#〚 ♡ * EMBER 〛 ━━ CLOSET.

[jeschalynn]

𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮

I think it would be amazing to spend time with this time of year with Diavolo. He's so genuinely excited to learn about the human world and I think it'd be like a dream come true for him. He would be so eager to learn all the things you like best because that's what makes it so special.

This is dedicated to @cals-laundry for @love-and-lore's gift exchange. I wish you the very best this holiday season and a wonderful new year! ♡

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, who has only seen glimpses of the human world's festivities this time of year. Most of what he knows he's learned from demons who spend more time in that world than he does, or from visiting sorcerers or witches. He hardly had the time to celebrate human world holidays until he met you, but he won't let this opportunity go to waste.

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, who eagerly listens when you tell him about how you used to celebrate the holiday season before coming to the Devildom. He's enchanted by the way your face lights up when you share fond memories with him, all the activities and traditions you enjoy, and he wants to be the one to put that same smile on your face too.

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, whose excitement is contagious when he starts planning this year's holiday celebrations in your honour. If he had it his way, the castle would be covered in the colourful lights and ornaments that you're familiar with. He even insists on picking out all the decorations himself and visits the finest shops in the human world he can find. It's a noticeable distraction from his work, but Barbatos forgives his Young Master's enthusiasm when it makes him so very happy.

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, who tries all the festive foods and drinks that are famous this time of year. Your favourite meals are conveniently added to the kitchen's seasonal menu. The yummy candies and chocolates and snacks you like best are available when you visit Diavolo at his castle and watch movies together or spend time in his private library. He's excited that you both like so many of the same things, like it's yet another sign that you're meant to be together. Somehow those sweet treats taste best when you offer one between your fingers, and he kisses your fingertips when you put it to his lips.

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, whose generous nature means that he's determined to give you the best presents. Everything you've ever mentioned that you've wanted—books or music or clothes or even games or toys—he remembers them all. (Barbatos insisted he shouldn't go overboard, but what his butler doesn't know can't possibly hurt anyone.)

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, who kneels next to Barbatos on the carpet in his room while his butler teaches him how to wrap your gifts. Pieces of torn wrapping paper and balls of rolled-up tape and bits of ribbon are strewn across the floor, and Diavolo holds up the finished product—not perfect, but not terrible—with a proud smile. (Barbatos's eye twitches when Diavolo reveals all the other gifts still to wrap, that he somehow managed to hide in his oversized walk-in closet.)

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, who drapes his arm across your shoulders and tucks you into his side when you cuddle in front of the fire on the evening of December 24th. There's soft music playing in the background, a human world album you suggested, and two half-empty mugs of hot chocolate on the table nearby. The festive sweaters and fuzzy socks he bought keeps you warm, and the crackling fire lulls you both into a light slumber. It's only when the embers start to fade and the room grows cool does he wake, smiling at you fast asleep and curled up against him, and he carefully picks you up and tucks you into bed.

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, who greets you with a wide smile and bright eyes when you wake up the next morning. There's an overstuffed stocking at the foot of the bed for you, and a mountain of presents near the lavishly-decorated tree in the corner of the room. He's nearly vibrating with pent-up energy: he's excited, but he's nervous, too. He doesn't want to disappoint you.

Celebrating the holidays with Diavolo, the Devildom's future king that sits cross-legged on his bed beside you, wearing a Santa Claus hat and a sweater with a snowman on the front. His smile softens into something warm and loving and intimate when you tell him, all I want is you.

Holidays With a Prince playlist

[scarletslament]

Sharp Thorns:

Started: February 1st, 2021

Finished: February 4th, 2021

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This takes place a few months after my last entry of the series. There will be some topics which might not be suitable so be advised and read with caution my dear reader, because this deals with thoughts of suicide and self inflicted cuts. Now please enjoy this entry of Shallow Dreams! And little note...I’m sad to say I wasn’t able to find any of the previous parts of this series. This is a major loss because it told the story of the first protagonist and her adventure but with this loss I am able to put more heart into these because they will be going into the archive that I have recently made.

