#apocalypse world x reader

[lady-ashfade]

Fallout Masterlist

Requests for this fandom: closed

Angst: Red

Fluff: Pink

Both: Orange

Comfort: purple

A little bit of everything or nothing: green

Yandere: Red & Green

Fallout 4

<nothing yet>

Fallout show

<nothing yet>

Apocalypse world

<nothing yet>

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Synopsis: Your first encounter with Rin Itoshi in a world struck by tragedy.

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Rin x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.0k

Content Warnings: zombie apocalypse au, reader is suicidal, reader is the final boss of being a failure, not SELF indulgent because i wrote it for a friend but indulgent nonetheless, zombies are gross, rin is there ig, this is super short i wrote it in like. an hour, i haven't paid attention to bllk for a while so rin is obvs going to be ooc sorry

A/N: good morning @sumiscribe-side i am Perceiving you rn 👁️👁️ i hope you do not perceive me in return...for the rest of you who may or may not be reading this is just like a silly drabble based on a convo sumi and i were having earlier that i ended up writing as a surprise for my baddie LOLOL i could've expanded on this premise more and even made a series out of it but i did not Want to. seeing as rin is not my #man LMAO but anyways if it's confusing/vague that's why SDKJFH SORRY I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M WRITING THIS AFTER SAYING I WAS DONE W BLLK HAHA

The knife in your hands is pungent with the scent of rust, the blade long since turned red from corrosion, but the point is sharp enough that when you press your finger to it, you wince before brightening. It’s the first sharp thing you’ve seen in a while, and you’re more than a little relieved that finally, finally, you might find some reprieve from the endless cycle you’ve been trapped in since the world ended one month ago.

You raise it in the air and sniff it delicately; the tang of the metal is acrid and bitter, but it’s better than the rot lingering in the air, which is heavy and humid and sticks to your skin and clothes and hair until you feel like vomiting. You really might've vomited — you did the first day, after all — but as of late your reserves of food have dipped so pitifully low that all you have left to your name is a pack of crackers and a perpetual nausea, gnawing low in your gut and almost certainly the cruelest part of this entire situation.

“Well, then,” you say, twirling the knife between your fingers. “Let’s get to business!”

You’re oddly cheery for a girl who’s about to die, but given that you’re meeting this death without jaws sinking into your shoulder or decay coating the inside of your nostrils, you feel like some happiness is deserved. It’s strange to think of, but you really are luckier than most, and certainly you are luckier than those who were caught close to the epicenter of the outbreak’s beginning.

Right as the tip of the blade comes to rest against your sternum, not deep enough to pierce it but firm enough that you know it’s there, you hear a low groan. Your eyes widen, and then you whip around, brandishing the knife before you as if it will do anything.

It’s one of them — the infected, the undead, the sick, or whatever other polite term the media is using to refer to them now. You can’t keep track of them all — it feels as though there is a different name every minute — but your mother was once a fan of this genre, and you’ve seen enough movies to know what they are actually called: zombies.

This one is tall, achingly slim, its skin clinging to its bones and riddled with holes, its fingers gaunt as they reach towards you, twin black pits carved into its face where its eyes once sat. It doesn’t need to see to know where you are; it can sense you, the sweetness of your living flesh irresistible to its decomposing maw, which hangs loose with another trembling moan of delight at your proximity.

With a yelp, you scramble backwards. To your dismay, the knife slips from your hands and is immediately caught underfoot by the zombie, the metal hissing into steam as it dissolves from strength of the mucus dripping down the creature's legs. You swear to yourself, because that was your one chance at peace and your own hesitation cost you it, but then the zombie wails and breaks into a run and you’re swearing for a different reason.

Your instincts tell you to scream for help, but you don’t, because you don’t want to attract more of them and end up cornered, torn apart by an entire pack of the things. You've managed to avoid that outcome thus far, your strategy of hiding in whatever bodies of water you can find successful enough given that your scent is washed away rather handily by the rushing currents, but of course your luck would run out eventually.

“It’s fine!” you chant to yourself as you run. “It’s fine, I’ll go through with it next time. I’ll do it next time! It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s — ah!”

You attempt to skid to a stop, but you cannot stop yourself from tripping over the man crouched by the smoldering remains of a fire, tumbling over him with your legs in the air and your limbs askew as you land in a heap behind him. Not even taking the time to greet him, you shoot back to your feet and shove him in the direction of the zombie, calling out an apology over your shoulder and hoping that his sacrifice buys you enough time to get to the river you left behind when searching for a weapon.

There’s a loud bang, and then someone is yanking you back by your sleeve. With a squeal, you squeeze your eyes shut and kick at your captor, but instead of the grating, rumbling sound characteristic of zombies in distress, you hear a grunt.

“What the hell is your problem?”

You crack your eyes open and find yourself met with the arresting glare of the man, who is both the one holding you in place and the one snapping at you. There’s a layer of dust on his face and smears of blood on his jacket, but he’s otherwise clean and unharmed, though the scowl twisting his handsome features is more reminiscent of someone who's dying in agony. 

“Where did it go?” you say. “That zombie, where is it?”

“The infected,” he corrects you, rolling his eyes. “I killed it.”

“Killed it? You have a weapon, then?” you say, ignoring his snarky amendment.

“So what if I do?” he say.

“Give it to me,” you say. He’s disgusted now, disgusted and more than a little horrified as he drops you to the ground and steps away from you.

“No way,” he says. 

“I’ll give it right back! I just need to borrow it to do…something,” you say.

“Uh-huh,” he says. “That’s very convincing.”

“You don’t sound very convinced,” you say. He doesn’t even give this the grace of a response, and you huff. “I’m not going to take it from you. Look, I’m not some kind of survivor or whatever. I just want to get out of here before I’m ripped to shreds and messily enjoyed by one of those zombie freaks.”

This time, he doesn’t bother with correcting you for the casual name, only looking you over, measuring you with his steady gaze, which is unreadable and blue and reminds you of what summertime used to feel like.

“You’re looking for one of the strongholds, then?” he says. 

“Strongholds?” you repeat. You’ve heard that some of the bigger cities have consolidated their forces, built impenetrable fortresses that are checked meticulously for any signs of illness, but you’ve long since dismissed such tales as nothing but fantasies created by survivors desperate to cling onto something like hope. 

“Yes,” he says, and he’s clearly impatient. “There’s one not too far from here. Isn’t that your destination?”

“I didn’t know those were real,” you say. He squints at you, and then he clicks his tongue.

“Seriously,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re still alive. How unprepared can you get?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” you say, candidly and without any emotion. “I’m sick of this. The only reason I’m still going is because I need something a bit more sophisticated than a well-shaped stick to get the job done, you know? I’m not that brave, after all. If I were, I would’ve just let myself be taken by the hordes, but as it is, I’m waiting until I find something that’ll make it quick.”

“What?” he says.

“I found it, too!” you continue, and it’s been so long since you had a proper conversation with an actual person, not a tree stump or stray deer, that you find yourself more than a little impassioned. “I found a knife, and I was just about to do it, I really was! But then, ugh, that zombie came and I panicked and dropped it and then it melted, because of course it did, of-fucking-course it did, and then I was running and next thing I know, I’m tripping over you!”

He blinks at you, and then he exhales, running a hand through his dark hair like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, although you think it’s fairly reasonable, all things considered. His other hand drops to his belt, and that’s when you notice he has a pistol hanging on his belt — indubitably the source of the bang from earlier.

“No,” he says when he notices where you’re looking. “That’s not an option.”

“It would be so easy, though,” you plead. “Come on, help a girl out, won’t you?”

“Haven’t I helped you enough?” he says. “I saved your life earlier. You’d be, uh, what did you call it? ‘Ripped to shreds and messily enjoyed by one of those zombie freaks?' Yeah. You definitely weren’t outrunning that thing for much longer, I can promise you that.”

“Why does it matter to you?” you say, deciding not to comment on his swift judgement of your athletic ability. He’s probably right, anyways, and besides, anything resembling the pride you had once maintained had fled with the first zombie you had narrowly escaped from.

“Ammunition isn’t cheap,” he says.

“I’ll pay you for it!” you say. “How about that? Sounds fair, right? I give you something, and you do it for me. Total deal!”

“Hm. What do you have?” he says, and you’re so taken aback by the genuine answer that you fumble about for a bit, your hands fishing around in your pockets for something of value.

“How about these crackers?” you say, waving your only possession at him tantalizingly.

“Crackers,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards.

“They’re gourmet,” you say.

“No, they’re not,” he says.

“They are!” you insist.

“I’ve seen that exact brand in the convenience store before,” he says. You pause at this.

“You must have some…very fancy convenience stores where you live,” you say finally. He’s clearly unimpressed, and you shove the crackers back in your pocket before clasping your hands together. “Look, this is all I’ve got. If it’s not you or a zombie, I’ll just die of starvation, anyways. Can’t you consider it a mercy kill or something?”

