reader, murder of a minor character, attempted murder of a main character, violence done onto the main character, virginity taking, strap on use, dubious consent, praise, i made steven grant rogers a misogynist for shits + gigs, protective!peggy, dom!peggy, sub!reader, blowjobs on strapons, manipulation

divider by @firefly-graphics

This is your dream. This has been your dream since you knew what dreams were. Every moment of your life since the minute you unleashed your first scream was dedicated to primping and priming you until you were molded into the perfect queen.

This is your dream. As a baby, you were sequestered from everyone but the doctor, your parents, your nanny, and the wet nurse to ensure your health. You met the first person outside of that tight circle was introduced to you when you could walk. Even then, they were quarantined before and after.

As a child, you spent hours being quizzed on complex philosophy and mathematics by candlelight until your nanny begged for the tutor to stop. Being up until well before sunrise wasn’t enough: any moment you could be awake should be dedicated to meeting the same standards would-by kings were held to.

As a teenager, the focus turned to your appearance. Reading and writing were joined by a hair and make-up session. You recited factoids and roleplayed conversations with other rulers and aristocrats and constituents while you were shoved into corsets and fitted for dresses.

Your entire life has led up to this day, to this moment.

So why are you here, picking at your cuticles, as you hear your family and allies of the crown celebrating joyously? A new queen was not a frequent occurrence, especially one who reigned without a sudden, unexpected death or drought. None of that had occurred—your mother, aging and desperate for a life of her own, had informed you of her plan to abdicate the throne on the eve of your 16th birthday. It would give you two years until they’d announce, and a few more for everyone in every kingdom to adjust to the news.

You can hear your personal guard come in, the formal armor clinking as she steps. She prefers to go without (something about stealth being the best protection), but given the occasion, tradition requires her to be in full regalia.

“Are you all right, your majesty?”

You bite at your nail, pulling at the dead skin as you attempt to ground yourself. Staring off into the distance, you say nothing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Peggy had been your main guard since you were preteens. You, trying to learn politics and languages and negotiation tactics. Her, learning the ins and outs of palace protection from her mother. She was much scrawnier back then, limbs resembling the branches of a freshly planted oak tree. Peggy had bloomed since then, all muscle and confidence. She had also, over the years, become your closest confidant.

“Princess,” she says, her tone knowing. You can’t see her smirk, but it rests atop her words like moss in a pond. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

A crash, quickly followed by bellows from amused, drunken palace goers, stops you from responding immediately.

“Don’t call me that,” you finally say with a sigh. Might as well start getting used to correcting people now, you think. Though, your tone does not have the kind of royal tone you’d often heard from your mother. “I am now your queen and you will address me as such.”

She smiles softly, nodding just a little. “My apologies, your majesty, you were a princess for a very long time, and so it will take effort to get used to.”

You don’t disagree—it’s still hard to remind yourself to respond to the title when it’s called. You start to speak, wringing your hands every so slightly. “Margaret-“

“Please, your majesty,” she interrupts you, raising one hand to her chest. “You mustn’t. Now that you are queen, I think it’s best to refer to me as Peggy. It’s what my mother called me.”

As you roll the name over your tongue, the sounds feel like a tough cut of meat between your teeth. Still, it seems important to her, and given all she’s done for you over the years, you feel as though you owe her. It’s then, as you run through what it would be like to call for her in front of the rest of the court, that you let yourself smile just a little.

“It’s very improper,” you say quietly, as though someone could hear you admit to entertaining such a thought.

Peggy just grins—big and toothy. You ignore the way your heart swells at the sight. “That it is.”

“And what would the queen mother think?”

“What the old crone doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

It’s hard to suppress a laugh in your state, the giggles overwhelming your defenses within seconds. It sometimes feels as though your mother is a lighthouse at the center of the sea, locating ships with horrifying precision. Queen or not, the thought of her knowing you’re deviating from her desires spikes fear in your gut. A terrifying woman, it’s easy to treat her the same way one treats a prison guard.

But then you think of your mother—not the queen, but the little bit of her that exists outside of the demands of royal life. She’d been queen for years when she was your age, your grandmother succumbing during the birth of her youngest brother. Within hours after he entered the world, your uncle became an orphan and your mother became a queen. Their roles overtook them, both of them mourning as they grew into their roles. It was your mother’s job to rule. It was his job to remain as far from the public eye as possible.

“Are you okay, your majesty?”

Peggy places her hand on your shoulder. You can feel her thumb rubbing into the sore muscles there, and you wish she could apply that pressure to every inch of your skin. She allows you to sit with your non-reply, the nice quiet a welcome change from the cacophony of noise. She looks you up and down a few times, noticing the way you wring your hands and how you bite at your bottom lip.

You don’t know it, but she watches you in the same way she did when you were teenagers. She couldn’t stop, watching as you both grew to fit the titles you were expected to live up to as adults.

But she can’t do anything about it—not now. Not until the time is right.

“May I?”

You nod.

She takes the crown from your head, holding it gingerly as she inspects it. You were able to design your own crown given the circumstances. It all had to be kept under a veil of secrecy, of course—the jewelers and blacksmiths were sequestered until everything had finished, and even then were sworn to secrecy for fear of beheading.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You sound more mournful than you intended. It really is beautiful, is the worst part. A half-circle peaking in the middle, pearls topping each peak. At the center, swinging as your knight holds it in her calloused hands, rests a dangling cameo made of ivory and obsidian.

“An orchid?” Peggy asks, that same smirk as before teasing at her lips.

You nod. “It represents love and thoughtfulness. My mother’s favorite.”

Peggy hmms, turning it in her hands again. The gold shimmers in the low candlelight, catching as the fat flames flicker. “It looks like a cunt.”

You just shrug, unable to comment on the likeness. Many of the knights were crude, almost alarmingly so, but the only experience you had with your center had been your monthly bleeding and the occasional anatomy lesson from an exasperated nanny.

“Yours looks prettier, though.”

You blink once, twice; bewildered by her comment. Any witty retort you might have made drowns in the confusion, your brow furrowing and heart racing.

“Wh…what did you just say?”

“I said,” she moves to where you are, her nose brushing against yours from how close you are. “Your pussy is much prettier than any gem you could put in front of me.”

You’re not sure what to say—mouth agape as you attempt to process what she’s said. Though neither of you had addressed whatever it was that crackled between you, neither of you had done much to dampen it, either.

“What would your royal friends think, hm?” Peggy moans, a slight laugh coating her teasing. “I wonder how the rest of the court would react to you defiling the good name of your foremothers.”

She knows what she’s doing—poking and prodding at the sense of duty you’ve shared since you were old enough to understand the importance of longevity to the royal lineage. You’ve spent your entire life dedicated to the well-being of the crown, allowing your family and their most trusted allies to contort you into the perfect royal to lead your kingdom. It’s your purpose, it’s your only skill, it’s your only option.

If your mother had remained queen, she would have picked out some nice man for you to marry. A younger brother perhaps, whose power wouldn’t rival your own but still allowed your kingdom to gain some sort of leverage or asset. Normally these are done in childhood, sometimes they’re signed as soon as the sex is confirmed in the birthing room. You had escaped such a fate, in contrast to your sisters. Escaped only to find yourself in another possible trap.

“Retiring for the night?” Your head shoots up to see your mother’s lady-in-waiting, a much older woman who’d been in the castle since your mother’s teenage years, standing in the doorway. It’s then that you realize that you are tired, and move to rub at the dark circles under your eyes, not unlike the children of various royals whose bedtimes were hours ago. The rush of emotions, the pounding heartbeat, the awareness of your entire body…it feels as though you had been running through a field with reckless abandon and very suddenly met the kingdom’s sturdiest oak tree.

“Yes, I believe so.”

Her face softens, memories of your mother’s coronation rising. The woman has always said you look just like your mother did at your age, something you’ve never been able to fully process. “I understand. The queen requests-“she pauses for just a second before correcting herself. “The queen mother requests to see you before you disappear.”

You smile, nodding in affirmation. Before you can dust off your dress and stand, Peggy offers you her hand for stability. Your refusal dies into a hesitation when you realize a witness remains.

As you stand, she pulls you to her quick enough to make it look as if you had fallen. “I’ll meet you in your room, your majesty,” she whispers lowly into your ear. Before you can react, she straightens you into a standing position. Louder, she speaks again. “Now come along so we can find your darling mother.”

Lucky for you, no one has become caught in one of her famous conversations that can last for an hour or more.

“He and his guard will be staying for the next week or so,” she grins. It’s that real kind of smile, one that hasn’t graced your mother’s face in a long, long time. It stings, just a little.

You attempt to mirror her face, but you can feel how vacant your eyes look. “That’s wonderful, Mother. I’m glad such a close ally of the family will be our first guests after our coronation.”

The older woman pointedly ignores the flatness of your tone. “He’s wished to speak with you before he leaves.”

Great, you think. Lord Rogers is…an interesting man, certainly. Famously easy to anger and hard-headed, he only seems to care about women and ale. More accurately, he cares about women who are willing to put up with him while he drinks ale. Neither are hobbies of yours and so he has decided you are not worth respecting.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Your hands shake ever slightly as you find your way back to your quarters, the ringing in your ears drowning out the harshness of your steps. You nod to the two guards—Natasha and Valkyrie—who open the hefty door for you. There, sitting in your vanity chair, lies your loyal knight.

You’re unsure of what you should say, and so you say nothing.

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I’ve known what it is to want,” Peggy says, still seated.

“My reputation would never recover if anyone found out,” is all you can reply. Maybe the thought of your legacy crumbling would knock some sense into her.

The woman across from you just smiles. “That was when you were simply a princess. But you are queen now, so we’re free to do as we wish.”

You step back, watching with wide eyes as she moves to undo her ceremonial armor. Each time the metal pieces hit each other, you flinch at the small clang. The sound of metal reminds you far too much of violence, and you’ve never been one for that.

“Queens still have reputations, Peggy,” your protest is weak…but is a protest, nonetheless. Affairs like this could ruin a royal, send them tumbling into a well of scandal that would threaten the power your family had held for generations. If anyone learned of what was happening, you could be dethroned, excommunicated, possibly even executed. “Big, consequential ones.”

You can feel your mouth dry when she removes her undershirt, revealing her bare chest. Bruises, scars, and scrapes litter the skin, but it only adds to her natural allure.