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A red haired girl was running through town, her cloak and tunic had a few rips and holes. She didn’t give them any mind because she was overjoyed that her dream was finally accomplished and wanted to tell her elder all about the assessment. Only a few feet away from the mansion Violet would begin to slow down, there was something off about the area. Looking down the ground she was standing on was burnt and seemed to have been newly set aflame. “What is this pungent smell..? It’s so strong, it reminds me of the fireplace on a snowy evening.” She says starting to look around the area, getting concerned as she saw a few embers make its way through the gate that should have been opened. Putting a hand on the gate Violet slowly pushed it open, once open she would run towards the front door of the mansion.

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Inside the mansion everything was destroyed, no sign of the ever prospering entrance she had grown up and worked in for most of her life. This only got worse as Violet made her way to the other rooms, it took many hours of fumbling around the once lively hallways to find her room. All that was left untouched was her closet and desk. “This can’t be real... just this morning I had woken up and prepared to spar with the Pontifex of the academy...I worked hard to beat Miss Astria. For what if all I had left was to be destroyed, I know Elder is in town but where are the others... where the hell is the protector of the mansion she should’ve been here with her brother at a moment's notice!?” Violet began to have a panic attack from all the thoughts that had just begun swirling through her mind. She reached for a box inside her closet, opening it up the box, it had held a few weapons. Grabbing a small brown and green dagger Violet would rake the sharp blade across her inner thigh for a few seconds. Putting more pressure on the blade she would make the wound a bit deeper before snapping out of her delusional state of mind. Realizing what she had done the girl would put the blade down and tear a part of her cloak to wrap around the wound to stop the bleeding. “Oh sweet pardel...what have I done to myself... I need to get out of here quickly.” Violet says as she grabbed a new cloak and a crimson and emerald colored rapier. It’s sheath was the color of her eyes, a deep sapphire blue that one may lose their sense of stared into for too long. Standing up the girl would place it on her belt along with the newly blood soaked dagger she used on herself. Walking out of the room Violet made her way outside of the mansion and went towards the forest to distance herself from everyone for the time being. Until she can look herself in the face she won’t return, perhaps all she needs is a break from everything and time for herself to explore the world. Violet thought as she limped her way through the forest. “I’ll see you later...goodbye Drâl I’ll come back one day and apologize for disappearing, this was the best town I’ve been in. I just hope Drâl doesn’t change much...” She said before turning around and went back to limping away into the lush forest.

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This is the last full part of what I wrote, the next part has been *checks notes* in production for about 3 fucking years. So since I started my first job all my motivation went out the window. I might continue it just for tumblr and maybe just maybe write a new chapter once I have time. While writing these I realized how heavily my mental state influenced my writings which is Cary to say the least which is why I stopped writing aswell but rereading all of this gives me hope that one day I can rekindle my creative attributes. Oh and writing the first part or well making the character is how I found out I was trans so yknow. There’s that.

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Extended Stay;; WYF [pt.2]

Check out Part One here~

Word Count;; 10.4k total, 5.2k for pt.2

Genre;; Zombie AU [Horror], Mafia AU [Violence], Smut

Pairing;; Kris Wu x Fem!Reader

Summary;;

    There comes a point in every relationship where things start to get serious. For you and Kris, that point comes in the form of a weekend getaway at a paradise resort. While you have your doubts about the many secrets he holds, there's a part of you that wants the relationship to thrive, to grow into something greater.     All great things, however, must be strong enough to withstand a storm and the quickest way to learn of a person's true character is under unfathomable odds.     Luckily for you, an island gone dark promises many hardships.

Collab Info;;

The Undead - an EXO12 Collab hosted by @biaswreckingfics​ ♡

Check out the Masterlist for more great EXO Zombie AU fics!

Warnings;;

Zombies!! + Mafia AU so

Graphic depictions of violence, gore, horror in general, guns Explicit Language!! Explicit Smut!! Thigh riding and fingering, daddy kink

My Networks;; @supermwritersnet​

Main Masterlist || EXO Masterlist

   When you turn to him, she's watching you. No, not you. She's watching the way your muscles slide beneath your skin, the way your sweat marinates you in a seasoning of salt. Saliva gathers in the corners of her mouth. Her jaw falls open as she reaches for you. As if a sudden sickness overcame her, the healthy hue of her skin turns pallid and wretched.