He shifts from foot to foot, and for the first time you realize that it’s not just obstinance — despite the ease with which he shot the zombie, the thought of killing you is another thing entirely, and he’s clearly repulsed by the idea. So, pursing your lips, you nod at him.

“Alright, I get it,” you say with a sigh. “Don’t worry, I’m not that horrible. If that’s how it is, I’ll just get going now. Thanks for the help…?”

You don’t expect him to give you his name, not when you’re a stranger who could do anything with it, but it’s a holdover, an old habit from when you would go to school and make friends in exactly that way, with a raise of your brow and an invitation to complete your sentence.

“Rin,” he says. Your eyes widen, and then you smile, because it’s a name that suits him, lovely and simple, strong like the bridge of his nose, which is currently wrinkled in something resembling a frown. 

“Rin,” you affirm. You don’t give him your name in exchange, and he doesn’t ask for it. “Thanks again.”

“Wait,” he says, opening his bag and tossing a can at you. “Here.”

The label is faded beyond comprehension, but you can tell that it’s something like beans or vegetables, something substantial that makes your stomach grumble by its weight alone. It’s precious, this food which won’t go bad for years, and you furrow your brow, because what reason does he have for giving it to you?

“Live long enough to come by something worthwhile,” he says, answering your question before you can ask it. “And then come find me again.”

“Then will you—?” Your voice breaks off, and you hug the can to your chest. It’s harder to speak of when you’re so close to it, harder to tell him you want death when he’s offering to give you just that. 

He swallows, and you can tell even with that one simple act that he is sick from it, sick from the mere possibility, but you're selfish, in order to survive you have to be, so you don’t move to reassure him.

“Yes,” he says, and it's shuddery and reluctant but he does it. ���The next time we meet, if you still want me to, I’ll kill you.”

[dietcokeangel2004]

Michael Langdon x reader

I know (I know) you belong to somebody new, but tonight you belong to me.

Although (although) we're apart, you're a part of my heart and tonight you belong to me

~ Tonight you belong to me by Patience & Prudence

[bimb1na]

(This is a pick your own adventure fic and will be split into numerous parts with different endings depending on which route you decide to read. Your love interest with differ with each different option… Enjoy.)

💭 Arcane apocalyptic AU where hextech failed and caused an outbreak of people mutating from the radioactive fallout…

You had been alone for years now. Before the outbreak, you often joked with your friends that if something like this actually happened, you’d simply take your own life to stop yourself from getting infected.

But you didn’t.

Your friends would laugh at you and tell you that they’d most definitely try their best to survive… How ironic that you were the only person alive now.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen a person who’d been alive… You had hope when you’d gone to the old, abandoned council building after being hunted down by a small herd of infected in the early stages of mutation…

But there was nobody.

Now, you were walking through a silent field of grass. The sun was shining brightly on your dirtied skin and causing you to sweat through your many layers of clothes, undoubtedly making you even grimier than you'd been before, and you hadn’t showered since the death of your best friend, the last survivor in your friendship group.

That had been… Weeks? Months ago? You weren’t too sure anymore.

As you approached the woods, you lowered your axe from your shoulder to hold it in front of you in case an infected attacked you. With hextech being the cause of the mutations, you refused to use any form of weapon that had been associated with hextech. Including guns.

…

And you were lucky you’d made that decision. The moment your foot hit a twig and snapped it in half, a snarl could be heard, showing a late-developed infected, its face covered in boils and its bloodshot eyes glowing blue, its lips an unsettling shade of yellow and its teeth rotted and sharpened…

The same type of infected that had killed your best friend.

You couldn’t take this one on alone.

So you ran.

You ran deep into the forest, weaving through the trees and jumping over roots as you desperately tried to run away from the infected. Your breaths were heavy and wheezy from exhaustion… You needed a way out of the situation

But just with your luck, two pathways revealed themselves in front of you… A decision had to be made…

Would you go left, or would you go right…?

[blerp-22]

Apocalypse! Yuu-

Zombie apocalypse happens then yuu is sent to twst. Is very flinchy, traumatized, and cautious. I like to think they're from the beginning stages of the apocalypse before they're sent to twst. So they aren't as hostile and distant from people because they haven't really seen the horrors other people are capable of. Do you think they would get really attached to Crowley cuz he gave them a roof over their head and a (relatively) safe place to stay. Despite the unintentional trouble they cause. I know for a FACT that grim is their emotional support monster. He doesn't have a choice. Or if they are from later in the apocalypse timeline they would be pretty jaded, hostile, and always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Grim would still be by their side 24/7 not only for emotional support but since they don't really have way to protect themselves they default to grim. I think that unlike begining stage yuu, this yuu is very handy when it comes to repairing clothes and building in general. How do you think they would deal with ace the night he gets hit with riddles UM?

How does everyone react to this dirty little food hoarding, obviously traumatized gremlin? What about world building wise, is this apocalypse au set in the idea that everyone is infected. Or do you have to get bitten or zombie flesh or fluid get on your wounds to actually turn? Do we know how that everyone is infected? Do we accedentaly infect others? Do we spread the virus? Or does it not spread because of some magic imbued immune system of Twst denizens?

[delicatebarness]

ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ғᴀʟʟs ᴅᴏᴡɴ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: In the middle of the night, your world is shattered. Chaos erupts around you and you're forced to leave your home as the terrifying reality of the apocalypse unfolds.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Apocalyptic Themes. Violence and Gore. Death. Panic and Anxiety.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 968

sᴘᴏᴛɪғʏ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪsᴛ | sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ: ᴋᴏ-ғɪ

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

ᴀ/ɴ: Another one for Prologue Season, remember to let me know what you think if you want the story to continue, by the way, it is eventually Bucky Barnes x Reader. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

ᴀᴛᴡғᴅ: Let me know if you would like to be tagged for possible future chapters.

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

Tangled in the warmth of his arms, the blanket wrapped you in the quiet safety of the night. It was almost surreal how peaceful the night felt, the distant hum of the city outside, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your head. No urgency, no fear– just the comfort of each other. 

Then suddenly, sirens split through the silence, jarring you from your haze. Flashing light of red and blue outside the window, bathing the room in an eerie, pulsating glow. Sitting up, you clutched the blanket close to your chest, as your heart hammered against it. Looking over at him, you watched the color drain from his face. He knows. 

Dread opens a pit in your stomach, dropping further as you witness something unspoken in how he moved. In that instant, he jumped out of bed, yanking open drawers and tossing clothes into a duffel bag. His frantic energy only intensified your fear. Your mind reeled at the dull sound of metal scraped as he retrieved something from his nightstand: a blank and ominous gun. 

Finally, you found your voice, it trembled barely a whisper when you managed to find the words. “What’s happening?” You questioned desperately, a fragile hope that this was just another nightmare, and any moment now, you’d wake up. But deep down, as you looked into his eyes, wide and wild, you already knew this was reality. 

“Get up,” he urged, voice straining as he shoved the bag into your hands. “We’ve got to go. Now.” 

Clutching the duffel bag, you froze, your body refusing to move. Through the window, shadows lurched through the street, and alarms wailed and mingled with distant screams. Chaos erupted as streetlights flickered, covering the scene in a sickly, unnatural glow. You couldn’t reconcile the sense of it.

He gripped your shoulders, desperately shaking you out of your temporary paralysis. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice gruff but urgent, “ you have to move. Right now.” 

He pulled a jacket over your shoulders, it was thick and worn but, it smelt like him, the home you were about to leave behind. Barely registering his rapid instructions, as he continued to talk, your mind struggled to play catch up. 

“We need to head north. We’ll find a car and stick to the highways. Don’t stop, don’t–” he paused with a crack in his voice, just for a second, but long enough to make your breath catch. There was a fear in his eyes, fear you had never seen before.

Your throat was dry, and your words were stuck, catching on the forming lump. But, you managed to choke them out, even though you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer. “W- What about everyone else? Our families and our friends are here– what’s happening to them?” 

There was no plan for them, the hesitation in his eyes was enough of an answer: no rescue was coming. Only this, a frantic scramble to survive, thrown at you without warning.

Stumbling to your feet, the duffel bag slammed against your legs as you tried to pull the jacket around you with numb fingers. It felt like you were watching this happen to someone else, maybe a character in a horror movie you never auditioned for. 

Already at the door, the gun gripped tightly in one of his hands as he peeks through the peephole. Each jagged piece of time cut deeper than the last as seconds stretched on. Fear twisted itself into something cold and sharp as the pounding in your chest drowned out everything else. 

When he finally opened the door, the sound hit you like a physical blow– The screaming, gunshots, and guttural groans from the dead. Nothing made sense, and there was no time to make it. Dragging you down the hallway, his grip tightened as you ran toward the chaos. 

“Go!” he yelled, shoving you forward as you made your way out of the apartment building and onto the street with a stumble. The night's air was thick with acrid smoke, the scent of burning mingling with the stench of decay, of death. 