When all you do is stare, she smiles ever-so-slightly. “Has no one educated you on matters of the flesh, your majesty?”

Part of you wants to deny you understand what she asks—but the rest of you is just confused. Most of the eligible bachelors in your court steered clear of your bath, too terrified of your mother to make any sort of romantic gesture. The allure of bedding a royal was far outweighed by your mother’s ruthless reputation. When a man was found kissing up the neck of your younger sister, one of his hands at the small of her back, he was sent to work at a proxy farm hundreds of miles away, rumored to be herding sheep with just one hand.

No one ever seemed worth the risk of losing them.

She speaks as she removes the cloth pants, your eyes drawn to the slight bulge at the apex of her thighs that the harder armor covered. “It’s an honor to be your first, your majesty.”

As her pants hit the floor, you can feel the air being knocked from your lungs. There, between her legs, rests a sort of…toy. Long, thick, tapering a little before flaring out again. It looks like what the other ladies of the court had described after their nights of passion with visitors from other kingdoms.

“You’ll take me in your mouth soon, my queen,” she reaches into the bag at her side, producing a small, unlabeled jar that reminds you of the potions witches sometimes sell at the markets held near the castle. She pops the cork, spreading the thick, clear substance over the bulbous head between her legs. You’re not sure what she means, but the heat in your belly spreads along your spine, nonetheless. When her length is fully covered in it, she takes your hand, the scented oils from the morning having soaked beneath the surface, leaving only supple, perfumed skin in its wake.

“Here,” she practically whispers, her voice quiet but filled with what sounds like excitement. “Wrap your hands like this…”

Your knight guides you, her hand over yours as you wrap your fingers around it. It’s a strange feeling, but certainly not unwelcome. You follow her motions, moving up and down and twisting your wrist right before you reach the top. Peggy watches enraptured, her eyes locked on where your hands meet. It’s easy for you to presume she can’t feel what you’re doing, certainly not even witches could combine this material with the flesh of a human. But, with the way your knight’s lips part, the way her breathy moans fill the room…you’re not sure.

Her other hand, once curled into a fist at her side, now cups the back of your head firmly. “Lick the tip, your majesty,” she instructs. At any other time, you’d hesitate, but the lightheadedness that’s come over you silences your protests. Ever so lightly, you lick over where your hand had avoided. Your open mouth gives Peggy the opportunity to buck her hips, pushing the object past your lips. She takes care not to push it too far, merely pressing it onto your tongue so you would become used to the weight.

She’s been waiting for this day since she first saw you, since her mother told her of the duties that were passed down their family line for generations; since she had seen you studying French in the garden in your pink spring dress. She’d loved you for years—decades, even. Though she’d never wish it, if the Goddess took her tomorrow, she’d die a woman fulfilled.

Peggy grabs at your hair, pulling you until you stand. She takes the position you just had, falling to her knees before burrowing herself under the hem of your skirt. Before you can ask what she’s doing, she unbuckles your shoes and pulls down your chemise. Too stunned to do anything else, you step out of them on instinct.

“Good girl,” Peggy purrs, leaving kisses along your thighs before standing back up. “My perfect girl.”

You lock eyes for a moment, expecting the other to say something, anything. When nothing comes, Peggy locks her lips with yours, leading you backwards until you’re pushed onto the bed. She’s practiced this many times, an old pillow covered in one of your nightgowns folded in half so she could smell your signature perfume as words of praise and promise tumbled from behind her lips. Just as she imagined, she parts your legs to find the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

I was right, she thinks. Much prettier than any crown.

“Oh Godess,” Peggy groans as she finally pushes inside of you. “You cannot imagine how long I’ve waited to do this-“

You moan as she enters you slowly, purposefully. Blood drains from your fingers as you grip the sheets with all you have, Peggy holding your legs open as you adjust to the feeling of her inside of you. She gives you a moment, tracing the calloused pads of her around your nipples, down your quivering stomach, and back up again.

“I-“ you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say, or if you’re supposed to say anything at all. “I-“

“Shhh, your majesty, Shh,” she reaches around to cup one hand over your mouth, the rough palm pressed against your lips. “Not all the servants are asleep. I don’t want anyone else to hear you sing for me. Not just yet.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s saying. Each frenzied thought is broken as she pulls back before entering once more. Every time she retreats and leaves you empty and wanting, her pace quickening steadily.

“Wh-what do you-“

Peggy just smiles, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It’s as though she’s watching your thoughts leak from your ears, your head falling onto the covers as pleasure overtakes you. She thought about flipping you over, about grabbing you by your hair and fucking you until you couldn’t walk. But she knew she had to start you off slowly, carefully as to not scare you off. Soon enough, though, she’d be able to fuck you in all the ways she’d fantasized; with her fingers inside you right next to her cock, with her hand around your neck, with her telling you the ways she’d fill you and how beautiful you’d look round with her kin. You were both young, and with your newfound power, had plenty of time to learn what you both liked best.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful queen,” she murmured into your neck. She had also imagined fucking you front of all the other knights in her tight circle of guards, showing the rest of them what they could have if they continued to pledge their loyalty. They’re all just as protective of you as she is already, but with queenhood comes increased threats that require increased vigilance. “I’ll explain in due time.”

It's then that she reaches down, moving to rub small, staccato circles at the most sensitive part of you. It’s a part you’ve explored before, under the thick covers and once everyone had presumed you asleep. That, though, was nothing like this—none of the fireworks, none of the way she grips your thighs to pull you back after each thrust.

This is what you imagine being struck by lightning feels like, the way your skin crackles every time she touches you. The difference, though, is that you’ve never heard of survivors wanting more. You’d never imagined anything feeling as good as this, as though those late-night explorations and giggles shared between princesses could feel so magnificent. Had everyone else felt like this, when they had indulged in matters of the flesh? Why had everyone kept such a thing from you?

“I’m, I’m-“ You’re not sure what’s happening, coil inside of you tightening with every passing second. Every muscle in your body tenses as you silently plea for Peggy for…well, truthfully, you don’t know what you’re pegging for. All you know is that you want it.

“Oh, your majesty,” Peggy smirks as she continues to pound into you, continuing to rub at the apex of your pussy. “Do it, baby, let go for me. Allow me the gratification of seeing you let go.”

You’re not sure what’s supposed to happen until it does, and a white-hot pleasure explodes inside of you. It reminds you of rolling down a hill, or being on horseback while it gallops. This is different, though, a nearly indescribable feeling lighting your skin ablaze. The feeling inches away little by little, your legs beginning to twitch. Peggy slows before pulling away completely, collapsing next to you as the toy prods at your leg.

“I’ll always watch over my queen,” she says as you pant, looking up at the ceiling of your room you had looked as a thousand times before. The mural your mother had painted for you hadn’t changed at all, but you…you were transformed. “No matter what.”

A week or so passes without incident. A week of your entire body on edge, of watching your personal knight as she stood in corners and examines perimeters. It’s a small part of you, but nevertheless, a quiet voice in the back of your brain shamed you in the way you’d imagine your mother would if she found out.

How did it end up like this? You, the most powerful person in your kingdom, bending at the will of your closest guard as though she had the magic to move mountains. A shudder ripples its way through your muscles as you imagine a world where she was blessed with the connection to the Mother Goddess. She was the only one who could grant the special few the ability to harness the magic found in the soil of your land, and it was a gift to you that she hadn’t given Peggy that power.

“Your majesty,” Peggy says from across the room, her affect flat in the proper way staff are meant to address members of your family. “Lord Steven Rogers is here to see you.”

She steps into the room and to the side, making room for the man and his personal guard. James, if your memory is correct, watches over the interaction with the same stoic silence as Peggy. He’s large, much different than the leaner bodies of the women who make up the castle’s defenses. James fills the doorway, nearly having to duck just a tad. What really scares you is the way he stares, his jaw set and his eyes bearing into you. You make every effort to avoid his gaze as Steve sits down.

“I have something to share with you,” he says with a boyish smile. He slides a small, wooden box across the desk that you make no move to open. “But I’d like for us to be alone. No guards.”

As if he can sense your trepidation, he adds, “Just to put us on even footing.”

“If my security cannot be in the room while this information is shared,” you tremble, ever so slightly, as you push the box back towards him. You hope he doesn’t notice, but something in his keen eyes says there’s very little he doesn’t see. “Then I don’t want to hear it at all. And I certainly wouldn’t want your security here as well.”

“Oh, princess,” his words are tinged with a low, condescending chuckle. It reminds you of your father when he knows he’s bested you at chess—the same stupid, smug look painted across his face; the same infuriating smile playing at the very corners of his lips. As a child, you thought he was at least trying to hide the fact he had such a large competitive advantage, saving your young ego from being crushed too early.

As you stand here, though, a single eyebrow raised and the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep you from lashing out…you understand it is merely a poor attempt to hide the glee of besting a person one views as deeply and utterly inferior.

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as your side as you resist the urge to slap him with the back of your hand. As a royal, your mother had never expressed herself in such a rash manner. You hadn’t even held the crown for a week and were on the brink of putting the entire royal reputation in jeopardy.

What a failure.

“I am queen now and you know it,” you eventually bite out, face red hot with the knowledge you’d taken much too long to respond.

Lord Rogers smiles in the same way you imagine snakes or wolves do when they’ve spotted injured prey. “Let’s have this conversation again when you’ve calmed down. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

You paint a tense smile over your face, attempting to hide your distaste. “Tomorrow it is. I look forward to seeing you then.”

Peggy watches as your lady-in-waiting undoes your corset, her nimble fingers freeing you from its confines. Normally you liked your corsets—they improve your posture so much even your mother doesn’t comment on it—but that and the coronation dress weighed on you in an unfortunately literal way.

“My queen,” she nearly whispers. You expect her tone to be light and airy, and are startled by the more somber tone. “I need to speak with you.”

You blink once, twice. Why not here? Your face says, gesturing towards the lady-in-waiting as subtly as you can. Peggy’s stoicism remains unchanged.

“Give us a moment, Katherine, please,” you tell her, keeping your eye contact.

The dark-haired girl nods once, bidding you goodnight and curtsying before dashing away. She’s odd, that one, but so charming you choose not to comment when she’s around.

When the door shuts behind her, you turn to your knight, nodding just a little to prompt her.