   You watch as the final ember in her eyes dies.

   All you can do is gasp in abject horror as she bares her teeth.

   Her nails claw at Yifan's suit.

   Snarls ring out loud and clear.

   There's a thunder of footsteps.

   His neck is exposed to her.

   You choke on the words you want to scream.

   God, fuck, Yifan, she's dead too. They're all dead and you will be too. She's going to bite you and you'll be d-

   "What the fuck," he snaps, his fingers wrapping around the girl's throat. Her mouth is mere inches from his face, teeth clattering and chomping. There's something feral in her eyes. Even as Yifan holds her at bay, she insists, pushing against his hand and scratching his clothes. "You little bit-"

   Deep down you've always known that Yifan isn't the man he pretends to be. He has secrets. Everyone does. Sure, the skeletons in most people's closets are mundane and petty, but everyone has them. It's because of his secrets that sometimes your jealous side thinks the worst, thinks that you're just one of many, that you're just a plaything to him. Watching him now, though, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

   Yifan is a made man.

   The girl slams into the wall like a ragdoll. She slinks to the floor with nary a spark in her eyes. You think perhaps that may be it, that she hit her head hard enough to pass out, so you redirect your focus to the stampede rushing toward you. Your heart thuds up and into your throat, constricting your air. There's more than there were before and they all have that wild, hungry look etched into their rotting faces.

   From your peripheral you see her twitch. The girl - she's moving. Her head lolls around as she scrambles back to her feet. She doesn't sound human any longer. None of them do. With an unnatural crack of her neck, her arms reach toward you, her fingers bending in a multitude of degrees.

   Her starved roar is cut short by a resounding bang.

   Blackened blood erupts from the newly formed crater in her skull. Once more her body slumps to the floor but this time it's definite; she's dead. Again. Yet somehow she seems less dead than she had seconds prior. Now she seems innocent and youthful, an unfortunate victim of something unspeakable.

   Without missing a beat, Yifan grabs your arm and starts to drag you away from her… and them. Their footfalls make the ground shudder. You can't see where the crowd ends. Amongst their endless numbers are tourists, children, and staff alike.

   And they all have their eyes on you.

   Yifan never shows them his back. His legs move faster than yours do and you stumble alongside him. With the gun in one hand and your bruising arm in the other, he's unable to check the doors you're passing. There's an explosion of light with each shot. Every few seconds he fires a bullet into the oncoming horde.

   Bullseye.

   He aims between the eyes and he never misses.

   A rush of excitement floods your system.

   This is a new side of him.

   His grip tightens around your bicep.

   "Hey!" He's using his stern voice. It anchors you back to the shitstorm raging around you. Tearing your gaze away from the approaching carnage, you tune into what he's been trying to tell you since the girl's second death. "Get to the stairwell."

   "But the-"

   "The other one."

   He nods behind you, toward the end of the hallway. The hotel is large; of course there's more than one stairwell. Peeling free of his hold, you wince. Shades of blue and purple litter your skin. You make a mental note to survive long to give him a piece of your mind about it before sprinting down the hall.

   Gunshots continue to ring in your ears at a steady interval until they cease altogether. Thinking he ran out of bullets, you quicken your pace. No matter how fast you run, the sound of the horde is just as loud. They never falter, they never stop.

   When you reach the stairwell access, you risk a glance at Yifan. He's much closer than you thought he would be. In his hand is the gun, its clip out and a fresh handful of bullets shining in his palm.

   You scoff. He's reloading. Of course he came prepared with bullets to spare. He's a fucking mafioso, after all.

   Firing off a few more shots and killing the undead closest to you, he wraps his arm around your waist and yanks you backward, shielding your body as he flings the door open. Checking his corners, he clears the landing before whisking you inside. As soon as the door closes, you're plunged into silence and darkness.

   "Should I turn the flash-"

   He hushes you with a sharp exhale. "Listen."