Your eyes darted from one horror to the next, the twisted bodies that used to be people, shattered windows, and overturned cars. People were running, screaming, and falling. The world was falling down around you, and there you were, trapped in the middle of it, nothing more than a bystander to the end. 

Fingers digging into your skin, he pulled you toward the edge of the street. “Just run!” he shouted, but his voice was barely audible over the discord of the apocalypse unfolding around you.

Another stumble, you turned back to look at him. You didn’t understand, he wasn’t following. His gaze met yours, eyes wide, filled with fear and something else, something dark. You didn’t want to understand, but then, you saw it. His hand clutching his side, fingers staining crimson. Seeping through his shirt, the blook spread like inkblots. That was when you saw it— the ragged and deep bite, his flesh torn where the teeth had sunk in. 

“Go!” he shouted again, but his voice had grown weaker then, and he trembled with the effort to stay on his feet. His strength ebbed away with every drop of blood that soaked his clothes, what little color was left in his face, now draining with it. You knew what that meant, what he was trying to tell you without words. He wasn’t coming with you.

Your world collapsed in on itself at that moment. Driven by his last desperate command, your body moved instinctively and ran. The duffel bag slammed against your back, tears blurring your vision. As you sprinted into the unknown, his scream was swallowed by the night as the dead closed in on him.

---

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

[itllbeoneofthese]

(Part 2) Favorite Lines From: It Will Come Back

part 1

“With no idea of where you are, or how to get out, your best bet is playing lap dog to whoever the fuck these people are.” - ch 4

 “So, you’ll stay for two nights till the storm dies down. Not much can go wrong in two nights” - ch 4

 “Nothing in life is free and you are anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop. You are always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Some might say it’s a bad habit, you say it’s the reason you’ve survived this long.” - ch 5

“ ‘You know who else was just some schmuck?’ You point your fork back and forth between the two men, ‘Ted Bundy, and we all know how that ended.’ ” - ch 5

“You’re not good at the whole smiling thing, how big to smile or when to smile but you do your damn hardest to muster one up” - ch 5

“His gaze is on the frozen corpses; their feet are buried so deep beneath the snow that it seems like they have been sown in the dirt only to flourish now amongst the winter-scape with ice coating their rotting skin.” - ch 6

“She gave you an out anyways and it’s not like you’re particularly good company, you and your bluntness and cold shoulders and inability to show emotions. Johnny at least would be able to make her laugh.” -ch 6

[writeshite]

Getting a shooting lesson from Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh and taking the opportunity to just absolutely devour all that eye candy 👀

"You're supposed to be learning," Rick mutters by your ear, and you chuckle, "I'm serious, you better get these lessons down."

"Or what? You'll spank me?"

"If you're a good boy," Shane mutters from the other side of you, having snuck up on you easily; his hand goes to your lower back, tugging at a belt loop as his thumb grazes the top of your ass. You fumble with the gun, and Rick settles his arm around your shoulders, steadying your hold. Shane laughs, hand pushing further down, before Rick smacks him away.

"We came here to teach him, not fuck him," Rick reminds him, and Shane rolls his eyes.

"You heard him sweetheart, start shooting."

[starlightdelrey]

quick q !!!

if i were to write an apocalyptic au w the f1 grid + some partners, would u guys want it to be reader insert??

if so, do u want it to be reader paired with someone on the grid

hypothetically hehe

[american-horror-whore]

(send me a req 🖤 can be an evan character or just the man himself !!)

[scripts4dreamers]

Warm fuzzies

AN: My brain is infected by werewolves in love. My sincerest apologies to anyone who isn't submerged in World of Darkness lore. I also wanted to pay homage to the old WoD Litany with regards to werewolves not being allowed to bone one another. Characters: Patrick Hodge, Elton Dey, Ashley Nin, Melodie Palys Warnings: Mention of suicide, Spoilers: None

First, it’s important to keep in mind that Patrick Hodge doesn’t care about the Litany…much. The old werewolf laws are just that; old and laws, neither of which are exactly his forte. He’s respectful of the spirits of the Wyld, wherever he finds them, because that’s just common fucking sense, and he keeps his werewolf shit secret because he doesn’t want to get silver bulleted by some harebrained hunter with a god complex but, outside of that, he leaves the Litany to the philodoxes and minds his business. So, imagine his surprise when, at the first lurching of his heart, when you reached across his body to grab…something - he doesn’t fucking know - and he caught a whiff of your apple scented shampoo and just melted, his mind went straight to the old rules.

It had been years since he’d really thought about his initial…education? Initiation? Crash course? Whatever, it had been years since he’d taken the time to remember that first conversation with Graynail, when he was just a snotfaced, rich problem child who had been headhunted by the Broad Brook Caern. He remembered the old wolf’s face, all deep lines and stormy eyes, serious as a heart attack as he talked Podge through everything from tribe selection to pack etiquette to who has the right to speak at a moot and, of course, the golden rule:

No werewolf on werewolf action.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite the golden rule. It wasn’t even technically part of the Litany anymore, more of a general guideline for members of Broad Brook, but it had been the one that made the biggest impression on the teenage boy - hopped up on rage and puberty as he was. He’d thought that was funny. Werewolves are real, he’d thought to himself, vampires and witches and ghosts are real. Gaia is being destroyed by malignant forces of eternal destruction and he was supposed to fix it with his anger management issues, and there was a rule that was like a real world counterpart to that viral YouTube video about a world where straight people are the minority. Would a straight werewolf technically count as a diversity hire?

Haha. Funny werewolves and their funny rules. He had bigger things to worry about than women, he had a world to save.

Less funny now. Less funny when he’d spent the last several years in a kind of self imposed isolation (first because he was fed up with how the Silver Fangs treated Bone Gnawers and then, later, because his whole pack was dead) and, consequently, could barely remember the last time someone had touched him gently. Less funny when you were throwing him a shirt and helping him fix the buttons and your sheer proximity made his skin tingle and his knees get so weak that he’d nearly fallen into your arms. Less funny when you were pulling on your clothes after shifting back into human form, still half covered in monster blood, and he couldn’t stop looking at the way the moonlight caressed the curve of your thighs.

No, it turns out that twenty year-old Patrick Hodge found the whole deal a whole lot less humorous than his dumbass teen self had.

He watched you as you worked, ignoring the prickly, uncomfortable aching in his chest as his wolf howled to be let out. You hated this stupid little coffee shop but it helped you make enough money for the pack to get by and your boss gave them yesterday’s pastries for free, so you stuck it out. The fluorescent lights would’ve been unflattering on anyone else but, as Podge was quickly learning, you were the exception. Your hair shone, your smile was radiant and warm. You looked like any other student working a part time job in a shitty town, but you were so much more than that. He could almost see the wolf beneath your skin, all tawny fur and bright yellow eyes, faster than the wind with senses no one in the pack could hope to match. You were a creature of power and rage and no one in this dingy little fucking place even knew it. It was a tragedy.

Ug, look at him, getting all poetic and patriotic over a girl. He was so fucked.

Nin elbowed him in the ribs, “You’re staring again, Podge.”

“Am not,” he replied, wincing but not looking away.

“You are, and it’s getting pathetic,” Melodie chimed in, twisting a thick lock of her auburn hair around her finger as she scanned the cafe for threats.

He fought back the urge to snarl, tearing his eyes away and focussing them on Melodie, “Okay Mrs Harvest King, considering that, without me, you would be food for an evil spirit by now, I’d be careful who you call pathetic.”

Melodie’s rage flared and she leaned forward but, before she could snap at him, Elton intervened.

“That’s enough of that, I think,” he said, always the voice of reason, “if you two act up, Pembe might fire Y/N and then we’d all be screwed. She and I are the only two members of this pack with steady employment, if you’ll recall.”

Podge and Melodie protested half-heartedly, unwilling to give Elton the impression that he was winning the argument but also unable to counter his logic. Nin chuckled, enjoying the show. Podge leaned back in his seat and tried to not be conspicuous.

“Seriously though,” Melodie eventually said, her tone more even as she looked at Podge with clear sincerity, “you know you can never go there, right?”

“Why? Because of the Litany?” he countered with his usual mocking tone, always more comfortable letting Melodie think he was an idiot who didn’t care rather than risking being truthful with her, “Some old men from a billion years ago said I can’t fuck my roommate?”

Melodie rolled her eyes. Elton sighed as though just being near Podge was draining him. Even Nin shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“You know that’s not it,” Melodie said, “there are reasons why Garou don’t get involved with other Garou.”

“Kathrine and Elton got involved,” he reminded her, idly wondering why he was pushing this at all considering he kind of agreed with her.

The truth was, he understood and had always abided by the rule, even when others had decided that the risk was worth the reward. His logic was as follows; Patrick Hodge was an ahroun - a warrior amongst a race of warriors - his rage was always closer to the surface than it was with others of his kind. While theurges and philodoxes and galliards could probably get all emotionally wound up in one another without tooooo much issue, the risk was just higher with him. It had always been higher. It would always be higher, so he’d turned his gaze from his fellow wolves and focussed on the human world, for all the good that did.