Instead of speaking, though, she remains quiet, an obvious discontent washing over her face. A nagging feeling at the back of your heart wants to go to her, comfort her, bring out all the bad feelings so you can tame them. But you’re a queen, and she’s not a child, so you stay where you are—silent, stoic, painfully waiting for her to open her mouth and tell you what’s wrong.

When she does, though, you wish she hadn’t.

“I don’t like Lord Rogers very much,” is all Peggy says. She looks you dead in the eyes, jaw set. You wait for her to continue—to rant and scream and scowl.

You allow yourself a moment to sigh, the exhale ending in a dry laugh. Peggy narrows her eyes as you do so, tilting her head ever so slightly. “I’m not joking.”

It certainly sounds like it, though. She knows just as well as you how court politics works, how every single person in this castle has every single one of their decisions shrouded in a cloak of constrictive diplomacy. In a country situated at the center of the continent, a smile and a few lines of small talk are sometimes all there is between economic prosperity and absolute devastation.

Speaking ill of Lord Rogers would effectively be the same as threatening to banish Lord Rogers from your castle. And banishing Lord Rogers would be the same as slitting the throat of his wife in their marriage bed. War? Guaranteed. Your chances of winning? Slim.

“Well, you certainly can’t be serious.” You’re outwardly scoffing now, rolling your eyes, and turning away from her without so much as a half-hearted excuse. There’s nothing in you that wants to fight; who wants to risk it all, fight the status quo, and make a new world from the ashes of the old one. You have never been very rebellious, and that instinct for conflict avoidance will serve you well if you want yourself, and your kingdom, to survive.

You expect your beloved knight to deflect. You expect her to do as you would’ve done: assume someone with loose lips was listening and you’d need to immediately play it off as some kind of nightmare and distance yourself from any ounce of culpability.

She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m serious, your majesty.” Peggy continues to meet your tense gaze, her own eyes free from any regret, or fear, or anything. Strong as a stone, and just as agreeable. Her face remains stoic, her sharp jaw set. “I would never lie to you.”

Red bleeds into the edges of your vision, the vision of your delicate legacy crashing to the floor like an antique teapot, crashing into a million, unfixable pieces and cutting into the bottoms of your soft feet. “Absolutely not,” you growl, your fists clenching in the light fabric of your underdress. “You know why that’s impossible, so certainly you wouldn’t be foolish enough to entertain the idea of saying it out loud.”

She still doesn’t budge. “I can’t lie to you, your majesty.” She repeats. “I have a duty to protect you-“

Now you bark out a laugh, the sharp descending into something darker quickly as you continue. “Protect!?” You reach across your abdomen to hold your sore stomach, glad you were able to get out of your corset before she opened her mouth. It feels like ages later when you’re able to catch your breath, the words still breathy as tears fall down your cheeks. “If anyone heard you, they’d have my head under a blade fast than you can cut the limbs off of any one person. You believing this is some roundabout way to fulfill the oath you took when you were given your sword is such horseshit you should be back shoveling it in stalls.”

You’re ready to continue—to bare your teeth and tear at her skin until she heeds your warning. Fangs—you wish you had fangs—so she’d know how ready you are to tear flesh from bone just to keep her from continuing. So that she’d know you’re also dangerous, and willing to fight if it meant you remained in power.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. “Tell Katherine to come back in. I don’t want to see you until I need escorting to the chancery tomorrow. Do you understand?”

Peggy’s face doesn’t change as she responds before turning and leaving. “Yes, your majesty. I will see you in the morning.”

Neither of you speak, you following just behind her in silence. The blanket of quiet remains as you enter, a servant having already lit the candles that illuminate the room. As you requested, Peggy remains just outside the thick door, only entering when Lord Rogers does.

He seems pleased you’d followed his directions, and it makes your skin crawl. If you had your way, you’d never deal with him at all—outsourcing all communication through a third party. Unfortunately, the Rogers name is powerful in this region, and a queen is nothing without her allies.

“So,” he sits across from you, separated only by your desk. You move to stand near him, eyeing the same box he had yesterday. “I’ve come to talk about the land deeds your mother signed over to me at the very end of her reign.”

Your brow furrows as you reach forward to grab at what he brought with him. Inside are…bones? They’re small but thick, with etchings in an alphabet you do not understand. “What are these?”

He scoffs, as though you should understand what riddle he’s piecing together. You resist the urge to remind him you can speak five languages, and read even more. If there was a language you didn’t recognize, you’d be going to the royal translators…not a man who’s been trying to de-throne your family since the day he could ride a horse. “They’re proof my family has had ownership over the lands I’m asking about since before your family name ever existed. You simply raise both your brows, still looking through the box.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

But you don’t, you really don’t. There’s nothing anyone’s ever told you about Lord Roger’s land deeds besides the fact he has a lot of them. His family’s been around for as long as yours has and has amassed a similar amount of wealth and power. He controls several important ports, his castle is nearly as large as yours.

It hits you then, what he’s doing.

Originally both lineages were at war for the last few thousand years, moving borders and people and livestock as their whims changed. They’d both fought to control the kingdom that’s encompassed the land it had for centuries, the deciding factor being one last territory that a woman four or so generations ago had seized during a tense buyout the Rogers lineage had always claimed was faked. That’s the only territory his family had ever asked for, something your mother had spent many nights telling you about. They’d tried everything to get it back, from raids to paying witnesses to give false accounts of the treaty signing. This was another, even cheaper shot at their goal—to overtake what your family had held so dear.

It’s easy to see now that the markings on the bones show tallies of cattle losses in a shorthand developed by farmers, indicating his family would’ve been working the land after the year the agreement had gone into place. This, of course, means absolutely nothing.

You chew your lip as you examine them, building up the courage to speak. “Lord Rogers, I am not sure this indicates anything meaningful. Many families work on land they do not own. This isn’t proof at all your family has any right over the land, or over the kingdom”

As you look closely at the engravings once more, “You stupid little bitch!”

You don’t have time to turn around; to slap him across the face, or find a letter opener to remind him of your years of self-defense training. All you have time to do is cry out as his palm meets your cheek, your screams becoming muffled as he grabs the back of your neck and turns you around so he can pin you against the desk.

“Peggy!” you try to yell, but all that comes out is a choked sound.

“You will give my family what we are owed. I will kill you if I have to.” His words are practically growls, holding you with one hand as he reaches into his coat. As you struggle, he flashes a thin, sharp knife in front of your eyes.

“Please-“ you kick at him, figurines your mother had collected (and you hadn’t yet had the heart to have a servant collect and placed in her quarters) fall to the hard ground. Some shatter immediately, others skidding across the floor. “Please don’t kill me I-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He flips the weapon in his hands, as if he was showing it off. “Now hold still, this doesn’t need to hurt. There are a few spots I can hit that’ll have you bleeding out in seconds. But if you want it to hurt, I can-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s thrown off of you, slammed into the nearest wall. You’re partially thrown with him, but Peggy’s arms keep you from traveling the same distance. One of the other guards, Valkyrie, holds him against the wall as Peggy drops to the floor to hold you. Other guards you can’t remember the names for flood in behind her, holding his arms behind his back and dragging him away.

“You’re okay, my queen,” Peggy whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”

She scans you for harm, eyes wide as she checks for broken bones or open wounds. A few spots are tender. One, most notably, at the place the table made contact with your abdomen. Still, nothing that can’t be healed with a few days of rest and (most important) nothing that will leave horrific and long-lasting scars. Katherine comes in soon after, taking you from Peggy and ushering you across the castle and to your bed. She fetches you something to drink and a cool cloth, fluffing your pillows once your heart has slowed enough that exhaustion replaces adrenaline.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to question why all of those women were close enough to help in the first place.

Peggy stands behind Katherine, watching as she comforts you.

As your eyelids grow heavy, she moves to pet your hair, leaning down to murmur into your temple. “I’ll be back, my queen.” You don’t hear it, sleep long since having pulled you into its arms. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

She slips out of the room, silently exiting out of your area of the castle before finding a door hidden behind a tapestry depicting a field of poppies, your grandmother’s favorite flowers. The secret paths had been built the same time the castle was, meant to be a way for those that served in the castle to enter the servant’s quarters without disturbing the royals. Fifty or so years ago, though, too many servants were living there, and in an effort to stave rebellion, an addendum to the castle was built. Now, where some had lived, slept, and ate, lay abandoned rooms far from the eyes of royalty.

The staircase is narrow, so narrow she has to hold her sword in front of her. She’s silent as she navigates the maze-like corridor, the path to her destination an easy show of muscle memory. The door, unassuming and identical to the rest of them, opens to a scene she’s been wishing for since she first saw Lord Rogers look you up and down all those years ago.

Five women, two on each side and one immediately behind, flank the man that sits tied to an old chair from the servants’ quarters. It’s been used for these sorts of nights before, as evidenced by the scuffed wood that marks where pieces of leather kept one’s limbs in place. They fight, they always do. For Peggy, it’s part of the fun. No sense in killing something without a desire to live.

She stands as the man sits, his face already bruised and bloody. Split lip, a cut through his right brow. Every time he spits it’s tinged pink. Even though she wishes they had held off until she arrived, Peggy wishes it was redder. Nothing matters more to her than the fact he remains in pain.

“Do you know what the punishment is for laying a hand on Her Majesty?” she asks.

He looks pathetic in the low candlelight, she thinks. He’s over six feet, covered in lean muscle and scars. She can see every pitiful inch of him—she instructed the other royal guards to strip him down when they grabbed him from his plush bed once all the royals had retired for the night. He was surprisingly easy to overpower, according to the message she received from the guards, delivered via a squire who had an affinity for staying up much too late. He was fast and, more importantly, quiet on his feet. Both necessary to avoid being caught. While many of the knights in this kingdom were women, it’s easy to see how his skills would do him well in the profession.

“You’ll never get away with this,” he spits out.

Peggy smirks, small laughs escaping from behind the others’ hands. She takes a moment to allow the others to collect themselves (and to give herself some time to savor the rage that washes over his face as he realizes they’re all laughing at him.

“Well,” she says eventually. “One of us tied to a chair right now, and it isn’t any of us, so…”

He snarls, reminding Peggy of one of the guard dogs that roam the farms around the castle. They look very similar, in a way—strong jaw, barred teeth, a little grimy from their misadventures. Lord Rogers lacks something that would shrink the gap between them. Those dogs, as innocent as they sometimes look, would defend their flock with their lives; she’s seen them ward off mountain lions to protect the sheep they’d grown up with.