   The steel door is holding strong against the swarm on the other side. It muffles most of the sound but you can still hear them pressing against it, snarling and hissing, desperate to pursue their escaped meal. Doing your best to ignore it and quell the fear pounding inside your mind, you steady your breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, ex-

   Much further down you can hear shuffling. Someone is dragging their feet against the concrete. It isn't the only thing you hear, however. There is a raspy groan emanating from the pit far below, as well as a constant drip of liquid and the squelch of moist organs grinding against one another, trying to spill free of their rib cage imprisonment.

   With a bravada you didn't know you could muster, you tiptoe to the guardrail and peer down. Miraculously the bottom floor is well-lit. The door must be open. It provides just enough light to illuminate the bottom segment of the tower. To your dismay, the entirety of the first floor landing is swarming with the undead.

   "There are more on the lower levels," you whisper, backing away from the railing.

   "How many?"

   "Too many."

   "How many people were in this shithole?"

   You roll your eyes. "What are we going to do?"

   "I don't know."

   "What do you mean you don't know?"

   "Keep your voice down."

   "Yifan," you whisper-shout, poking him in the chest. "Figure something out!"

   His reflexes are much faster than your own. Grabbing your wrist, he twists your body into his own, your back flush against his chest. Warm air caresses your ear as he rests his face near yours, his words a whisper only for you to hear. "I told you to stay quiet."

   "Yifan," you whine, pushing back against his chest.

   He doesn't answer. Instead the hand that once held your wrist trails upward along your arm. The other is running circles on your stomach, travelling a bit lower with each repetition. By the time his fingers crawl under your waistband, he's littering your neck in teasing kisses in an attempt to distract you.

   You shudder. There's a fire building in your gut. His touch is addictive and your mind falls into a haze of longing. It isn't until one of the undead several floors below roars and the crowd floods out of the small square space that you snap back to reality. Yifan's hands don't waver, intent to feel every inch of your skin.

   "They're hunting," you whisper. He hums in acknowledgement before nibbling on your ear. Biting back a moan, you yank his hand out of your panties. "Now isn't the time, Yifan!"

   "Why not? They left."

   "There are literally hundreds of them right outside this door! They might-" His teeth sink into your shoulder and you hiss, pushing him back a step with all your strength. "Asshole! They might break through!"

   The door rattles on its hinges as if to empathise your point. It creaks and bends under the pressure of the endless force behind it. Yet it holds strong. There's a soft rustle in front of you and you can imagine Yifan shrugging, maybe even rolling his eyes. Your clenched fist hits him square in the chest. He doesn't react.

   "Besides, we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

   "Come on, baby, let's live a little."

   "I think I want to live a little too much to do something that stupid. If you're not going to take this seriously, I'll leave without you."

   "Where?" Yifan snorts but when your feet clank against the metal stairs, he sighs. "Babe. Wait for me. Don't run off."

   "Oh don't worry, I have no intention of straying far from you and your goddamn gun!"

   He's hot on your heels. Even though he's larger than you in many aspects, he's quieter, almost indiscernible aside from his aura. It hangs around him wherever he goes - intense, powerful, authoritative. Palpable, you can feel it shrouding you.

   When you reach the fifth floor landing you stop. There's a bit more light here. The closer you get to the bottom, the more that filters through. You can also hear a gentle lapping, like waves hitting the side of a pool. Peering over the edge, you recognise that the shards of refracted light beaming into the harsh darkness are the sun's fast-fading rays bouncing off an uncalm surface.

   "Is that a pool?" Craning your neck to get a better view, you huff when Yifan leans further over the edge than you can manage. He's all limbs. "There was no pool when we came in."

   "There was. It was through the door on the right. The whole bottom floor beneath the right wing is an indoor beach."

   "An indoor beach… at a beach resort?"

   He shrugs. "We can't go all the way down. We need to get back to the center stairwell or we'll get lost and swarmed."

   He pushes off the railing. Giving him space, you shift to the side so he can listen to the fifth floor through its large, foreboding door. After just a few seconds he sighs, shaking his head while using his hand to slice an imaginary line along his neck. It's dark but you understand the intent all the same: death.