Still, he watched you wiping down a counter with your hair brushing the back of your neck and he wanted. All he seemed to do these days was want you and want you and try to stop wanting you and end up wanting you more. He had kind of hoped that living together might quash his ridiculous little crush but that hadn’t worked. The more he saw of you, the more time he spent by your side, the more he wanted. What was worse is that he was fairly sure you felt the same. A silly little unrequited fondness he could handle but when your eyes lingered on his chest for just a second too long, or when you went out of your way to make sure he was alright after a fight….well, werewolves aren’t exactly known for their patience and restraint.

“Katherine and I are - were - both theurges,” Elton chimed in.

“You and the cub are both ahrouns,” Melodie continued, “do I really need to tell you what a colossally bad idea it would be for two hot headed murder machines who live together to throw sex into the mix?”

No, she didn’t.

“Yeah, maybe I do,” he prodded, sitting forward in his chair again and locking eyes with Melodie, “please, oh great and wise Silver Fang, educate this poor ignorant Bone Gnawer on the error of his lustful ways.”

Melodie pursed her lips. Nin let out a burst of laughter and even Elton had to hide a snort. The room started to close in on them. Podge could feel his beast’s claws scraping against his ribs, the rage simmering just beneath the surface just itching for an excuse to come out. Melodie could feel it too. She could sense the bait and, judging by the battle in her eyes, was fighting hard to not rise to it. But, she was a philodox and he had just asked her to explain a rule to him. What was a Garou to do?

“Well, first off, you would destroy that little cabin you two stay in.” she started.

He shrugged, “It’s a piece of shit anyway.”

“Second, she’s a cub so I’m pretty sure that would make you some sort of predator. She doesn’t even have a tribe yet. You might influence her and stifle her spiritual growth.”

“She’s five months younger than me,” Podge countered, rolling his eyes, “and she’s been talking to North Wind and Stag already. No chance of me poaching her over to Rat.

Elton frowned, “North Wind and Stag? Strange pairing. I would have thought she’d go with Gorgon as her back up.”

“Yeah, well, she’s full of surprises,” he said, cringing at how obviously proud and fond he sounded.

Melodie crossed her arms and leaned back, triumphantly, “Plus you might accidentally kill her.”

Ah.

“Or, she might accidentally kill you,” Melodie allowed, “the point being, with so much rage in one house, the two of you are already one bad day away from double homicide.”

Podge picked at his napkin, hating the sickly feeling her words brought up in him, “We don’t fight.”

“Now.” she corrected, sensing victory, “Because you’re roommates. Roommates don’t fight. Couples fight. Couples who are hopped up on rage and battle adrenaline fight hard, and often. Can you say with absolute certainty you wouldn’t end up ripping one another apart?”

He gave her a annoyed look, “Fuck you, Silver Fang.”

“So, no,” she replied correctly.

“So what’s your solution then?” he pressed, unwilling to back down, his wolf urging him to bite back harder, “We just inflict ourselves on regular people who have no chance of fighting back when we do lose our shit?”

Something shifted in Melodie’s eyes, subtle but unmistakable. Was that grief?

She sniffed, tightening her arms over her chest and forcing an air of nonchalance, “The only honorable thing we can do is remove ourselves from the equation entirely.”

“Suicide?” Elton asked incredulously.

Melodie shot him a disgusted look, “The romance equation, Elton, obviously.”

Nin shrugged, “I kind of thought you meant suicide as well.”

“Thank you, Nin,” Elton replied, vindicated.

The tension loosened its hold. The wolf simmered down as Podge felt a rush of something uncomfortable, like pity, flood through him. Melodie was steadfastly avoiding eye contact with him, focussing on the passing humans instead, but he could see the tension in her. So that’s what Melodie believed. He thought of her alone in the earthen barrows, tending the bones of her dead family, removing herself from the equation. It wasn’t quite an admission of anything, but it showed the Silver Fang in a new, clearer light and he had to admit, he felt a little bad for her.

“I guess we know why you’re so damn uptight now,” Podge finally said, injecting lightness into his tone, “you need to get laid.”

She didn’t smile, but it was a close thing, “Fuck you, Bone Gnawer.”

Just then, you appeared at the table, stopping by to collect empty plates and mugs and steal a few moments of conversation. Embarrassingly, Podge felt his heart leap into his throat and he straightened up in his seat like an excited dog. You noticed, which would have been mortifying if it didn’t make you smile fondly at him. Podge flushed with warmth. He would endure almost any embarrassment for that smile.

“You guys playing nice?” she asked, “The customers got a little antsy there for a second.”

“Just a friendly debate,” Melodie assured, “the value of the Litany, our relationship to the mortal world, you know how it is.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes sympathetically, “Don’t get me started, my day’s been shit enough already. Are you guys heading out?”

You transferred the big black tray you were carrying to your hip and rested your hand on Podge’s shoulder absentmindedly. It was nothing, a casual gesture of comfort. If you had been standing next to Nin or Elton you probably would have done the same. Still, he practically vibrated with pleasure. Fuck, he needed to spend time with people more. He didn’t used to be like this.

His packmates clocked the change in his energy with varying levels of disapproval, but you seemed oblivious.

“In a moment,” Elton replied, “we were just finishing up a chat.”

You nodded, giving his shoulder a squeeze as you made to move away, “Well, I’ll see you for dinner this weekend, yeah?”

The others made various sounds of agreement and he felt you relax as you headed back to work. Weak to his own impulses, Podge followed you with his eyes, his skin still tingling.

Melodie cleared her throat.

“Seriously, Podge, be careful.”

“I think they should go for it,” Nin replied.

Podge tried not to look too surprised. He didn’t usually have much support from within the pack other than you. It was a nice change. Melodie and Elton gave the younger woman incredulous looks.

“Seriously, Nin?” Melodie asked, “What reason could you possibly have for supporting this?”

Nin shrugged, sipping the dregs of her ice coffee, “Seems like the simplest answer. All your worries are more about the risk of emotional entanglements than physical entanglements and, if we’re honest, they’re already pretty entangled.”

“Wha-”

“No we’-”

“Nin-”

Nin turned to Podge, interrupting, “Y/N’s coworker is hitting on her. He’s asked her to dinner this weekend and she’s laughing and leaning into his chest and he’s threading his fingers through her hair so that he can kiss her ne-”

“Stop it,” Podge snarled, feeling a lick of rage so hot and visceral that the people at the next table got up to leave.

His packmates all felt the spike, their own wolves flaring up in a desire to join him in his anger. Nin smiled triumphantly.

“See? Forcing them to keep their clothes on won’t stop either of them from lashing out if they don’t keep themselves in check. We just have to trust that they know themselves and their limits better than we do.”

It was a good point. Nin was actively being supportive of him and yet it took all of Podge’s remaining self control to keep from lashing out. This was the problem with werewolves. No matter how good they tried to be, the monster was always right there, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice.

He thought about the night he’d met you.

The flames radiating off the Sullivan house. His blood thrumming with the promise of violence, his senses sharpened by the wolf as he runs through the plan in his head. Lots of moving pieces. Lots of potential for disaster. Podge must ensure Sullivan pays for the damage he has done to the earth. No chance for redemption. Sullivan must die.

New smells. Enemies? Conspirators? No, old cigarettes and paper - friend! - Elton-of-Broad-Brook smell. Someone else - Garou. Unknown. Green apples and fresh dirt. Copper-iron-metal of blood. Pastries and coffee - perfectly brewed. Home.

Something stirs in the pit of his stomach, tingling like the electric buzz of wire. He throws himself into the Sullivan house without a second thought. Elton-Shadow Lord slips around the house. New Garou - female, follows behind Podge. Cannot allow distractions.

He rips into Sullivan’s guards, feeling the rush of savage pleasure that always came with a fight. This is what he was born to do. This is the job his selfish hands were built to accomplish. Let some other wolf be responsible for saving Gaia. He would slay her enemies and be content.

Movement to his left. The new Garou - apples-coffee-blood-dirt. He can smell her joy. No fear. No hesitation. She joins him in the slaughter and he wants to howl his appreciation and they are alive. Perfect synchronicity. She hasn’t transformed fully, but she moves like lightning. A guard shoots at his exposed ribs. Brace for pain. Warm arm around his waist. Apples-coffee-blood-dirt. She moves him. He lets her.

The first sound he hears her make is a gasp of pain as the bullet pierces her shoulder in Podge’s place.

He sighed, the anger leaching out of him in a rush. He could feel his packmates staring, he could feel their discomfort and concern. Podge wasn’t normally the most emotionally expressive member of their little pack and, indeed, he was only being as open as he was now out of desperation. Even he could recognize that he was in over his head, unsure which of his waring impulses was the coward and which was his true desires.

Elton leaned in, his brow furrowed with concern, “Come on, bro. Just tell us what’s nagging at you.”