Peggy doesn’t think he’d defend anyone other than himself.

Lord Rogers doesn’t know it (and, given his condition, he may never found out), but his personal knight was given an option: either leave, change his name, and abandon the Rogers lineage…or die trying to defend the bloodline he swore to secure.

Needless to say, he chose the latter, and his various body parts are being fed to pigs at the far end of the castle’s main farm. Kamala offered to do that, the young girl eager to be involved but not old enough to secure herself to the heart of the action. Truthfully, Peggy found the entire endeavor useless given they sent his head to Lord Rogers’ wife in an unlabeled box. It should arrive by the end of the month, giving them enough time to do what needs to be done.

“Do you confess?” Natasha asks, her sword secured in her belt. Peggy only enlisted the guards she believed were level-headed enough to follow her lead. Normally, she’s all right with those she relies on going rogue—she trusts them for a reason—but tonight requires a very specific form of precision.

Steven just scoffs. “Confess to what, exactly?”

“We know what happened with the Queen,” Jane says, her tone flat. “We know what you did to her.”

The man laughs the kind of fake, sarcastic laugh Peggy had come to loathe from him. “That bitch had it coming. She’s hiding something from me, just like her cunt m-”

He is interrupted quickly by the back of Peggy’s hand. It throws him off, stunning him

“Confess.” One of them say, calmly.

“Fuck you!” Lord Rogers will scream back. Unfortunately, it seems to have only quieted him for just a moment.

Each denial is met with a similar reaction.

This time, it’s Carol punching him so hard that he starts to spit out blood afterward. The time after that, it’s Monica carving out leg muscles with a farrier’s knife. After that, it’s Wanda flattening his fingers with a hammer. His body, morphing into some monstrous, destroyed thing, is tormented with every broken breath he takes. A slight wheeze tinges each exhale.

Peggy watches him, watches as the women she trusts with your life take him apart piece by piece. At the end of the night, long before the morning rises, he will be mangled to the point of no return before one of them gives him the undue mercy of ending his life. This was the plan, even if she had no desire to watch him receive such an undeserved gift. Originally, she’d wanted to keep him alive for days and show you her handiwork…but a stern conversation with Gamora had ended that conversation. Her magic gave her the kind of sense a brutish knight lacked, Peggy thought.

She steps back, tossing the hefty stick to Carol, who catches it. “Do what you need to do,” she says to no one in particular. “I’ve got what I need.”

Steven tugs at his restraints, the panic in his eyes palpable despite being nearly swollen shut. “You bitch! Let me out of here!”

Peggy just laughs, not bothering to face him as she walks away. The Lord’s pleas silence as she shuts the door behind her, deep screams becoming fainter and fainter as she sneaks down the corridor once more. She retraces her path, fire in her veins making the trip much shorter this time around. Before she knows it, she’s back in bed with you, tracing the indents your pillow’s creases have made on your cheeks.

“Peggy?” you murmur, your tired brow furrowing. Sleep rests heavy on your slurred speech, exhaustion still wracking your bones.

She shushes you, tucking herself under the covers. When you move over to give her unnecessary room, she merely grabs your hips to pull you back. When you return to your original spot still deep in the throws of sleep, Peggy lets a small smile escape from behind her teeth.

“Got a surprise for you when you wake up, baby,” she whispers. “Just go to sleep for now. Everything will be okay when you wake up.”

#peggy carter x reader #peggy carter fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel ladies fanfic #peggy carter smut #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions

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yandereaffections · 1 year

Text

Javier Adolfo (YA’s Oc) Masterlist

The Man Himself

Character Description

S/o being bullied at work

Charming his Darling

Confident S/o

S/o who loves Skirts

Cute S/o who sucks at their Job

Avoiding him to make a gift

Home cooked meals for a Date

S/o who is pressured to do their best 24/7

Affectionate S/o

Exhausted Doctor S/o

S/o Binding her Chest cause of office harassment

S/o being black mailed for sex

House wife S/o

S/o who has Insomnia

S/o trying to fight a Racist

S/o confessing they want a big family

S/o who lives a double life

Spoiling Javier

Another yandere kidnapping S/o

Naga S/o that knows nothing of Human Culture

Not a morning person S/o

Sitting on Javiers lap

S/o who is apart of a huge Crime Organization

Nuclear Apocalypse

Naga Javier

Vampire S/o cautious of taking Javiers blood

S/o whose both cutesy and extreme

Filthy rich S/o

Jokingly calling Javier “Sugar Daddy”

Poor Underweight S/o refusing to bother for help

CEO Crush already married

Comforting Chubby S/o after being sexually Harassed TW

S/o who runs up to hug Javier everytime she sees him

Going to Disney

S/o getting hit on by their boss

“Have my babies”

Drunk S/o unknowingly confessing they love javier

Babysitting with S/o

Punk Rocker Darling

Making S/o wait for marriage as tease play

S/o constantly buying make up palettes

Hitman S/o warning for him not to go to work

S/o who cuddles him during work

Surprising javier with your intelligence

S/o Introducing ‘javey wavey’ to their friends

Trying to cook for his s/o

Accident prone s/o

S/o whose constantly wondering

COVID quarantine comfort

Cosplayer S/o

Homeless S/o asking him for cash

Figuring out S/o is pregnant

Yandere s/o

Making him cry HC

S/o whos only seen eating when they steal his meal

Shy S/o who loves affection

holding and playing with his S/os hair

S/os family fat shames them when they eat

Darling packs him lunch everyday

S/o whos easily scared

Stealing your clothes

S/o who slams their foot against the wall anytime it falls asleep

S/o who cant cook

Manipulation HC

S/o who refuses to go to stop smoking TW

Arguing HC

Incubus Javier w/ a s/o who looks down on themselves

Vampire Javier/ Halloween date

Vampire

Poltergeist

Decorating the office building for halloween

Bratty S/o

Halloween Date

Werewolf

S/o who cries during the emotional parts of movies

Motivating S/o to study

Javier Fluff

Top energy S/o

Meeting Javiers Grandmother

Sub energy S/o

S/o who wants to travel alot

Comforting a stressed S/o

S/o who doesnt want kids

Depressed Darling

More Fluff

Seeing S/o without makeup for the first time

Darling playing with his hair

Taking stressed S/o away from their struggles

Sugar Daddy HC

Boba tea date

Diabetic S/o

Making him a Surprise Valentines homemade gifts

Finally meeting his online lover

S/o trying to treat their own stab wound

Javier vs Aiden

Coming over to S/os apartment for a dinner date

Autistic S/o who struggles to get a job

Finding out crush is dating his brother

Only dating him for money

S/o going on a vacation to gain Javiers attention

Foreign S/o having to suddenly return home

Darling having shit friends who use them for work

S/o whos terrified of horror movies and clings to him

Darling w/ Social anxiety

Crybaby reader

How good he is with responsible adult stuff

Corrupt official male S/o

Darlings something like robin hood

Robin hood like S/o trying to steal from him

S/o who likes to cook for him

Darling has commitment issues

Very short S/o

S/o who age regresses

Adoring darling when they Hyperfixate

Depressed S/o that has a hard time taking care of themselves

Author S/o

S/o who is constantly sewing

Leaning against him saying “love me” when Javiers busy

S/o has odd vocal tics

Comforting S/o w/ night terrors

S/o falls asleep on his lap during a meeting

Co-worker beating him to asking S/o out

s/o recently finding out they have adhd

Falling for the elder care worker taking care of his grandma

“It’s okay, I know you’re just not used to being cared for so much.”

S/O showing him matching outfits that they sewed themselves

Werecat S/o

Cuddlebug S/o

pressing their boobs against his back slightly

Pegging Javier

Chubby S/o sitting on his face

S/o with a high sex drive

squeezing him inbetween your thighs

Cockwarm HC

Kinky shit

Praise Kink

Catching him jerking to a picture of you

Poltergeist cockwarming

Mirror Kink & Sugar Daddy

Someone walking in on you / Public Sex w/ Dom male S/o

Kinks Headcannons

Foreplay Headcannons

Male S/o railing Javier over his desk

Sex Toys Javier loves the most

Sucking him off underneath his office desk

#YES I MADE A COVER IMAGE DONT LOOK TOO CLOSELY AT IT #YANDEREAFFECTIONS GOLDEN MASTERLIST #last updated 3/13/23 #javier adolfo #Javier my oc #javier x reader #javier imagine #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere ceo #yandere masterlist #yandere lemon #yandere smut #yandere fanfiction #Last updated 4/24/23

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d3eathnotes · 3 months

Note

Hii I love your writing, I was wondering what your Jeff headcanons are?

⚠️: Bullying, mentions of self harm, weed, and body gore?

Jeff Headcanons:

Jeff has NPD and schizophrenia

Jeff is a fucking menace. The way he pranks people is by using their trauma against them. Jeff and Ben are best friends, but sometimes he takes it too far. One time he poured water over Ben, and Ben started glitching out and gasping for air as Jeff just laughed and watched. He and Ben took a little break from being friends after that.

The main people he bullies the most are Nina and Toby. He’ll sometimes cut the sleeves off Nina’s clothes so everybody has to see her self-harm scars, poor girl, and he bullies Toby’s stutter and tics and for a week straight. Jeff would get Toby to slap himself, and over time, Toby developed that tic of slapping himself. He can't feel the pain, but he gets embarrassed when he does it in front of the creepypasta girls.

Jeff, Tim, Toby, and Kate all smoke weed together that’s the only time you’ll see all four of them in the same room together not fighting

Jeff gets so emotional when he smokes weed. Once, he cried in Tim’s arms after he admitted he does feel bad for killing his parents and he wishes they were alive again, and he didn't smoke for like a month and after Toby told him what he did he just doesn't want people to see him as weak.

After that incident, though Kate told everybody about Jeff crying after Nina heard about this, she actually comforted Jeff at first before he started lashing out and trying to STAB her, so now Jeff has the nickname, Whiney Baby.