   This time you tiptoe down the stairs. While you're louder than Yifan, you're still much quieter than you had been before. Aside from the occasional splashing from the pool, the stairwell remains silent. There's no signs of movement, living or otherwise.

   When the fourth floor is also a bust, you consider going back up. Too much further down and you'll have trouble if a horde appears. If they strongarm their way through a door, you won't be able to go down without running into the mass of corpses awaiting their next meal on the ground level. Yifan, however, insists on trying the third floor.

   "It's better to keep moving towards the bottom than making our way back up. That's horror movie 101."

   "But if we so much as hiccup they're going to be on us in seconds," you whisper into his ear. He's bent over, his head tilted in your direction so you don't need to raise your voice.

   "I'll protect you."

   "Right. Because Mr. Construction over here just happens to be a marksman. Not weird at all."

   He laughs, breathless and airy against your cheek as he straightens his posture. "Just trust me."

   Muttering an irritated 'fine', you cross your arms and pout every step of the way down to the third floor landing. You're still sour when he starts to open the door. A bitter frown contorts your lips when Yifan gives you a thumbs up. He opens it further, performing a visual check before grasping your arm and pulling you through. To your surprise, the hallway is empty.

   There is, however, plenty of carnage to remind you of the hell you've found yourself ensnared in.

   Stepping over travel bags and jumping over puddles of blood, you're dutiful in your pursuit of Yifan's tall frame. His steps are larger than yours and he crosses the distance faster. If your pace decreases too much, he waits for you to catch your breath, scouring the hall with its millions of doors for anything out of place in the meanwhile. Every now and then he closes one of the doors as a preventative measure.

   Halfway to the centre stairwell he comes into view - one of the blundering idiots Yifan hired as security. Facing the direction opposite you, he's a few metres away from your destination, just beyond the stairwell entrance. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's become one of them.

   Blood trickles down his back from the gushing wound on his shoulder. Huge gashes paint his skin in a myriad of dark reds. When he stumbles forward, he damn well near tumbles, unsteady due to the massive lacerations severing the tendons in his legs.

   You try to skid to a halt but Yifan tightens his grip on your arm and keeps going. All he offers is a quick finger against his lips, urging you to remain quiet. Your heartbeat picks up. If they have any form of heightened senses, you're as good as caught. The stench of exertion and fear clings to you. Sweat leaks down your face as your adrenaline peaks, overwhelming your system with the desire to run.

   Unlike you, Yifan is a cool cucumber.

   He doesn't bat an eye. This whole situation has had no visual effect on him. In a way you despise him for it. You know you'd be dead without him but there's no tremble in his hand, no sway in his feet. He has nerves of steel. It doesn't surprise you, it just makes you feel weak. Grateful, of course, but so, so small and vulnerable.

   Every time the idiot sniffs the air or tilts his head, Yifan's hand hovers over his gun. He's fast on the draw and his brow furrows in concentration, fighting back the urge to go through the motion, to kill. His hand caresses the dark metal like it's an old friend, comfortable and reliable, but he never unholsters it. It's a last resort; if he uses it, more will come.

   By some miracle you reach the stairwell with no issue. Even as you open the door and slip inside, he doesn't turn. Just as he was in life, the guards a fucking moron who can't detect or secure shit. Some things never change.

   The door clicks closed and you sigh in relief. "We did i-"

   "Help… me…"

   Knowing you well, Yifan clamps his hand over your mouth before the scream has a chance to escape. With frantic and terrified kicks, you leap backwards from the fingers wrapping around your ankle. In an elegant twirl you could never muster on your own, you're whisked away from the threat and its pathetic sobbing. Yifan's back barricades you against the wall and you hear the soft click of his gun's hammer.

   "Sir, it's me," the voice mumbles, raspy and strained. "Your pilot."

   "Pilot?"

   Both you and Yifan spit out the word, though his tone is much more venomous than yours. Shimmying your phone out from your pocket, you shine the flashlight toward the voice. It is indeed a man that bears some resemblance to the alcoholic you had the displeasure of meeting earlier. Yifan confirms the man's identity with a bitter chuckle.

   "Great. Our pilot is as good as dead. So much for getting back to the plane."

   "What do we do now?"