“How do I know if the way-” he sighed, wiping his hand over his face with frustration as the words slipped away, “fuck-man. I don’t want to rip her fucking face off, alright? But Nin’s not wrong, I’m in too fucking deep now to just ignore it. And Nin’s all ‘oh, trust that you know your limits’, but what if I don’t? I’ve never been with another Garou, I don’t know.”

“Do you feel angrier when you’re together?” Elton asked simply.

Podge shot him an incredulous look, “No. Obviously not, she’s the best.”

“Well, there you go.”

“But you’ve seen how we are when we fight together,” Podge countered, “it’s carnage.”

“So you share a hobby,” Elton replied, “There are worse things than being a good team, you know?”

Something hopeful fluttered in the pit of his stomach and he looked over to you thoughtfully. You were working at the register now, taking customer’s orders with a polite smile. He let himself imagine what it might be like if he could just walk up and kiss your cheek.

“Plus, you’ve already asked her out,” Nin chimed in.

Ah, fuck.

Melodie’s mouth opened, “You did what?”

—

[thelastidiot29]

A Couple a' Blockheads

Katsuki Bakugou

Zombie Apocalypse AU

TW!! Slight singular use of the word "cripple." Might be offensive to some.

☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠

Fire ran through his biceps, climbed down to his wrists as he pulled, further, until he was high enough to grab the wood of the chipping fence. He climbed, grimacing at the moans and grumbles of the beasts below him. They roared and jeered. Their reaping stentch enough to make a stable cow gag. Even so, he hauled himself over the fence and his spine hit the balcony. He was left a gasping mess.

"Fuck!" Katsuki blew.

A breath later, or maybe two, and he was sprawling on his side, grabbing the nearest wall and climbing to his feet. He limped closer to it on his bleeding leg, grunting and seething.

Katsuki couldn't help but snort. How the hell did he get here? Pressed against a wall, bleeding, with a hoard of no-brained, undead lurking below, waiting to claw his guts out and feast. Like hell that was happening.

Gripping the wall and feeling the roughness of the rocks that bricked the building run across his palm, he limped over to the nearest window. Then, without a second of thinking, he slammed his elbow against the pane and watched it shatter. He swung an arm around to his back and returned with a handgun and aimed the small sized pistol around the room before declaring it safe to climb through.

Avoiding glass shards, he grabbed the end of the window and pulled himself inside. He gave a second to scan the small little bedroom then bolted to loot the place. Well, as fast as he could on an injured leg. He rummaged through dressers, desks, and wardrobes. All empty. He ducked under the bed and saw nothing.

Not nothing.

The small outline of something, hidden in the darkness. He kneeled and hissed at the ass kicking his injury provided. Katsuki fell on his chest, pressing his face against the floor and stretching his arm far beneath the mattress. It was a box, he could tell when he knocked it further back with the tip of his finger.

Katsuki groaned, "Come on.."

He flexed his shoulder, his hand, his forearm, stretched as far as he could and gasped when he felt the curvature of a small plastic handle.

"Oh, hell yeah." He grinned, pulling the box towards him, moving to pull it into his lap. Holding the grin, he pulled off the lid. Then, his grin fell. The cold barrel of a gun pressed against his skull, and a few short uneven breaths came from the person behind him.

The person cocked the gun, it clicked. A soft, yet stern voice of a woman said, "Put it back."

Katsuki didn't. "Go to hell."

"I will shoot."

"Oh yeah?"

His head was pushed forward with the gun and he grunted. With a sigh, Katsuki dropped the box, used his good foot to kick it back under the bed, and raise his hands above his head.

"Can you stop waving that thing around now?" He snarked, but was mentally running through his options. He decided the only one that would end with him alive was doing what they said. So he held his hands there, and didn't press back against the pistol's barrel.

"Who are you? Why- why are you here?"

"Put the damn gun down!"

"I want a name."

Katsuki blew a breath. "Bakugou. Happy?"

"A full name."

He blew another, through gritted teeth. "Katsuki Bakugou, want a middle name too?"

The girl pulled the gun back, only a little, "Why are you here?"

"Why the hell else?!" Katsuki snapped, his patience running thin, "I got chased by a bunch a' Blockheads. I saw a house. I went inside the house. Are you stupid?"

"Blockheads?"

"So that's a yes? Great. A trigger happy fool. The dead people! The hell do you call them?! The-"

"The dead."

Katsuki pressed his lips closed. And after a second that dragged on for ten, the gun left his head, and the girl stepped away from him. He grabbed the bed, used it to climb up and stand, cursing and seething every chance he got. Slowly, cautiously, he wheeled around to face his perpetrator, and found the pastel green eyes of a girl who looked nothing like what he expected to find.

Her face was soft, clear of scars or cuts, clean. Her eyes were green and bright, full of something. Something he thought was lost a while ago;

Humanity.

He knitted his brows together, finding a second to scan over her. Her small frame, the pink strands of hair that bled through the mass of brown.

She looked down, her eyes going wide. She gasped and jumped away from him, tugging the bag at her flank backwards when it swung. Before Katsuki could blink, the gun was pointed at him again.

"The hell?!–"

"You're bitten?!"

Katsuki looked down at himself. He expected to find just that. The bite of one of those heinous blockheads, the thought managing to spark the smallest amount of fear through his chest. But, all he found was the injury on his legs, the bloody mess now poking out from his pants leg. Damn, he really needed to cover that.

He looked back up, hiding the relief that spread over his face. "No. I was caught in a bear trap."

"A bear trap?! You can't expect me to believe that, you're standing right now!

He snarled, "Trust me, hurts like hell."

"Prove it!" She stepped backwards, stumbling over the leg of the nightstand. Her eyes were wide, and she trained the gun on him, steadily.

He raised his hands back over his head. He was frankly tired of her, and debated taking his gun out and shooting her in the shoulder. He didn't. Instead, he sighed, snarled, and calmly said, "If I was bitten then I'd have a fever. I'd have a fever and dizzy spells."

Her face softened only a bit, and only for a moment.

"I'm standing perfectly fine, ain't I? But, unfortunately you aren't coming near me to check my temperature."

"So, you expect me to trust you?"

He ignored her, "You're holding the gun wrong."

"What?! I know how to hold a gun!"

"Then unlock your elbows." Katsuki snarled.

Her eyes shifted down to her own arms, and with a deep breath, she loosened her elbows.

"Great. Now put it down." Katsuki nodded to the bed.

She looked at it, then back at him. "You don't get to bark orders. If you couldn't tell, I'm holding the gun at you."

"You're shaking, and tense." He snarked back, his eyes almost daring her to prove him wrong. Daring, with utmost confidence. "You aren't gonna shoot me."

"I could."

"You won't."

"I could. That should be enough for you to stop talking."

"Save us both some time, dumbass." Katsuki dropped his hands, and growled at the sudden pain shooting through his leg. He waved her off and sat on the bed, ignoring the gun aimed at his head. "Drop it."

He paid her no mind, grabbing a fist full of the end of his pants and pulling it on the bed. The loose blue jeans were repainted to brown and red, mixture of dirt and the blood spilling from his leg. He sucked his teeth, pressed a hand around the injury and stopped himself from biting his tongue.

"You have to clean that before–"

A crash, loud and obnoxious, a roaring crash came from the door and was followed by groans.

Katsuki whipped his head around to the threshold. The door was forced open with the mangled face of a monster and it made him stiffen and reach for the gun stuffed in his pants against his back. The moment his hand wrapped around the pistol, the firing sound of lead sliced through the air and it didn't come from his gun. The Blockhead fell against the wall, and slid to the floor without a sound.

The girl held the gun out, aimed in front of her when Katsuki turned back to her. Her chest was heaving, and it took a moment before she was pushing the gun into her belt.

She scoffed, "See? I know how to use a gun."

"How the hell did that get in here?!" Katsuki demanded, now glaring, glaring daggers full of accusations.

She must've done something wrong, left a door unlocked, didn't barricade the windows on the bottom floor. Wasn't this where she was staying? How could she be that careless?

"I don't know." She said, and she was a little too calm and Katsuki was inclined to start throwing things. She kneeled down, reached under the bed. "This isn't my place."

"The hell it isn't!"

She re-emerged, the unlidded box in hand, "I came here for loot."

"I came here for loot, and you pulled a goddamn gun on me!"

"You were gonna steal my loot."

"Well that's a load of–"

She looked up, those green eyes were soft. She looked sorry, apologetic. It almost pissed him off more, "Catch."

She tossed a small bottle, and Katsuki caught it in his hand. In printed text it read an unfamiliar name and; Oxycodone. Yeah. Now he was pissed.

"There's medicine in there?!" Katsuki tried to jump up, and the moment he tried he yelled out in overwhelming pain. "Oh you son of a-!"

"Sorry." She said, and it sounded sincere. "You've survived this long at the end of the world, so you have to be smart enough to take care of yourself. There is ammunition downstairs if you're low, I didn't get to grab it. Maybe we'll meet again."