Once every two weeks Jeff has to freshen up his permanent smile because it’ll start healing so he’ll take a knife and re-open it again

Jane works for Zalgo in my AU so sometimes Jeff and her will run into each other while on missions and they fight almost to the death EVERYTIME

Jeff once came home so badly beaten he had to take a week off and everybody was forced to help him out (due to slenders order)

He’ll sometimes see his dead sister staring at him from the corner of his room and he will stare back and not move until she goes away.

Sometimes he’ll also hallucinate Slenderman too like talking to him and stuff

“ Hey, Boss Man just told me some freaky stuff about Lu” Ben: “Jeff..Slender hasn't been here in months did you take your meds?”

THIS BOY STANKS, YA’LL He only showers until Brian forces him to because he smells so bad, like blood and spoiled milk. Once, he went an entire year without showering, and there was a bunch of lice in his hair, so the whole mansion had to be quarantined.

He has pictures of Liu on the wall in his room because sometimes he imagines life with his older brother again he misses Liu so much, guys he’s kinda bummed that Liu hates him now

He uses Nina for things because he knows she can't say no he’ll steal her breakfast or destroy all her make up

Surprisingly, Jeff isn't too hated at the manor; they hate him, but they don't because he's kind of like the OG; he came after Tim and Brian, but he's not top dog. Slender decided to just keep Jeff as a resident because his anger issues get in the way of his work and he's too sloppy.

He gets such an ego boost knowing people cosplay him and made fanart of him ngl he has a few pictures of cosplayers who cosplay him up on his wall because he thinks they did a good job

Hope you enjoyed!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

#jeff the killer #jeff the killer headcanons #creepypasta #proxy #slender proxy #slenderverse #d3eathnotes

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mcytblr-archive · 1 month

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Early MCYTblr Interviews: kermiekermie

today's interviewee is @kermiekermie, who ran "Friend or Host", was a part of the "Block Men Simps" group chat, and has generally been an active member of MCYTblr for a long time! below is a transcript of the questions and answers.

Q: What was your general experience in MCYTblr? Does anything stand out to you immediately?

A: I think my general experience on mcytblr was pretty positive compared to some peoples. The one thing that really stands out is how young I was- i was 11 when i joined mcytblr in early-mid 2020. That didnt really change the way people treated me aside from the occasional teasing and babying, but I did make it a point to say I didn't want to be treated differently. Mcytblr was not my first time in a fandom space and I knew how to avoid creeps already so I never really had any truly negative experiences, honestly the only annoying things that happened were being banned from discords and blocked by people due to my age (which was completely understandable). The biggest memory I have of mcytblr is of course the Block Men Simps group chat, and the original members of the group chat are really the only tumblr mutuals I still keep up with (snail actually has my snapchat!) I still kind of view them as a sort of family, and they were there for me in what I consider an extremely low point of my life and really helped me take my mind off things. During quarantine, I didnt have any of my irls numbers or socials and my mom had just been diagnosed with breast cancer, so I quite literally NEVER left the house and tumblr was really the only social interaction I got for a solid year. And while that definitely impacted my social development (i still cant start a conversation with someone irl without feeling nauseous and shaky) i'm very grateful I had people to talk to throughout that.

Q: I understand that you were the one who set up "Friend or Host". What was the process of organizing a fandom event like that like?

A: Friend or host . god. Like I said, I was 11-12 throughout the majority of my time on mcytblr, and I had ZERO experience organizing anything and I had very little help from anyone else. I tried to make it work the best I could and got creative, but overall I don't think it was a very big success. Funnily enough, not everyone who participated in FOH knew my age and one of the winners actually blocked me afterwards they found out, which I still giggle about today.

Q: How did Friend or Host go?

A: I don't think FOH necessarily went bad, but if I had a little more help and better organization skills and planned it out further ahead of time, I think it would've gone better. It was still fun and I had a good time either way, but I can admit it was a little messy.

Q: What major events in the fandom do you remember? (Either from the MCYTers themselves or fandom-specific!)

A: Honestly, my memory of my time in the wider mcytblr community isnt all that great and I tend to get timelines a little messed up, but i DO remember being there for the creation of the original dreamceler copypasta. In the BMS group chat we were having our normal conversation and someone oncest got brought up at the same time as dream somehow, and thus Ginger wrote the extremely cursed dreamceler copypasta. This eventually evolved into an entire universe (the dreamceler cinematic universe?) with various different copypastas that eventually had to be archived because of how out of hand it got. Sometimes I still see the copypastas floating around and it kind of freaks me out every time. I also have a veryyyy vivid memory of the time I made the 2020 mcytblr election discord read OmegaNotFound on wattpad (do NOT research. for your own safety) and it was really amusing seeing everyones reactions.

Q: Do you remember any of the "kinnie" blogs?

A: oh MY the kinnie blogs!! i actually have dms with a couple of them plotting little jokes and such and I got involved with them quite often!! i actually ran a justaminx one for a couple days (yikes) and it wasnt really that believeable looking back. me and ginger as well as a couple other mooties loved spamming the ask boxes of them with piss jokes and such, and I feel like we played a pretty big role in how widespread and popular kinnie blogs became.

Q: What was the "Kroger Anon"?

A: oh my dearest kroger anon how I miss you…. I still dont know who the kroger anon actually WAS, but they would send rainbow colored advertising messages about Kroger to various mcytblr blogs at random intervals. Funny thing is, I dont live near any krogers and have never been to one in my life, but the anon messages kinda made me want to go. I miss kroger anon…. kroger anon if youre reading this come home please..

Q: What were common in-jokes in the fandom of that time? (Copypastas, headcanons, rumors, etc)

A: Common in-jokes is a hard one!! like i said earlier, my memory of my time in mcytblr isnt all that great or extensive and I could probably better answer this if I went through my archive but alas, I do not have the patience for that. Obviously we had the good ole tapeworm and pregnancy posts, dreamceler, and various other cursed copypastas and memes. One inside joke between the block men simps gc was "thinkign 👽" which came from a typo snail made that just kind of caught on and we would use every once in a while to giggle at. Other than that, I can't really think of any specific inside jokes.

Q: Is there anything else you remember or would like to talk about?

A: Something I really want to talk about is how much lurking I did!! on the outside I was definitely a normal parasocial mcytblr blog but I lurked on pretty much every corner of the fandom you could really think of. Obviously I have a ton of critblr and other controversial mutuals but I never really openly interacted with that side of mcytblr since it was pretty heavily debated and I am nothing if not conflict avoidant. I also did quite a bit of truthing that no one ever really mentioned which I guess I sort of appreciate. I think being in a fandom that involved actual real people ar that age for that long kind of screwed with me, and ive never really been able to be in a fandom for a piece of actual fiction because theyve just never gotten my interest in the same way, I guess. Even now, i was in grouptwt for quite a while (tgc podcast) and now im active on kpoptwt, which again, both of those fandoms are for actual real people. I dont think its the parasocial aspect either, ive never been super parasocial and have never had a problem criticizing the content creators I watch. Im really grateful for all the people I met on mcytblr, but I think the actual dream smp and the way I engaged with content overall negatively impacted how I interact with things now.

#early mcytblr interviews #Volume 15 #kermiekermie

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dameronology · 1 year

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you and me [joel miller] - 1/2

"now i've had time to think it over, we're much older and the bone's too big to bury" - jaded, miley cyrus. a.k.a the one where you and joel see each other again and don't know what the fuck to do

warnings: angst, swearing, break-ups, swearing again because my god there is a lot, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death, no tlou 2 spoilers but probably some spoilers from the show. ok i think that's it.

this is my first full length joel fic and tbh i'm not even sure i've got the hang of his character lol. also, it's been about four years since i played the game and i'm writing this from memory of that and the show so pls forgive any inaccuracies. hope you enjoy. xx

jazz

p.s there will deffo be a part 2 to this lol dw

2 0 1 8

Life outside the Quarantine Zone was different.

It was both better and worst; better because there was no military breathing down your back, but worst because the Infected roamed free. It made Joel more tense - even when he kept you firmly behind him, rifle ready to go and finger itching on the trigger - to know that they could be anywhere. Sure, the military sucked but the biggest threat now was the Infected, and you'd come to learn a long time ago that there was no point arguing with his overprotectiveness. It was warranted, after everything he'd been through, so you operated under three rules: he went first, you went second, and if anyone was going to die first, it was going to be him. That last part was the one you loathed the most but he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

Still, there were moments outside the QZ where he could let his guard down. When you were far enough away from civilisation, and far enough away from any hoards, he would let himself exist beside you, peacefully and at rest. Those nights camping - sometimes on the way to Bill and Frank's, or on a smuggling run - were his favourite. Sometimes it was beneath the stars, or beneath a tangle of trees. It was a tiny insight into what things could have been like in another life, without outbreaks and infected and constantly being on the move. They were moments he craved but so often, you found yourself hating them. Mostly because you knew they would eventually come to an end, but also because it was proof that you could exist out of the QZ. You'd felt like the place had been suffocating you for months. For you, it felt like a death sentence. Joel didn't love them either but he liked that you were both safe there. He could easily find you amongst the walls and you only ever left together. The thing that he thought was keeping you together was actually, in your mind, the thing that was driving you apart.

You'd pose the idea to him (for the tenth time) on a cold night, about four miles outside of the Boston QZ. The two of you had set up camp in the thickness of a forest; your tent was older than your respective ages combined and the fire was dwindling, but you were both content. Joel was leant against a tree, an arm wrapped around you and keeping you firmly to his side, free hand ready on his gun.

"I don't think I want to go back."

Joel peered down at you, quirking an eyebrow. "The hell are you talking about?"

"To the QZ," you said. "I don't want to go back to the QZ."

"This again?" he sighed - but you couldn't ignore the way his grip on you grew tighter. Tenser. "We've spoken about this a thousand times. The QZ is safe. It's...it's our home."

"Just because our stuff is that doesn't mean it's home," you murmured. "After this run, we could just take our stuff and go. We know the way out, we know how to run at this point, don't we?"

"It's dangerous out here," Joel reminded you. "We know how to be out here for limited periods of time. Those routes, those safe spaces and uninfected areas will run out eventually. So will our resources."

You sighed, sniffing. "Yeah. You're right. It's a silly idea."

"Hey...look, baby, don't get all mopey on me now," he shuffled slightly to the side, gently placing his hand on your cheek. "The main thing is that we have each other, wherever that may be. We've just gotta stick to the QZ for now but I promise, I'll get us out eventually. Just hang in there."

