#and there was a horde of zombies behind it trying to get in

[transmechanicus]

Blankie time we share body warmth and the bad dreams bounce back and crash into a wall and die <3

Blankie time💙🖤

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Zombie! Ghost NSFW Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Zombie Fucking, Monster Fucking, Zombie! Ghost, Human! Reader, Zombie Anatomy, Cockwarming, Unprotected Sex, Stagnant Semen, Stomach Bulge, Stomach Swelling, Mention of Breeding, Engorged Penis, Brief Worry of Infection, Mentions of Blood, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Zombie!Ghost who’s been travelling with you for the last couple of months or so.

Zombie! Ghost who wasn’t like all the other infected — he retained most of his autonomy with only his body succumbing to the disease, blood smattered down his tactical gear, eyes milky.

Zombie!Ghost who, though he can’t speak, can still communicate via growls, gurgles and groans, as well as body language, albeit in a stiff manner.

Zombie!Ghost who, despite existing in a decaying body, has retained most of his human, primal urges. Even had some of them enhanced.

Zombie!Ghost who, though you might not know it, rocks himself into his hand when the night is quiet, your name and face on his mind amidst the buzz of the virus telling him to act on his base instincts to eat, feed and breed.

Zombie!Ghost who sees that, much to his lethargic delight, this was the case for you, too.

On many a night had he caught you with something hard between your legs, trying desperately to alleviate the the knots below your stomach.

Zombie!Ghost who, one night, after a long day of running from the undead and hiding in an enclosed space with you, chest to chest as you both waited for the horde to pass, found that palming himself did nothing to rid him of the aching feeling between his legs.

Zombie!Ghost who can sense that you’re the same: all that excess adrenaline and pent-up sexual frustration permeated the air with scent only a creature like Ghost could smell. A scent which he followed to the door of your room.

He knocked. Once. Heard you shuffling, scurrying, before clearing your throat, telling him to “Come in,”

Zombie! Ghost who can see your hasty attempt to cover yourself, your pants pulled up with such speed that you’d neglected to zip them back up, the hem of your underwear showing between the open space.

Zombie!Ghost who sees your eyes flicker to his trousers, widen slightly, before returning to his eyes.

Zombie!Ghost who wastes no time, kicking the door shut behind him and taking heavy, deliberate steps towards you.

Zombie! Ghost whose hand slithers down his front to the bulge between his legs, never taking his eyes off yours as he squeezes it, letting out a guttural groan.

Zombie! Ghost who knows you’re intelligent enough to pick up what he’s putting down. Even if you are stunned into momentary silence.

Zombie! Ghost who feels something in him grow warm when you look up at him with wide eyes, asking him, tentatively: “But…won’t I get infected?”

Zombie! Ghost who shakes his head, for he can do little more to put your mind at ease save for leaving and never proposing such a thing again.

Zombie! Ghost who sees you mulling it over in your mind, though he can tell by the rampant heat coming from between your thighs, the tantalising scent of your hormones thickening in the air, that your mind is already made up.

Zombie! Ghost who approaches with a rabid look in his eyes, coming to stand right where you need him.

Zombie! Ghost who has to bite back a growl when he feels your fingers brush him through his clothes, taking the zipper of his pants between your fingers and pulling it down.

Zombie! Ghost who, after having himself freed of his tactical gear, lies back on the bed, watching your mouth drop open as you see his swollen, drooling, stiffened cock for the first time, blackened veins running up the shaft. Pulsating. Something viscous and almost white oozes from the tip.

Zombie! Ghost who has to resist the urge to buck his hips when you come to straddle him, your pants and underwear abandoned somewhere on the mattress.

Zombie! Ghost who shudders when his tip meets your heat, the first semblance of warmth he’s felt since his un-death.

Zombie! Ghost who, even with his vocal cords having thoroughly decayed, lets out a carnal growl as you take him, sinking down onto his tip and wincing at the coldness — the size — of him.