"Yeah, in hell. I will put a bullet in your head, come back here!" He pulled himself off the bed with his gun, red with hot, hot rage. He limped closer to her as she moved further to the window.

She put a leg through, "Goodbye, Katsuki Bakugou."

She cradled the box closer to her chest and ducked through the shattered window.

Katsuki kept moving on his burning leg, kept moving until he could grab the wall for support. "You can't leave without splitting those supplies. Your bullet is going to bring every Blockhead for three miles to this house."

"I need this stuff more than you."

"You are perfectly fine!"

"Well, someone I love isn't."

Katsuki turned his head back. More groans echoed outside the door. More, lots. He could hardly stand, and he only had nine bullets left. Katsuki straightened his back against the wall, aimed his gun at the door and waited for the first face to appear.

It did, he shot is, straight through the eye. It collapsed on the ground and he waited for the next, "Give me the medicine, or I swear to God–"

"Come on."

He faltered, "What?"

"You aren't gonna live if you stay here. You shouldn't be worrying about the medicine."

"How touching. Three seconds ago you were prepared to leave my ass!"

"Come on."

"I don't need your help!" Katsuki shouted, firing his gun at the next sonofabitch, then the next. "I need what I came here for."

"Are you stupid?"

"The hell did you just say to me?!"

"Fine. Stay here and die then."

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder for a moment, and the girl shuffled away from the window. The box was now on the floor empty, and she pulled the strap of her bag over her head and started walking.

He looked back, firing one more bullet at one of the moaning Blockheads then shot for the window. He cursed himself, cursed and scolded himself for even thinking about accepting help.

He ducked through the shattered gap, "Wait! Fine, I'm coming."

Maybe she was gone, already fled the place. That's what he thought until he felt an arm grab his and haul him through the window. Katsuki grunted, pulled his injured leg through, seething when his wound hit the outline of the gap. Then, when both of his feet were on the ground, the girl hoisted his arm over her shoulder.

"I don't need your help." He said, but made no effort to pull away. Instead, he let himself put his weight on her. The pressure released from his leg and immediately the pain shrunk down to almost nothing. He drew in a deep breath, "I don't need your help, or pity."

"You know, most people say thank you." She replied and started pulling them both forwards.

Katsuki staggered on his feet, resisting the need to gasp every time he took a step. The monstrous groans and grumbles of the Blockheads below him managed to pump his heart a little faster than he would like.

"Okay, so what's your plan? We are on a balcony, seven feet above a sea of idiots." Katsuki said. Then, he glanced over the fence at the horde.

The girl was silent for a moment. He almost repeated the question, opened his mouth to snark out some sarcastic witless comment. But, then she drew a breath and he snapped his mouth shut.

"That's the complicated part. The plan is complicated now that I'm carrying a cripple."

He whipped a glare at her, surprised to find a playful grin staring back. Still he scoffed, loud, to make sure to catch her attention so she could linger on his next words. "You are hardly carrying me."

"If I moved right now, you'd collapse over that fence." She nodded towards the red wood lining of the fence. Then, she shrugged her shoulders, pulled Katsuki's arm a bit. "My plan was to just maneuver over rooftops. But, like I said, you complicate things."

"Let's do it."

"What?" She stopped at the end of the balcony.

Katsuki pulled away from her. He forced himself on both his feet, and immediately regretted it. A sharp sting shot up his leg and he had to chomp down on his tongue to prevent himself from yelling.

He stood, and ignored the fact that his legs were trembling, "I can make it."

"Hah… haha." The girl laughed sarcastically. "...No."

"I can. I've done more with worse." He deadpanned.

"You're insane."

"Maybe it's why I'm still alive."

"No, it's why you won't be alive in about ten minutes."

"Bite me." Katsuki snarled.

"I won't be the reason you're dead. You are bleeding! You- you can't be serious." Her mouth fell open a little.

Katsuki gritted his teeth. With determination, he took a step forward, then another. He grabbed the rail of the fence, pulled himself on top of it.

The girl's footsteps shuffled slowly behind him, "Oh my God, he's serious…"

Katsuki looked up at the roof shingles nearly in reach. He ignored the burning in his leg, ignored it like it didn't exist. He didn't attempt to put more weight on his other leg, he completely ignored it.

He gritted his teeth, "Give me a boost."

"Me? You are two times bigger than me, and my weight will be divided on the skinny surface of a fence."

"It will be easier for you to lift me up from down here than you pulling me from up top."

"How do I know you won't leave me?"

Katsuki looked down at the girl, "Because I need that medicine. More than just some painkillers."

"I never told you I'd give you any." She shuffled. Katsuki narrowed his eyes at the discomfort in her face, at the way a frown dug into her features. Her green eyes avoided his, "I told you, I need it more."

Katsuki scanned over her, spotting the strands of hair dyed in her bangs. "I won't leave you, Pinkstreak."

Her face twisted, but she climbed onto the balcony fence next to him. Katsuki moved over, and she evened her feet on the wooden plank. Their conversation turned to silence, the Brunette folding her fingers around each other, and Katsuki waited until she was ready and he lifted his good leg and stepped into her hand. All of his weight was left pushing into the torn skin of his wound and he resisted a reaction.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

He almost scoffed at the concern painted on her. With a roll of his shoulders, and a deep breath, he nodded. He felt her hand start to lift upwards, and that's when he stepped up against her tied palms. The shingles of the roof were inches from reach, and the moment he grabbed the roof the girl's hands pushed him up higher and made his climb easier. Katsuki grabbed at it. He positioned his elbows on the surface and pulled himself with his shoulders. Soon, he was able to swing one arm up, and then the other. Breathing heavily, with intense gasps, he fell back flat on the roof's surface and seethed at his pestering leg.

"Are you alright?"

Katsuki combed his hand through the tangled blonde on his head. His chest heaving, his heart racing, and he realized the chills spreading down his arms and the exhaustion blowing on his neck. He probably was running a fever by now Shit.

He rolled himself over, gathered himself back on two knees. "I'm fine."

When Katsuki peered over the roof's ledge he saw the girl, her feet planted on the fence, and her eyes staring up. Then, her eyes met his, and he could swear he saw a look of relief pass over her face.

She pulled the satchel bag closer to her hip, "Alright, then help me up."

With an eye roll and a snort, he leaned down and stretched out his hand, "Come on up, Pinkstreak."

"My name is Amai." She spoke softly, he almost didn't hear her. "Amai Tsuyuki."

"I think I'll stick with Pinkstreak."

I know you kids prefer the x readers. You load of simps. But, Amai has been an OC close to my heart for years now and I'd like the opportunity to share her. So yes, I am telling you that thus is an x Oc story at the end, with the hope that you gave it a chance first.

I plan on making a part two if people like this, and definitely some CU content with her. She's a darling, you'll love her. I swear.

[little-lily-w]

Breaking Purity II, ch. 22

Words: 2.5 k

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

You can read it here: Ch. 22: Mecum omnes plangite

[newtthetranswriter]

Who I write for

requests open

(anything that looks like This I will not be accepting right now)

Jujutsu Kaisen (anime and manga)

Gojo

Yuta

Toge

Yuji

Maki

Choso

Nanami

My Hero Academia (anime and manga and movies)

Hawks

Fatgum

Denki

Tokoyami

Dabi

Bakugo

Amajiki

Kirishima

Mina

Shoto

Rody Soul

Giulio Gandini

Tokyo Revengers (anime and manga)

Chifuyu

Mikey

Draken

Mitsuya

Baji

Kokonoi

Akkun

Yamagishi

Yamamoto

Inupi

Kazutora

Haikyuu (anime and manga)

Sugawara

Daichi

Kurro

Kenma

Oikawa

Bokuto

Akashi

Osumu

Atsumu

Demon Slayer (anime and manga)

Kyojiro

Muichiro

Inosuke

Tanjiro

Haganezuka

Mitsuri

Shinobu

Giyuu

Fairy Tail

Gray

Natsu

Sting

Rouge

Gajeel

Freed

Bickslow

Loke/ Leo

Hibiki

Eve

Mest

Laxus

Honestly probably anyone from Fairy Tail

Black Clover (anime and manga)

Finral

Fuegoleon

Nozel

Magna

Luck

Zora

Rill

Nacht

Klaus

Vanessa

Fullmetal alchemist brotherhood

Edward

Alphonse

Hawkeye

Roy mustang

The Legend Of Zelda (Breath of the wild and Tears of The Kingdom)

Link

Final fantasy 7 Remake and Crisis core reunion

Cloud

Zack

Avatar The Last Air Bender and the legend of Korra

Sokka

Zuko

Mako

Bolin

The dragon prince

Soren

Callum

Ibis

Amya

Buddy Daddies

Kazuki

Rei

Blue exorcist

Shima

Yukio

Rin

Bon

How to train your dragon

Hiccup

Fire force (anime only)

Captain Obi

Vulcan

Viktor

Shinmon Benimaru

Seven Deadly Sins / Four Knights of the Apocalypse (anime and manga for both)

Meliodas

Ban

King

Gloxinia

Gilthunder

Gowther

Arthur

Howzer

Lancelot

Tristan

Nasiens

Donny

Palia

Reth

Jel

Nai'o

Hassian

Lord Of The Rings / The Hobbit / The Rings Of Power

Legolas

Kili

Fili

Thorin

Elrond (only RoP)

will consider others based on request

Doctor Who

Tenth/fourteen

Eleventh

Thirteenth

Wind Breaker

Sakura

Kiryu

Suo

Nirei

Umemiya

Kaji

Solo Leveling

Choi Jong-in

Sung Jinwoo

Yoo Jinho

More to come as I get new hyper fixations.