"Of course," you gave him a smile.

"It's you and me," he quietly added. "That's what matters."

"You and me," you'd replied. "I promise."

Still, Joel couldn't deny that he'd seen the light in you withering - the light that seemed to come back every time you were outside of the QZ. He knew you were stubborn; that once you had an idea in your head, that was it.

That's why he wasn't surprised to find you gone two weeks later.

2 0 2 3

Joel, my love,

I'm sorry. I'm never going to stop being sorry, but I tried to tell you a thousand times and you never listened.

I couldn't live that way any longer. I wanted to leave the QZ the day I got there, but then I met you, and I stayed longer than I ever imagined. You made it bearable - more than that. I just couldn't carry on anymore, especially knowing that the outside world may not be all that bad. It would be even better with you, but I can't force you to do something so drastic when you don't want to. That's not fair on you, but forcing myself to stay wouldn't be fair on me. Putting myself first feels like the worst thing in the world right now, but I have to do this. For me. I hope you can understand. I love you and I don't think I'll ever stop. I hope we cross paths again one day. It's you and me, always.

Joel Miller carried two things with, always. Three things, actually; his rifle, the letter you wrote him, and the grief that you'd left in your wake. It wasn't your fault - and Joel didn't blame you, not one bit - but he couldn't help but feel like it was his. You'd told him you'd been struggling and as he often did with his own emotions, he'd forced you to swallow it down. He thought that would have kept you together but unsurprisingly, it had driven you away.

Life, as it always had, went on. People came and went - though you never came back - and before long, Joel found himself trekking through Wyoming for the second time. Ellie had consumed all his priorities at that point. She had healed more than one of his wounds, but the night she'd found that letter in his bag and began asking questions had re-awoken Joel's yearning for you.

"Joel Miller, a relationship man? I never would have thought," she'd joked. And she hadn't really stopped asking questions since. She'd wanted to know how you met, how you fell in love, and most of all, why you'd left. Though, it didn't take a genius to guess.

The first time Joel had been in Jackson, he hadn't actually spent much time in Jackson. He'd been in the workshop, then in the bar with Tommy, and then he'd left with Ellie not long after. Now that he was there for the foreseeable future, he found himself wandering one morning. Ellie was still dead to the world, and he'd taken it as an opportunity to see what the fuss was actually all about.

Joel had never believed in ghost towns; maybe that was what this place had been for a while, but most of his ghosts resided back in Texas and Boston. Not Jackson. He had no history here; no one except from Tommy knew he was. Maybe he liked it that way. Maybe that was his chance for a fresh start, for him, and for Ellie...and for you, apparently.

He felt like he had seen a ghost the first time he saw you again. Coming in from patrol with Tommy and Maria, you were leading a horse at the front of the pack. You didn't look any older - if anything, the freedom and comfort that Jackson had brought you had de-aged you slightly. You were radiant; beautiful and shining and with the spark that Joel had always feared he'd strangled out of you by forcing you to stay in the QZ.

He hadn't meant to call out your name. It just sort of happened. It had been a whisper at first, actually, growing into a shout as he crossed the town square and towards the gates. You'd recognised his voice straight away but you hadn't actually believed it to be him. It wasn't until you saw him coming towards you that you realised. It hit you like a truck; actually Joel hit you like a truck, because he hadn't really thought about hugging you, and you in too much disbelief to hug him, so you sort of just fell to the ground in a pile-of-you-and-Joel-and-snow.

"What the fuck, Joel?!" your words had been muffled, on account for the mouthful of snow you had. "What the...what are you doing here?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"You didn't answer my question," you shot back. Joel stood up, sticking out his hand to help you up. You were happy to see him - and he was happy to see you - but before the happiness, there was the other a thousand complex emotions that had risen in your time apart. "How on Earth did you get here from Boston?"

"Couldn't I be asking you all the same things?!" he'd demanded. He sighed, then, and faltered for a moment. "Shit. I can't believe it's you."

Joel took a deep breath, anger fading; he finally held his arms open to you, taking you into a warm, desperate hug for the first time in five years. Your bodies practically thudded together, arms tangled into one as you clung onto him. You didn't regret leaving - not one bit, now that you were here, not that you were free - but god, there had been days where you would have traded all of that freedom for one more day with Joel. There were no radios here, so you'd hadn't a clue if he was even still alive.

It had been worst for him, because he did have a radio. And he spent days waiting by it, hearing story after story about people being found dead, or new Infected being found by the walls of QZ. They had matched your description on more than one occasion, and after a while, he'd just assumed the worst.

Tommy cleared his throat. "I won't ask, but if you need a moment, the bar is empty."

You glanced at Joel. "Yeah. Thanks Tommy."

Trudging to the bar, with Joel in tow, you walked in silence. It wasn't that you didn't have anything to say, it was just that you didn't know where to start. You'd gone over this scenario a thousand times in your head but now that it had actually happened, you were speechless.

The bar was, as promised, completely dead. You stepped inside and locked the door behind you, heading straight to the whiskey shelf. A double Glen Morangie for you, and a double of the cheapest stuff for Joel. That had always been his favourite.

You took a seat opposite him, sliding the drink to him.

Joel's dark eyes flickered to the drink and then back up to you. "You remembered?"

"I didn't forget a single thing," you shot back. "I promise."

"It's funny - and forgive me if I sound shitty for saying this, but I hope you can understand my position right now - but your promises...I can't say they mean much," he murmured.

You faltered slightly, heart dropping in your chest. "I don't blame for you being angry at me, Joel. I left you and obviously that hurt but can't you see it from my perspective? I was drowning. You could see that I was fucking drowning and you just...you ignored me. You brushed it aside because of what you wanted-"

"- I wanted you," he cut you off. Joel downed his drink in one gulp, slamming the glass back on the table. "All I fucking wanted was you."

"You wanted me in the QZ," you reminded him. "I told you I couldn't stay. A thousand times, Joel, and you ignored me on every single occasion."

"And leaving was the solution?"

"Yeah," you said firmly. "Yeah, it was. I wondered for a while, maybe two years or so, and then I joined a bunch of other stragglers and we ended up here."

"And Jackson isn't suffocating?"

"When I can come and go as I please? When we have running water, electricity, houses and infrastructure?" you couldn't help but let out a derivative laugh. "For what it's worth, I've missed you."

Joel's angry guard quickly came down with your admission. He reached a hand out across the table, brushing a thumb over your palm.

"I've missed you too," he murmured. "The people on the radio...they always spoke about finding bodies and Infected, ones that matched your description. I assumed after a while you were dead."

"I'm sorry," you softly said. "I wish you knew how many times I thought about turning back. Even recently, I thought about it, but I was scared I was gonna come back and find you dead, or even worst that I would find you alive and that you wouldn't want to know-"

"- you think that me rejecting you is worst than me dying?" Joel raised an eyebrow, trying to fight back a smile. "You're always so fuckin' dramatic."

You smiled. "Yeah, I know."

"It hurt, y'know," he went quieter again, voice dropping to a whisper. "You leaving...I knew you spoke about it but I didn't think you'd do it. Not without me, at least. Not when I promised to try and get us out-"

"- you hurt me too, Joel," you admitted. "It was all well and good to say one day, I promise but when is one day? Every time I tried to tell you how I was feeling, you shut me down. You shut me out and then you shut me down."

"So you're sayin' I drove you away?"

You paused for a moment; you could have denied it, you could have said it was all your own doing and that Joel's purposeful ignorance to your suffering wasn't relevant. He wouldn't have believed you. There was no point in denying what he already knew was true.

"Yeah," you shrugged. "You did. And I'm sorry about it, okay? I'm sorry that I left, but I didn't do it because I stopped loving you, or because I wanted to get away from you. I had to get away from everything and there hasn't been a single fucking day since I left that I haven't thought about you, or missed you, or wished that you'd come with me..."

You stopped then, barely able to swallow the lump in your throat or ignore the tears that had formed in your eyes. Joel was feeling a too - maybe just not as visibly - but he so desperately wanted to take his words back.

"I don't know what I'm meant to do now," you continued. "Now that you're here...I don't know how long for-"

"- for the foreseeable future," he said. "I have a kid with me. She's not my kid, but she is my kid and....she's the best thing that happened to me since you. Don't tell her I said that."

You smiled slightly. "The foreseeable future, huh?"

"Yeah. This seems like the best place to be, compared to the rest of fuckin' country," Joel replied. "Especially if you're here."

"Right," you nodded, smile not faltering. "I'm glad you're here. Despite everything."

He raised an eyebrow. "Despite everything?"

"You gotta understand, Joel, I'm over the fucking moon to see you. To know that you're alive, and well, and that..." you paused, trailing off.

One thing you hadn't expected to feel when you saw him again was hesitance. Anger, and resentment, and fucking hesitance. It was something you hadn't realised you were harbouring, but knowing that the man you loved had purposefully ignored the way you felt - even five years ago - hurt. You just hadn't realised how much til now, and seeing him had wrenched all those unhealed wounds right up, tearing them from the back of your brain and making them fresh all over again. Especially when he'd had the audacity to be angry at you - maybe rightfully so - but then not understanding why you might be angry at him.

There was an elephant in the room: what happened now? Did you get back together? Forget about everything that had happened, so that you could be happy again?

No. That ship had sailed. It had sailed, and then it had hit an iceberg and sank, and it had whatever versions of you and Joel that had existed then down with it.

You grabbed your drink, downing the whiskey in one gulp in the same way Joel had just moments earlier. "I'll see you around Joel."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller imagines #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joe miller imagines #joel miller #tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou angst

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boldlyvoid · 2 years

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Dear Eddie Part Two: Question?

Summary: after coming back from "the dead" Eddie adjusts to life as a dad

Warnings: slight smut, mentions of Eddie's quarantine trauma, scars, baby making, pregnancy tests, dad!Eddie

Word Count: 4.6k

Part 1 | Part Two | Part Three coming soon

Trying to tell their friends that Eddie was alive and back and just in hiding under the sheriffs recommendation was hard… they had more questions than anyone expected and Eddie does his best to beat around the bush and save face. Gareth doesn’t drop it for about a month, Dustin convinces Jeff early on and the new, younger members of hellfire who’ve heard so much about him over the years are just happy to meet him.