Zombie! Ghost who can only wait for you to adjust to his girth and his lack of temperature as you sink further, a bulge in your stomach forming.

Zombie! Ghost who can feel you squeezing around him, already coaxing him to forfeit his restraint and pump you full of the stagnant semen all but bursting from his engorged ballsack. The consequence of not having an outlet for weeks.

Zombie! Ghost who gasps, back arching against the mattress, his gloved bands coming to grip your waist while he grinds up into you, desperate to feel more of your warmth.

Zombie! Ghost who can barely hold it together (literally) as you rock yourself on his cock, whimpering and gasping as he fills every ounce of space your body can give him.

Zombie! Ghost who can see that this is the turning point for your relationship — that the two of you have entered something you wouldn’t be able to explain to others even if you wanted to. If there was anyone left to explain it to.

Zombie! Ghost who, the longer and harder you rock against him, lifting yourself and dropping again back onto him, feels himself start to come undone, starts to feel the all-too human tremours and electricity — the tell-tale signs of a release.

Zombie! Ghost who, when he sees you try to pull away, try to stop him from splattering your insides with his seed, tightens his grip on your waist, keeping you flush against him.

Zombie! Ghost who, despite his lethargy, bucks up into you. Despite your protests, your begging for him to “Pull out — please!” knows it’s far too late as his eyes squeeze shut and his body spasms.

You’re filled with a wet coldness that can’t possibly be mistaken for anything else. And what’s more, there’s tons of it. You’re sure the sheer amount of semen Ghost is pumping you full of is going to leave your stomach swollen for days to come.

Zombie! Ghost who bounces you on his dick until he feels you cum, hears you cry out, sees you go limp, his hands keeping you upright.

Zombie! Ghost who, in the panting, sweating, sweltering aftermath, lays you beside him, his cock still deep inside you, a parasite in its own right as it sought and fed from your warmth.

Zombie! Ghost who brings an arm around you, pulling your back to his front, his face in your hair.

Zombie! Ghost who, tiring now, wonders if you’d have been together like this when he was a human, when he was alive.

Zombie! Ghost who wonders how he’s managed to live without you in the first place. Who knows now he’ll do anything to make sure that never happens.

Zombie! Ghost who can feel that you’ve fallen into a deep slumber, your breathing steady.

Zombie! Ghost who wonders how much of his strength, his load, you can take — where and when you’ll get yourself off on him next.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[spiderb00bs]

- BEAUTIFULLY CREEPY

Sophie Thatcher x reader

"your girlfriend just wanted you with her"

Genre - fluff warnings - none

Now Playing - Every Girl Gets Her Wish, Saint Avangeline's version

"She loves my heart-shaped sunglasses, She loves the heart shape my ass is"

The rain was heavy outside, leaving you with only the sound of water droplets hitting the window of your special room. The main lights were off, but the led lights glowed softly, illuminating the space. Your monitor screen displayed the beautiful graphics of The Last Of Us Part II, while you tried your best to concentrate on the horde of freaking zombies coming towards Ellie.

You were an avowed fan of the TLOU universe, and constantly talked about your little hobby in interviews and wherever you could. So imagine your surprise when all your love was noticed, bringing you the unique opportunity to play one of your favorite characters in the second season of the TV show.

You went crazy, telling everyone how you had landed one of the best roles of your career, celebrating with your friends and family until everyone was sick of hearing you talk. Luckily, your girlfriend, Sophie, never got tired of listening to you. She would constantly be asking you when you were going to start filming, helping you with your diet to gain muscle mass, and cheering you on in general.

You can vividly remember when this happened to her, when you were rooting for her when she got the role of Natalie in Yellowjackets, and how you constantly reminded her what a star she was, and how you believed in her until your last breath.

But anyway, here you were, playing the game so that in a few months, you could be part of the story. Concentrating on trying to get through that difficult part of the game, you missed the creak of the door, you always left one ear uncovered in case your girlfriend needed you, but your focus got the better of you this time.