   "I can get us out of here if you get me back to the plane," he speaks with more enthusiasm now, a glimmer of hope in his glassy eyes. Forcing himself to stand, a foul smell emanates from his body as he limps closer to you both. Your nose scrunches in distaste.

   "Back off," Yifan warns, raising the gun.

   The pilot throws his hands up in defense before backing up. He calls Yifan an arsehole under his breath. The word echoes in the small space. You're unsure if he's aware of this or if he thinks he's being sly. Either way you sidle out from behind Yifan and start to slink down the stairs. You make it down four steps before the man growls.

   With an audible thump, he knocks Yifan back against the wall. Metal clanks against stone as the gun falls. To your relief, it doesn't hit the steel of the stairs; it's still within reach. As you turn to flash some light on the tussle, you're thrown backward. Grimy, moist nails claw at your neck during the whole descent. On the first rotation, your head and back slam against the concrete. On the second, it's your knees and feet.

   By the time you're flat on the mid-floor landing, there's a hundred too many pounds crushing your chest. Every inch of you aches from the fall but it's nothing compared to the scorching fire exploding inside your throat. Snapping your eyes open, you see the pilot. He's pinning you down and choking you.

   Glancing upward to where Yifan once stood, you pray he'll rescue you. Seconds are worth a lifetime when each could be your last. Speckles of darkness pollute your vision, somehow even darker than what you've been plunged into now that your phone is lost. It's probably shattered given the extent of your tumble.

   His hold on you tightens, his fingers digging into your pulse points. Searching for something you can use, anything at all, your nails rake across the ground. There's nothing in reach. You force out a gasp, desperate to suck in some air, and Yifan stirs. His boots slam against the stairs two at a time but he's dizzy, or at least uncertain, and his footfalls are hesitant.

   And then it moans.

   Your old friend hanging high in the spire moans.

   You had been too afraid to acknowledge it then, to admit that it was no hallucination but a very real, very undead monster lurking in the dark.

   Yet now it's moans serve not to lure you upward to certain doom; they're a reminder of the inevitable future coursing through the pilot's veins.

   It's a brief distraction but one nonetheless and you don't plan on dying like a dog under this madman's grasp. Lurching into a sitting position, you headbutt him. It's enough to throw him off balance. He's well on the track to becoming one of them and his mind is deteriorating fast, but if he wants to play mad, you'll just play madder.

   Gripping his hair and ignoring how it tears out in clumps, you trip over him, kneeing him in the stomach during the descent. On legs that scream in defiance, you lift yourself to your feet. He follows, your hold on him shifting to his ears and neck, and he whimpers. It's a pathetic sound. It makes you want to hurl. Instead you stand tall and focus, breathing deep to reinvigorate your tired muscles. Even if you wanted to, you know you can't make quick work of it.

   "This is going to hurt," you whisper, a chill settling deep in your spine as you pull his head closer to you. "You should've stayed on the plane."

   Like a bow drawn taut, you release the pressure in your arms in one sudden punch. It isn't your typical hit, however. Instead of using your fists, you use the man's face to pummel the wall. Over and over you cock the pistol that is your body before shooting more of his face all over the cold, hard concrete.

   Even as your hold on his sloughing skin becomes slippery from the excess blood, you keep going.

   "He's dead," Yifan murmurs.

   You jolt when he immobilises you. With his arms around your waist, he uses this newfound leverage to levitate you up and away from the bloodbath of your creation. Unfurling your fingers, you relax, allowing your jittery body to calm.

   "You did well. He's dead."

   In the safety of his embrace, you succumb to the exhaustion pulling you deep into a restless slumber.

   It isn't Yifan shaking you or calling your name that awakens you but the cold night air. There are crickets chirping somewhere beyond the jungle's treeline. Upon opening your bleary eyes, you see little orbs of light floating on the soft ocean breeze as it rolls in across the tarmac. One of the lights dive toward you and you flinch.

   It's a firefly.

   Small, fragile and beautiful.

   It rests on your shoulder for a brief moment before taking back off into the sky.

   "Babe, are you awake?"

   You hum in response, nodding while struggling to keep your heavy eyelids from closing.