However, just as soon as they got him back, Eddie was telling them about his thoughts on moving out of Hawkins. He didn’t feel that safe here anymore, he’s already gotten a few looks and it didn’t matter that Police Chief Powell did a conference about his charges being dropped… the story changed a third time and it became town knowledge that he was a victim that also survived, much like Max Mayfield, it just took a while for him to heal.

Most people believed it, his new look really helped, too, he seemed like just a normal guy and people didn’t immediately recognize him… he still wanted to move.

It wasn’t just about him anymore, however, he had a son and a girlfriend with lives and friends and a whole support system they depended on in his absence. He couldn’t tear them away from that just so that he felt un-judged.

The weirdest part of Y/N’s life without him was how she shared a bedroom with Wayne… for 2 years the two of them had twin beds side by side, seeing as she slept all night while he was at work and then he slept all day while she was either at work or with the baby… it was how they lived in the tiny trailer all together and they loved it. He just thought it was a little weird and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the tiniest bit jealous.

He wasn’t around for 2 years, Wayne’s not a bad-looking dude… Eddie’s heard him bring ladies home before, he knows he’s a good man, he wouldn’t be surprised if she ever got with him or wanted to while he wasn’t there… and he can’t say he blames her. If she needed some loving while he was away, who is he to tell her what was wrong? She deserved to always be loved.

He’s only been home a week, Jamie is asleep in the next room, they just finished cleaning up from the day and made their way back into the main bedroom and his mind couldn’t stop wondering when he sees the beds together yet again.

So he asks. “Did you sleep with Wayne?”

“Ew, oh my god?” She feels disgusted, trying to keep her voice down. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Your beds are pushed together?” He points at the two twins side by side.

“It’s a tiny room? We have separate blankets and schedules, we’ve never slept in here at the same time,” she confirms. “I would never fuck your uncle?”

“Okay,” he whispers, telling her to keep her voice down with just his eyes, “I’m sorry… I just, I didn’t expect you to know the truth about me being away and I always thought you’d move on from—

“You’re an idiot,” she doesn’t sugar coat it. “Buddy, I’ve been so in love with you this whole time I couldn’t sleep with anyone else if you paid me. I was devastated without you, it sent me into labour thinking you were dead. No one, nothing, not even my own two hands have touched me down there in your absence.”

His brows raise and his eyes grow impossibly wide, “seriously?”

She nods, eyes rolling with a sigh. “Yeah, I kinda don’t have the time or the interest, honestly. I mean… I didn’t…” she walks over to him carefully, hand on his chest as she looks up into his eyes, “you wanna make use of these beds being pushed together?”

“Oh, please?” He swoons, “I’ve wanted you every day for so long… I honestly don’t know a day where I didn’t want you.”

“What if…” she presses her lips together, searching for the words to say but they don’t follow. “Never mind. It’s crazy.”

“No, tell me?” He begs, brushing her hair back and cupping her face.

“What if we had another baby? What if you could be here for it this time and we can get that house you’ve been talking about, but we just go a bit north, not too far out of Hawkins, just closer to the boys while they’re in college?” She references his friends, who were now more her friends than anything.

“Yeah,” he’s on board right away. “I mean, I don’t know if it’ll work… I’ve been through a lot, but we can try?”

“What do you mean?”

“They did a million and one tests on me when I came back up to the real world,” he whispers. “I don’t know what that did to my swimmers…”

“Oh,” her face drops. “What kind of tests? Were you sick? Were they just scared you were exposed to something?”

“You haven’t seen it yet,” he whispers. “You don’t know how bad it was and I’m afraid to show you.”

“Show me,” it’s more of an order than a request. “What did they do to you?”

He steps back and raises his palms towards her, “be forewarned, it wasn’t the doctors. You know what Dustin told you about the upside down? It’s like Hawkins but dark and gross and awful and there are monsters down there… these horrific bat things swarmed me, they attacked me, they tried to eat me but it all worked like a hive mind so as soon as Nancy damaged the puppet master, they all died. And then I almost did.”

She stares at him like he has two heads, looking at all his already exposed skin— his neck, arms and face were all unharmed… “what did they do?”

He peels his shirt off carefully, the original wounds and skin graft surgery scars had healed a long time ago, “I’m thinking about tattooing a new nipple on,” he tries to make it funny. But it’s not. She doesn’t find it funny in the slightest. “I hate that they bit off my favourite nip.”

“Why didn’t they take Steve too?” She asks first over everything. “He was bit too, he told me about it. Dustin told me how you lost so much blood in his arms he couldn’t find a pulse that’s the only reason they left you down there but Steve must’ve been infected too if he was bit the way he described, why didn’t he get taken by the scientists?”

“It took them 3 days to come back for me,” he explains, revealing the harsh truth no one else clued her in on. She thought he was just down there for a few hours, she thought they brought him up and he was taken to the hospital right away…

“I was exposed to so much, like Will, and I had no one to negotiate the terms while I was unconscious unlike how he had his mom. And the lab. If I could’ve stayed here and just gone to the lab every few days for checkups I would’ve preferred that.”

“We all would’ve,” she feels angry. Like so much more than just time was stolen from them.

“I’m back now, though… and I would like to try if you still want to?”

“For another baby?” She softens right up. “Really?”

He nods, “I knew on my way to your last address that I wanted to pick up where we left off, I wanted to marry you and have babies with you in a town we’ve never been to before… but I think staying here and expanding the family we already have before getting married is still good.”

“Me too,” she steps back into his space and wraps her arms around his neck, chest to chest, “thats not me say yes either, big guy. You’ve still gotta ask.”

“I will,” he smiles, hands at her waist slowly making their way down to her hips. “Later,” and then her ass where he pulls her in tighter. “Sex hasn’t changed at all in the last 3 years, right?

She laughs, “as if I know? If I remember correctly, even without any experience you were still wonderful… I can just imagine what 2 years of thinking about me does.”

“Oh the thoughts I’ve had,” he picks her up and turns them towards the bed, tossing her down on the mattress as the two of them scramble to get up to the pillows before grabbing at each other again. She holds his face in her hands as he lunges for her lips, kissing her with so much passion and want.

Her hands wander down his neck, over his shoulders where his skin is so impossibly warm still. She lets her hands explore his skin, the new textures are interesting, but he’s still the same underneath it all.

She breaks the kiss to look at his chest, staring between them as she runs her fingers over the scar tissue, “I think it’s cool, and sexy, and proves just how strong you are.”

“Can I just be soft and loving tonight?” He asks completely earnestly. “I don't have it in me to pretend anymore.”

“Yeah,” it almost breaks her heart. “Let go, baby, you’re safe with me.”

—

Eddie gets a job at the rebuilt Star Court mall, he runs the record store with pretty good pay and decent hours, meaning she can take fewer shifts and watch Jamie more. They even start house hunting on Eddie’s day off, they have a favourite that they want to put a bid on, they just need Wayne to check it out too, seeing as he’s coming with them.

She wouldn’t even dream of continuing to raise her family without him, Papa Wayne is the best grandpa in the whole state. Today he wakes up a bit early before his shift so the three of them can go look at the house, and maybe hit the grocery store on their way home, Wayne will do anything for the chance to spoil his grandson with sweets.

He drives them out of town, Jamie in his car seat in the back, she keeps turning around to try and peak at him to make sure he’s safe and okay, Wayne eventually places his hand on her kneecap and rubs his thumb on her gently. “He’s fine, what’s got you so nervous?”

“I uh,” she takes a deep breath. “I don’t feel good…”

His brows raise but his eyes stay on the road, “what kinda not feelin’ good?”

“Like the possibly knocked-up again kind of not feelin’ good…” she admits, “we agreed to try again if we’re moving and have the space so that he can experience it all this time and Jamie would be a big brother… please don’t be mad at me.”

She suddenly feels like a kid again, afraid to lose her support because she wanted to have another one of Eddie’s babies. But he shuts those fears down real quick.

“You’re 22,” he reminds her, giving her knee another squeeze of approval. “And already a wonderful mom, if we’re gonna have the space now, I think it’s going to be a nice addition to what we got goin’ on already.”

“Me too, thank you,” she relaxes into the seat finally, staring out at the road with a smile. “I’m so surprised how easy it’s been to transition back into life with him like he’s never been gone… and James loves him so much it’s amazing.”

“It’s his instincts,” Wayne explains. “That boy knows his daddy, blood or not, Eddie took one look at him and Jamie knew he was safe.”

“Like Eddie with you,” she reminds him. “I never really got to thank you for taking him in when we were little, I mean I was so mad he moved away to Hawkins but you saved him from being hurt anymore and I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“You don’t need to,” he’s always had a hard time taking compliments and praise. “How would you feel if I thanked you for making my family bigger? Huh?”

She smiles, shaking her head with a slight laugh, “I’d say you’re welcome 'cause I know you mean it, ya old grump. Take a compliment, you’re a wonderful dad to an equally wonderful dad.”

“Shut up,” he takes his hand off her knee to wipe his face, “you’re too nice, no wonder he keeps getting you pregnant.”

She smacks his arm lightly, “hey!”

“I’m kidding,” he can’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t mind having a hundred grandkids.”

“Good, 'cause I want as many as I can have with him,” she’s honest. “I love how much Jamie looks like us, I wanna see every little face we can make together.”

—

“What’s it say?!” Eddie’s practically on top of her when she comes out of the bathroom.

Wayne on the other hand gives her some space, holding Jamie in his arms as they all wait to see if she’s pregnant again. It’s such a lovely, yet suffocating change from the last time she was in this situation. The last time she was so alone it was terrifying, now she’s surrounded by her 3 favourite boys.

“It needs time, I just left it in there we’ll go back in and get it soon,” she explains, holding Eddie around his middle in a quick hug. “I really hope I am… I’m already thinking about what I want to do with the baby’s room at the new place.”

“So we're getting it?” Eddie turns to Wayne, wanting to know all of his thoughts.

“We’re putting in an offer, yeah,” he confirms with a smile. He turns to Jamie and bounces him so he laughs, “this little guy loved the backyard swing and I was thinking I could build him a slide, or a sandbox for his trucks?”

James lights up, “yeah!”

“Yeah!” Eddie and Y/N smile back at him, reaching out to take a hand of his each and shake them lightly. “You’re going to have the best time in a big house, buddy,” Eddie can’t help thinking about it all and how wonderful it’ll be.