[robinette-green]

I just went to wind my grandmother clock and the words I said to it gave me caused inspiration to slam into me and now I’m working on a new fic…

Maybe one day I’ll actually finish a fic one day.

[delicatebarness]

ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ғᴀʟʟs ᴅᴏᴡɴ | s𝟷ᴇ𝟷

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Your search for the truth finds you in an encounter with a hardened stranger and throws you into a dangerous journey through the fallen world.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Post-Apocalypic World. Violence and Gore. Encounters with the Undead. Reference to past trauma and loss. Panic and Anxiety. Implied Sexual Tension.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3548

sᴘᴏᴛɪғʏ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪsᴛ | sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ: ᴋᴏ-ғɪ

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

ᴀ/ɴ: I'm very excited for this one, I won't lie. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

ᴀᴛᴡғᴅ: @winterslove1917 | @ell0ra-br3kk3r

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

The years passed by, but the memory of that first night burned into your soul. One scar that time would never heal. Somehow, you survived. Letting the world forget you existed you learned to hide and to stay quiet. 

The world tried to move on, focus on ending the nightmare, and find a cure or a way out. You felt differently. You didn’t want to stop it, but more to understand it. Why did it start? Why everything you loved had been torn away from you within an instant? Somewhere in the ruined world the truth was buried and you were determined to find it. 

That’s what brought you to where you are now, inside the ruins of an old library. A place where knowledge may still be hidden beneath the dust and decay. It was silent, undisturbed, the only sounds from the building being that of age and neglected groans. Moving quickly, you traced your fingers along the spines of forgotten books, searching for hope and answers. 

The scent of old paper and mildew filled the air as you moved through the dim aisles. The titles were barely visible beneath layers of grime. As you scan the shelves, you pull at a few books; covers worn and faded. You scanned for any mention of events that could have possibly led to the world’s collapse. Flipping through the pages, your mind raced. The silence was almost comforting as it contrasted against the constant danger outside. It felt like you had found a sanctuary, somewhere you could piece together the fragments of the past.

Groans began to echo through the library, shattering the silence as the undead emerged from the shadows. Their eyes locked onto you, and your heart leaped into your throat. Panic surged through you, grabbing whatever books you could reach, you shoved them into your bag as you began to move. Tugging at your shoulder, the weight of the bag slows you down, but you don’t stop and don’t look back. Narrow aisles and towering shelves became a labyrinth, but with desperate speed and ragged gasps, you navigated your way toward the exit. 

As you brushed past them, the noise of tumbling books only spurred the undead closer. Your heavy footsteps thudded on the worn floor echoed. The scent of decay grew closer, and you could feel their presence gaining on you. 

A sliver of light in the darkness was in sight– the exit, and you pushed yourself harder, willing your legs to go faster. And, just as you burst through the door, the harsh light warming your skin, the undead reached the spot where you stood moments before. Your mind was fixated on one thing at that moment– survival. 

The streets were a blur as you ran, fear clawing at your throat. You didn’t see him at first, but a man sat in a car across the street, watching the chaos with annoyance and amusement. “What the fuck–” he muttered to himself, his hand reaching a gun that sat beside him. That was when he saw you– The terror in your eyes, and the desperation in your stride.

“Great…” he sighed with a roll of his eyes, stepping out of the car and raising his gun. “It’s always the pretty ones…” 

With deadly precision, each shot hit its mark as if it were second nature to him, he effortlessly cleared a path through the horde. Breathless, you stumbled as the last of the undead fell to the ground. You struggled to process what had happened as your chest heaved. 

Moving toward you, the man carried an air of calm that seemed unnatural in the fallen world– imposing, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame, easily over six foot, you thought. Each of his movements were controlled, and purposeful as his dark hair fell in messy waves framing his faintly stubbled face. 

The sharpness of his gaze, a piercing shade of blue, cold, and assessing, contrasted with the weary lines etching into his face as he scanned the area. There was something you couldn’t place in his expression, irritation? A reluctant duty? It was as if saving strangers was not how he wanted to spend his time, but he’d do it anyway. 

Dangling loosely at his side, the gun still smoked from the shot that had been fired. His red henley shirt, scuffed and worn, clung to his frame. As he glanced at you, his eyes narrowed as if he were assessing whether you were a threat or just another helpless survivor. Then, without a word, he holstered the gun and reached out his hand. 

The gesture caught you off guard causing you to hesitate for a second before you reached out, your fingers wrapped around his large, calloused hand. Pulling you to your feet, with a surprising gentleness, he kept a firm grip on your hand as you steadied yourself. Up close, you could see the lines around his eyes and a faint scar along his jawline. 

“Get in,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly, no room left for argument. His order jolted you out of your daze, but he refused to wait for a response as he turned to open the car door for you. You hurriedly obeyed, scrambling into the passenger seat of his car. When you were inside, he released your hand and slammed the door shut, circling to the driver’s side. 

He wasted no time, flooring the gas pedal the second the engine roared to life and sped away from the scene. Swerving around abandoned vehicles and debris, he navigated the town’s maze with unnerving skill. 

Neither of you spoke, sitting in silence as the adrenaline coursed through your veins, and your heart raced. You watched the ruins of the town blur by as you stared out the window. 

And then, when he finally spoke, his voice was more contemplative, softer. “What were you doing in there?” 

Unsure of how much to reveal, you hesitated before taking a breath. “I’m looking for answers,” you admitted, keeping your voice small, barely audible. “I, um, I want to understand why this all started… why the world fell.” 

Letting out a low, almost resigned sigh as he repeated, “Why this all started–” The words hung heavy in the air. “Not many people left who care about that.” 

“I care,” you murmured. He glanced toward you, his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. There was a flicker of understanding that passed through his icy blue eyes. And, for a moment, it seemed like he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed his lips into a tight line and focused back on the road. 

“You’re chasing ghosts,” he muttered after a while, almost to himself. “Whatever answers you’re looking for, they won’t bring back what you lost.” 

You snapped your gaze toward him, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. “Maybe not,” you retorted, “but it’s the only thing that keeps me going.” 

There was a long silence settling between you, only broken by the sound of the car’s engine and the occasional groan of the undead lurking by the side of the streets. Outside of the car, you watched as remnants of the world passed by– abandoned vehicles, shattered windows, and overgrown greenery reclaimed what was once civilization.

The man sighed heavily with a weariness that ran deeper than just the physical toll of survival. “I know some people,” he said, he kept his voice low, almost reluctant. “My group might be able to help you, or at least give you somewhere to rest.” 

“Your group?” you echoed, unsure if you should feel weary or relieved. 

“Yeah,” he replied in a stern tone. “They’re not exactly the most friendly to strangers, but they’re good at staying alive.” 

Glancing at his side profile, you weighed his words carefully. He had an edge, a darkness, there was something about him that made you uneasy, but yet, at the same time, you could not deny the gravitational pull toward him. You had isolated yourself for so long in your search for answers, and the idea of finding others who may be able to help was almost too tempting to resist. 

“Why are you helping me?” You asked in need to understand his motivations. 

The silence stretched out, he didn’t answer as the car sped down a deserted road. Glancing over at you again, his expression was unreadable as he finally spoke. “Maybe I don’t want to be the kind of person who looks the other way anymore,” he said, his voice guarded.

As you searched for something– anything– that would give you a clue about who this man was, you stared at him. You wonder why he’d chosen to save you as his answer hung in the air, but his eyes, cold and piercing, gave nothing away. 

An endless ribbon of cracked asphalt and faded yellow lines stretched over the road ahead of you. The car’s tires hummed a steady rhythm, calming the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind as the remnants of the world you once knew lay in ruins. 

As the time ticked by, you were unable to stay silent for any longer. “What’s your name?” you asked.

A flicker of surprise crossed his features as he glanced at you again before he turned his attention back to the road. “James,” he simply said. 

You repeated his name, testing the word on your tongue. Strange, you thought, almost too normal for someone who brutally saved your life. But then, maybe this was the type of normalcy you craved.

~

The sun began to set as you drove further, the landscape growing more barren. The trees were sparse, and their branches gnarled, twisting like something out of a horror movie. A chill crept into the air as the sky above turned a bruised shade of purple. 