   "The jet should be in the hangar. Can you walk?"

   Humming again, you stand. It takes great effort to stay upright. Your legs are like lead beneath you. Each step is harder than the last and your feet drag, leaving a trail on the sand-covered runway. It would be easier to walk in cement shoes, you think, and it makes you chuckle. Cement shoes. Yifan would surely appreciate the mobster reference.

   He scoffs in front of you, looking over his shoulder to observe your condition.

   Had you said that out loud? Did he at least find it as amusing as you did?

   "You need to rest but it isn't safe out in the open. Push yourself a little more, okay?"

   It's a genuine, sincere request so you do it. Despite how your body screams for rest, you hold onto his belt and soldier on. You even look around as you tiptoe behind him, your head in a constant state of swivelling in order to report any undead sightings. A strike of good fortune finds you both entering the hangar without issue. Another lucky break has your jet inside, door open and ready for you both to embark.

   Whoever said good things happen in threes, however, is a liar.

   The second bodyguard falls face first out of the plane.

   His fingers are stumps, worn down to the bone.

   Sniffing the air, his rotting eyes snap to you.

   "I'll distract it while you get on the plane."

   "What? No w-"

   The guard croaks before he charges. You pray that nothing else heard it, that nothing else will come. Yifan pushes you aside while kicking the guard square in the stomach. Blood explodes out of his mouth as he stumbles backward, stunned. His attention shifts to Yifan.

   "Get on the plane!"

   "But-"

   "Here." He tosses a set of keys to you: the pilot's, and therefore the plane's. "Now go."

   Turning your back on him feels like a betrayal. There's another thud and grunt as Yifan lands a kick on the guard and then the clunking of metal. Squelching permeates your ears and you want to vomit. It's what flesh sounds like as it slides off the bone as if it's shredded beef.

   You don't stop to look back.

   You have faith in Yifan's abilities - in him.

   The steps rattle with each plod of your feet until you're standing in the plane's cabin. Your chest heaves. It burns to breathe. Between exertion and exhaustion, every inhalation is a fight to stay conscious. There's a thundering boom in your ears that won't cease, adrenaline pounding against your skull.

   Knowing your senses are impeded, you turn to view the carnage. Worry clenches your heart when you're unable to spot either the guard or Yifan. Resisting the urge to go back and help him, your hand hovers over the stair's lift button. At the first sign of trouble you'll press it.

   You'll press it and wait in this flimsy tin can for God knows how long.

   Perhaps until you run out of food.

   Perhaps even until you die.

   There's a scuffle beyond your view and then several hits reminiscent of flesh smashing against stone. You know this noise well now. It's a sound you'll never forget courtesy of the pilot.

   Who's going to fly the plane?

   Another clang resonates from nearby as metal strikes something hard, not stone but… bone.

   Over and over again.

   Clang.

   Clang.

   Clang.

   Seconds pass in relative silence. No matter the outcome, the fight has come to an end. One will emerge the victor and you'll either die alone or die with Yifan. Operating a plane, after all, requires finesse and training. It's not something you just decide to do on a whim.

   It's either by his side or by his hand. Or, you suppose, his teeth. You laugh at the grimness of the situation. This is your reality. It's a joke - a fucking nightmare, sure, but a real fucking cosmic zinger too.

   A real ride or die then ride some more kind of couple.

   "Babe," Yifan huffs, limping into your view. "I'm opening the bay doors."

   Relief surges through you. It's an emotional overload. Sobbing, you fall to your knees, abandoning your post by the button. He's hurt but he's alive and so are you. You're alive. Against the odds, you both survived.

   The hangar door shutters open. He doesn't wait for the machinery to finish before jogging onto the plane. Smashing the button after himself, you watch as the stairs retreat back into the plane's side. The hydraulics hiss as they settle. Yifan stands beside you, shoulders slumped and head hung. His once immaculate suit is drenched in blood and sweat.

   "You alright?" he asks, aware of your eyes on him.

   "Are you bitten?"

   "It's not my blood."

   "Are you bitten?"

   "No, but you shouldn't trust my word on it. I have a penchant for lying, after all."