“And a great big brother,” Y/N adds.

“Papa will teach you all about that, he was such a good big brother,” Eddie smiles at Wayne. “My mom said he was always the best, maybe you’ll get a little sister too.”

“Good luck to all of us,” Wayne teases. “The last girl Munson we had was your mom and she was such a ball buster… I do miss her though.”

“Yeah, me too,” Eddie sighs as he brushes Jamie's curls back, he looked so much like himself and Eddie knew he looked like his mom, so in a way, he was also looking at his mom when he looked at his son.

“I’m going to check it,” Y/N references back to the bathroom door, “should I bring it out here or tell you or?”

“Can I do it?” Eddie asks, “I wanna tell you if you are…”

“Yeah, go for it,” she swoons, letting him walk off into the bathroom to find the test face down on the counter, on top of some toilet paper, waiting to be read.

He takes a deep breath and says a small prayer in his mind, hoping whoever was listening would give him and the love of his life another baby so he could feel like a good dad finally. He wanted more than anything to be present in this little one's entire life while he still made up for his absence over the last year to James every day moving forward. He slowly flips the test, eyes closed, he bites his lip and holds his breath as he peeks with one eye.

Two lines.

“Oh my god,” he covers his mouth in shock and runs out to her, holding the test up in the air, “oh my god!”

“Really!?” She starts to jump up and down, waving her arms slightly before she jumps into eddies, holding him tight. “We did it!”

As if they forget Wayne is there, they share a few kisses and congratulations, wrapped up in each other's embrace and mutual glee. “Mama’s having a baby,” they hear him explaining to Jamie, ever so sweetly. “They’re just happy, it’s not sad.”

They both turn back to his worries that their hysterics freaked him out, “it’s so exciting, buddy,” they explain to him softly. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”

He reaches out for his mom, jumping right into her arms and burying his face in her neck, she cups his head and sways with him, “I can’t believe we’re gonna have another one of you.”

“I can’t wait to be here for it,” Eddie’s eyes are full of tears as he watches them dance.

Wayne pats his back, “me too,” he agrees. “I never did get to see ya all pregnant either, you think we can come to one of those cool sonogram appointments?”

“Yeah,” she nods, smiling with her whole face, “I’d love to have you there this time.”

—

Eddie is so careful about buckling his son into his van, he double and triple checks the straps and the buckle before clocking the door and getting back into the front seat, “you ready to go?”

“Yeah!” He cheers back. “Moo-sick?”

“Sure thing, dude,” his heart melts as he reaches for the nob on the stereo, “let’s see what we got today…” he tunes into the closest rock station to hear one of the many fan-fucking-tastic songs that were released during his quarantine. Looking in the rearview mirror, his little boy is head-banging along to the words, holding his favourite teddy under his arm and a big smile on his face. He’s the cutest thing in the world.

The drive is short, they are able to listen to only a song and a half but James makes them sit and wait for the song to finish, he doesn’t let his dad unbuckle him until the radio man comes back on. So Eddie turns around in his seat to look at him, “Buddy, there’s a record store here, I can show you all kinds of music?”

He lights right up, “weally?” He can’t really say his r’s yet.

“Yeah, come on,” he finally shuts the engine off and hops out of the van, swinging the back door open he unclips the buckle and helps his little guy to his feet.

Holding hands they walk all the way through the parking lot together and into the mall where everyone is looking at him. He picks James up, feeling like he needs to guard his son against the oncoming looks. It was strange for them to see Eddie Munson the child murderer with his own kid, he knew that’s why they were looking.

And everyone knew it was his kid too, obviously. But now they knew for sure. It was one thing when Y/N lived with him, the old gossip was that she was another one of Wayne’s siblings' kids that he took in, there were a few people who suspected Eddie got Y/N pregnant and then dipped, but most of them just thought Wayne was being charitable.

“Come on bud,” he ignores the stares and the whispers and smiles at his little boy, “we need to go make a few t shirts first and then we can go get a new album and listen to it at home.”

Up the escalator and down the hall, they finally get to the shirt printing store where Eddie heads right towards the toddler t-shirts. He sets James down and holds a shirt up to him, “this should fit you, what colour do you want?”

“Gween!” He yells, jumping up and down while pointing at the green shirt on the wall.

“Green it is,” Eddie laughs, standing up to reach for the green shirt in James’ size. “Follow me,” he points towards the counter, walking slowly so James can keep up.

He places it on the counter with a smile, luckily the person working there is a teenage girl with no preconceived notions about him. “What would you like, today?”

“Do you have any presets that say like ‘will you marry me?’ On them?” He asks carefully. “I want to dress him and then when his mom unzips his hoodie she’ll see it and I can propose.”

“Cute,” she genuinely doesn’t care. “I think I can make that for you,” she says, flicking through the patterns in her file folder until she pulls out a basic sheet of paper with cursive text saying “will you marry me?” On it. “This good?”

“Perfect,” he agrees, handing her the small shirt.

She sizes it, prints the letters on white vinyl and presses it to the shirt all within a few minutes. Holding up the final product, she finally smiles, “this okay?”

“It’s amazing, thank you so much,” Eddie’s so enthusiastic about it. He pays, the shirt is placed in a bag and he hands it to James to hold on their walk out.

“Ready to go to the music store?” He asks, not as excited seeing as he works there 5 days a week, it’s not a new place for him.

“Yeah!” He reaches up, wanting to be held again.

And who was he to say no? He picks his little guy up again and snuggles him close, kissing his cheek a few times, “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, resting his head on his dad's shoulder as they walk down the hall.

He’s never felt so right before. He used to feel he had no purpose, but holding his son, and seeing the perfect person he was able to make made everything in his life worth it. His son is everything to him, his next kid was going to be just as loved too. And they’d both grow up with married parents in a big house with a happy life, everything he always wanted, he was going to give to them.

James wiggles out of his arms when he sees his favourite store and makes a b-line right to the headphones on the wall. “Woah there, dude, we need to pick something to listen to first.”

“Mal-ika!” He yells, “mal-ika, mal-ika!”

“Metallica it is,” he smiles, walking through the rock aisle on his way over to the book, taking Metallica's Master of Puppets tape off the shelf and bringing it over to his little guy who already had his headphones on, waiting to rock out.

He could really tell his friends raised him so far, he loved heavy metal, he wanted his curly hair long, he wore little band tee’s and he was just so fucking cool. He was gonna have to thank Gareth and Jeff for keeping his memory alive through music, especially when they thought he was really gone.

He sits there, in the booth with his son as he head-bangs along to the loud music in his headphones, thinking about his life now. It felt like yesterday he was spending a month alone in his room learning how to play Master of Puppets and then he used it to save the world and now his son wants to listen to it all the time.

“Anything I can help you with?” His co-worker asks with a cheeky smile, knowing he doesn’t.

“No, I’m good, Hank,” he smiles back. “We already have all these albums at home, he just likes to come in.”

“Of course he does,” Hank enthused. “He’s the famous James Munson… one day we’re gonna have his songs in here.”

“I hope,” Eddie holds him tight and kisses the top of his head just as he starts to drum along to the solo on the desk, “however… I think he might be a drummer.”

“Gareth got to him,” Hank sighs, playfully.

“He loves his uncle Gare,” Eddie understands perfectly. “But once his hands are big enough I will be getting him a guitar and teaching him everything I know… I’m a bit rusty right now, but by then I should be caught back up.”

“And you’ll have new Metallica stuff to learn together,” Hank reminds him with a smile.

“True,” he honestly hadn’t thought about it.

But suddenly he was even more excited to grow up alongside his kids.

—

“Why is he so bundled up?” She asks as soon as she sees James, walking in the front door after work, exhausted. “It’s June, he’s going to sweat to death.”

“He asked for it,” Wayne lies, shrugging. “Said he was cold.”

“Oh no,” she gets down on her knees and cups his face, touching her lips to his forehead, “he’s not fevered… but he is warm. Let’s get you out of this, buddy,” she explains while she unzips his hoodie and peels his little arms out of it.

It takes her a minute to read his shirt, not even registering that it’s not what she dressed him in that morning. She reads it slowly,

“Will you marry— oh my fucking god?”

“Ooh my fuckin’ god,” he repeats back to her, completely perfect.

“No,” she can’t help herself from laughing as the tears start, “you can’t say that… but, oh my god?” She covers her mouth and turns to Wayne, and then the other way, towards their bedroom in the tiny trailer where Eddie was standing.

He stepped out into the sunlight and then got down on one knee, “you told me I had to really ask… so will you marry me?”

She didn’t think she’d be this emotional when it finally happened, she also didn’t think she’d be pregnant. She thought about this moment a lot growing up, she always imagined she’d marry him, and she always knew it would happen. Having it happen like this, however, surrounded by their family, even if it was just Wayne and James, it felt perfect. More perfect than anything she ever imagined.

She waves him over, crying too much to get up and go to him and James was a little freaked out by the tears too. He snuggled into her chest, “mama?”

“It’s okay, baby,” she kisses his head. “Your daddy wants me to marry him… should I do it? Should I marry daddy?”

He nods, “marry daddy!”

“Okay, I will,” she can’t stop smiling, overjoyed with how this all played out.

Eddie gets on the floor beside her, wrapping them up in his arms, kissing his soon-to-be wife’s forehead and then his sons. “Can I put this on you?” He asks, showing her the simple band with 3 diamonds on it.

“Yeah,” she nods, holding back more tears.

He slides the rings over her finger carefully, bringing her hand to his lips he kisses her knuckles. “I can’t wait to marry you."

“Me either,” she presses a kiss right to his lips, breathing him in deeply as he holds the kiss there.

And then James jumps in, kissing his mommy’s cheek with a giggle, slobbering on her slightly. Toddler kisses were always the wettest, but also the sweetest. They break from the kiss with matching smiles, Eddie grabs James by the waist and tickles him while she cups his little face and smothers him in kisses, making the whole trailer erupt in the purest noise known to man.

Little happy baby giggles. A perfect example of how the rest of their lives would always be.

Taglist

@fightingdragonswithwho @mrs-dr-reid @kyomito @reidselle @venomsvl @nomajdetective @girl-with-an-orange-cat @stevesmunsons @blairscott @sweetyyhippyy @wroteclassicaly @reidsbookclub

#eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things season 4

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