Just then, as you were about to ask James if you were close to your destination, the car suddenly jerked to the side. A violent shudder came from the vehicle, and a loud thumping echoed from the rear. 

“God damn it!” James cursed, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened, fighting to keep the car under control. Easing his foot off the gas, the car slowly came to a halt on the side of the road. 

“What happened?” you asked, your heart racing from adrenaline. 

“Flat tire,” James sighed, a lace of frustration in his voice. Killing the engine, he stepped out of the car. “Stay here,” he ordered, not waiting for a response before slamming the door shut behind him. 

You watched as James circled to the back of the car before kneeling beside the rear tire. He mumbled curses under his breath as he inspected the damage. You suspected he drove over some hidden debris on the road, causing the tire to shred. He glanced around the deserted landscape as he stood, his hand instinctively resting on the gun tucked into his jeans. 

Staying in the car, you nervously tapped your fingers on the armrest. The sun sank lower, and the shadows began to grow longer. The sense of was back and stronger than ever.

James rummaged through the trunk before pulling out a spare tire and jack. He worked quickly, with a sense of urgency in his movements. Glancing around now and then, scanning the horizon as if expecting someone, or something to emerge from the shadows. 

You watched him work through the wind mirror, noticing something in the distance. It seemed like just a flicker of movement, barely noticeable in the fading like, until your eyes adjusted and you saw them– moving slowly but steadily towards the car, multiple undead. 

“James,” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady and low. “We���ve got company.” 

He looked around sharply before his gaze met theirs. His expression darkened as he recognized the approaching figures– At least a dozen of them stumbled toward the car. 

“Get in the driver’s seat,” he ordered, his voice tense. “When I say go, floor it.” 

Your heart sank as your eyes met his through the back window. “I-I don’t know how to drive.” 

James froze for a second, disbelief flashed across his face. “What?” 

“I never learned!” you confessed, a slight tremble in your voice. 

“Fuck my life,” he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes as he glanced back at the nearing horde. “No time for this, just, get in the seat anyway.” 

You hesitated before scrambling over the center console, and sliding into the driver’s seat. Your hands trembled as you gripped the steering wheel. Your mind raced as the undead drew closer, their groans growing louder. A smell of decay filled the air, a scent you’d have thought you’d grown accustomed to by now, but still made your stomach turn. 

Tightening the last lug nut on the new tire, James’ movements became frantic, tossing the jack into the trunk and slamming it shut. He sprinted to the passenger side and yanked open the door. 

“Okay, listen to me, Princess,” he said, his voice low and urgent, the nickname dripping from his lips with endearment as he slid into the seat beside you. “Put your foot on the brake– the left pedal.” 

Your heart hammered in your chest as you listened to him, following his instructions. They were almost at the car now, rotting hands reached out as they closed in. 

“Now, take the gearshift,” he instructed, nodding toward the lever between the seats as he rolled the passenger side window down. “Move it down to ‘D’ for drive.” 

Your hands shook so much, you were barely able to grip the gearshift, but with a deep sigh, you managed to push it into position, just as James set his gun up out the window.

“Nice, now–”

James was interrupted by one of the undead slamming against the window, a grotesque mask of decay moaning into the glass. Screaming, your foot slipped off the brake, lurching the card forward. Instinctively, you slammed your foot on the gas pedal. 

Tires screeched as the car shot forward, and you clung to the steering wheel. You could barely see as the vehicle swerved wildly. 

“Ease up on the gas!” James shouted, his hand darting toward you, trying to steady the wheel. “You’re going too fast, princess!” 

The fear had already taken over, keeping your foot pressed to the floor. Down the narrow highway, the car rocketed dangerously close to the edge.

“Let go of the gas! Now!” he barked, his voice managed to cut through your panic. 

The car immediately began to slow down to a more manageable speed as you forced your foot to lift. The moment of relief was short-lived, as when you looked up ahead, the road began to narrow, flanked by thick forest on either side. Between the trees, there seemed to be more movement, and as you got closer, the car’s headlights revealed why– more undead, dozens of them, staggering toward the road. 

“Oh my god, I-I can’t,” you whispered, gripping tighter on the wheel, your nails starting to dig into the leather. 

“Just keep driving,” he ordered, his voice low but calm. “Don’t stop. Just go right through them.” 

You looked at him, surprise and horror etched in your features. “You can’t be– what? We’ll crash!”

“We won’t if you hold steady,” he firmly said. “Trust me. Aim straight, and don't swerve. Just… trust me.” 

The undead were closing in, their eyes hollow as they fixed on the car. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look straight ahead. 

“Gas, now!” James shouted.

Slamming your foot back on the gas pedal, the car surged forward once again. The undead were everywhere, their bodies thudding against metal as you plowed through the horse. Cracking bones, groans, and the screech of metal filled your ears. You tried not to look at the blood smeared across the windshield, tried to think of anything other than what was happening, to not cringe at the sound of gunshots beside you. 

Eventually, you made it through, somehow. The road cleared ahead, forest fading into the distance as you sped away from the chaos. Adrenaline and terror coursed through your veins, shaking you uncontrollably. 

James reached over, gently loosening your hands from the steering wheel. “Ease up, princess,” he softly said. “You did it. You’re okay,” he continued reassuring you as you lifted off the gas again. His hands guided the car as its pace smoothed. 

Your mind was numb with shock, and you barely registered his words. The only sounds now were the engine’s soft hum and your heart pounding in your ears. After another rough mile, and as the last remnants of daylight vanished, the tension in the car was palpable. James must have sensed it when he glanced over at you. Your nerves were frayed, hands trembling on the steering wheel. 

His expression softened as he noticed the hardened lines begin to etch in your features. “Pull over, princess,” he quietly said. “I’ll take it from here.” 

Too exhausted to protest, you nodded. You eased the car to the side of the road with shaky hands and switched off the engine. James shuffled in the passenger seat and leaned toward you, his movements were deliberate but gentle. 

It was cramped inside the car, forcing you both to maneuver carefully. Sliding closer to you, his arm brushed against yours, a small shiver shooting down your spine. His scent caused your breath to hitch– earthy and warm– it filled the small space between you. You were acutely aware of the heat that radiated from his body.

You carefully lifted yourself from the driver’s seat and tried to give him room. Your leg brushed against his as you shifted, and your arm grazed his chest. The contact between you was brief but it was electric. Stilling for a moment, James’ eyes met yours and something unspoken passed between you before he moved under you, settling into the driver’s seat. 

You climbed over the center console, slowly to avoid bumping into him again, yet it was almost impossible not to. Your bodies were too close, the space too tight and his hand lightly touched your waist as you slid into the passenger seat in a small gesture to help steady you. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheek as you settled into the passenger seat. 

Adjusting himself in the driver’s seat, James’ demeanor changed. He was refocused, his gaze sharp as he pulled back onto the road. Now in his control, the car felt steadier and the tension in the air eased slightly. 

The car’s headlights cut through the night, the road ahead and its surroundings were barely visible. Yet, somehow James navigated it all with ease, it was evident he was familiar with the area. 

You couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for being such a liability, twice in less than twelve hours this man had saved your life. Shaking the thought out of your head, you knew there was no time to dwell on that now, the only thing that mattered was getting to safety.

“Where exactly is it we’re going?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“It’s not far now,” James replied, his eyes never left the road. “It’s a base camp– it’s secure and well fortified. There are people there, good people. You’ll be safe.” 

He was so certain and reassuring in his tone, it made you want to believe him. But you hadn’t felt safe or secure since before that night. Too much had changed in the world, and even the thought of somewhere being ‘safe’ seemed almost impossible. 

After what felt like hours, you fought to stay awake as your eyes grew heavy with fatigue. Just as it was about to take over, James slowed the car and a faint glow appeared ahead. A high chain-linked fence topped with barbed wire revealed itself as the road leveled out. You could make out the dim outlines of buildings beyond the fencing, and makeshift structures that looked like military barracks rather than homes. Illuminating the area, floodlights cast oppressive shadows on the ground. 

“Here it is,” James murmured, caution laced in his tone. A lone figure stood waiting by the large gate at the camp’s entrance. His silhouette was stark against the floodlights, broad-shoulders, imposing and tall. It wasn’t until the car approached that he stepped forward, his features revealing in the light. 

The man’s face was rugged and weathered, it spoke of years of hard living. Dark hair cropped short, and his strong jawline covered in a shadow of stubble. His eyes were cold and calculating as they locked on the car. There was command in his presence, a quiet authority that made it clear he wasn’t to be trifled with. He seemed the kind of man who would be ready for anything with a solid build, muscular concealed under a dark, well-worn jacket. 

James slowed the car to a stop, rolling down the window. “Bucky,” the man called out toward James before landing his gaze on you. He looked irritated, setting his jaw tight as he assessed you. “Who’s this?” he asked, without any warmth in his tone, just a cold, scrutinizing edge.

---

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