   "Yeah," you scoff. Grabbing his hand, you use him as support to pull yourself up. "You really do. Construction, huh?"

   He laughs and the easy nature behind it soothes you, a bright spark erasing the somber atmosphere until you're laughing too. "I was planning on telling you event-"

   The pilot's cabin door flings open. In the same breath Yifan draws his gun, aiming it at the young woman standing on the threshold. It takes her a moment to catch onto what is happening. When she does, she screams, throwing her hands up in defense before cowering. It's the flight attendant.

   "I'm normal! I'm not one of them!"

   After a visual check for wounds, he holsters his gun. "What were you doing in there?"

   "What do you think?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring how his hand creeps up to hold the back of your neck, squeezing in warning.

   "Hiding. From… from the guard. He went crazy. He's been trying to get in for the past hour." Closing the door slightly, she points at the tarnished metal. The metal is scratched and coloured red from his attempts. "I thought maybe the pilot left the keys…"

   She trails off and you gasp, a lightbulb going off in your head. "You can fly the plane!"

   "Yes… not that I intended to leave you here! I just assumed-"

   "We have the keys. Get us out of here."

   Upon hearing Yifan's approval, you toss the keys to her. She trembles as she speaks, anxious to escape the madness infecting the island, "Yes, sir!"

   When the plane rumbles to life, you remember how to breathe. You don't think twice about what Yifan is planning as he leads you toward the bathroom. There's a part of you that wants to let loose and forget everything. He pushes you inside, rough and dominant like always. You slide your irreparable hoodie off and toss it into the corner.

   When he doesn't enter behind you, you face him, equal parts confused and eager. "Are you coming?"

   "Do you need help washing up?" He smirks before gesturing toward the small shower cubicle. "Go on."

   "But I need to check you for bite marks."

   "Well who am I to say no to a good time?"

   "I'm being serious here, Yifan."

   "So am I, baby."

   His suit jacket is on the ground before he even steps foot inside. Scrambling to keep up with how fast he's peeling his clothes off, you shimmy out your sweats and panties in one fell swoop. The clothes are beyond ruined so he takes a shortcut, popping the buttons of his dress shirt as he tears it off. After his shoes are kicked off and his pants abandoned, he drinks in your body as you continue to undress. There's a myriad of bruises scattered along your skin.

   "Look what all that manhandling did to my arm."

   Chuckling as his fingers trace the marks, he smirks. It's a signature look of his, one that excites you. When you pull away from him to step inside the shower and turn the water on, he pins you against the wall. With your arms raised overhead, he places gentle kisses along the bruises, avoiding the speckles of blood on your body all while grinding his hips against yours.

   You moan in unrestrained need. It entices him. His cock brushes against your throbbing cunt and you buck, chasing his hardening length but he doesn't give you what you want. No, that would be too easy. Instead he continues to tease, holding your wrists in one hand while using the other to grab a bar of soap. Rubbing it along every inch of your skin in painstaking detail, he cleans off all the grime and blood before doing the same to himself. All you can do is watch, unable to touch, unable to help.

   Once satisfied, he sighs in relief, tossing his head back and allowing the hot water to drizzle through his hair. You squirm under his hold, whining for attention and shuddering whenever his body so much as touches yours. He peeks at you with one eye.

   "Is my baby needy?"

   You nod, grinding against his thigh as he rests it between your legs. Starting slow and tentative, your movements are exploratory but when his muscles tense and flex, you gasp. He doesn't bother to move beyond that, forcing you to put in the work all while wearing a cocky grin. Sliding up and down his bare leg, you ride him, yearning for release.

   It builds up slowly, starting as small sparks that soon blossom into a raging fire as you fuck his thigh in earnest. When you're close to climax, Yifan lends a hand. Gripping your hips, he pulls you close, sliding your soaked pussy along his leg like it were a water slide. He dips two long fingers deep in your cunt, using his palm to massage your clit until you're clenching around him, screaming his name in absolute ecstasy as you cum.

   "How desperate," he scoffs before your high has a chance to subside. "But don't you worry. Daddy's going to fuck you so hard you forget the last few hours ever happened."

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