Without noticing the tiny woman behind you, you continued to play nervously, trying to get away from one of the large zombies that was chasing you. Not being able to act fast enough, the zombie managed to catch you, biting your neck and leaving you there to die. Leaning back in your chair, you sighed in defeat, just to jump up and scream as loud as you could when a hand touched your shoulder.

“ HOLY FUCK!” You shouted, putting your hand to your chest when you saw that it was only Sophie.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Your girlfriend shouted amid loud laughter, falling to the ground as her stomach began to ache.

You could feel your body calming down from the fright you'd taken, and for a minute you checked that your heart was still beating and in the right place. “Don't ever do that again, please.” You say, letting a small laugh escape your lips.

Seeing your girlfriend slowly calming down, still on the floor, you smiled. She's so beautiful it hurts. The dimples when she smiles, the way she frowns, her blue eyes almost closed when she's having her laughing attack…

You could see her hand holding her belly, and your eyes quickly moved down her body. Her pale thighs bare, as the shorts she was wearing did nothing to cover it, the skin of her abdomen showing, as her shirt had ridden up a bit in the midst of her laughing fit, and the way her hair was spread out on the floor, getting messy in a way that was too cool for a normal person.

She was perfect.

“You're a nerd.” She pointed at you, laughing slightly at the way your face twitched.

Getting out of the chair, you crawled to her side on the floor, lying on your stomach as you stared at the woman in front of you. “You like bullying me, don't you?”

Smiling at you, Sophie bit her lower lip, nodding as she came closer to you, invading your personal space.

She loved your personal space.

“Yes, I do.” Her eyes watched you with a mischievous glint as she brought her head closer to yours, leaning on her elbows. “What are you going to do about it?”

Smiling, you moved closer, breaking down the imaginary wall between your mouths. You loved kissing Sophie, it was always a surprise, it could be slow and romantic, aggressive and desperate, whatever it was, every time it was dripping with desire.

“I thought you were reading…” You said, as soon as you pulled away from the kiss. The smile persisted on your lips, just like your girlfriend's smile.

“I was…” She began, you could see her eyes roaming all over your face, but you could do nothing but turn red. “But I found a cool horror movie to watch and I came to call you.”

“A horror movie?!” You swallowed.

Sophie knew you loved horror movies, but you were too scared to watch them alone. So whenever she spotted an apparently interesting horror movie (that you hadn't seen yet), she called you to join her.

“Don't you think it's very mean to call me to see a horror movie just after I've almost given myself a heart attack?” You joked, loving the way your girlfriend bit her lower lip to avoid smiling at your stupid joke.

Watching the blue-eyed woman get up from the floor, you lay on your back, seeing her hold out her hand to you. The silent signal for you to come with her. “I was just getting you into the mood.”

With a smile on your face, you followed your girlfriend, letting her pull you along, guiding you into the living room.

“You're mean.”

“You'll get used to it.”

“Is that my boxer shorts?"

“No?! It's our boxer shorts!"

Sorry guys, I'm in my Sophie Thatcher phase.

just kidding (not really), but the third season of Yellowjackets and companion hit me hard.

part two of Clairo's fic is coming soon! The holidays are over and I have to go back to work, so maybe I'll disappear again…

but stay safe and drink water

xoxo, spider.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-three —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: ily

In a split second, the ground seems to open up and you sink down, down, down into a memory brimming with death. Stark white snow surrounds you, soaked with blood beneath your feet. You hear the screams of your sister and Paul. A wall of grey descends over them. There are many, too many. All you can do is—

"Fucking run! Come on, before they smell us!"

Kyle tugs your arm and rips you back to the present. You trap the terror, throw the bow on your back, and sprint. Which way did you even come from? The meadow feels bigger than before. He seems to know so you follow him, fighting through head-high rue.

It doesn't seem like the Greys have taken notice to you yet given the absence of hungered screeches, but you can hear the uneven footsteps continuing behind you. You try to look back at them, but all you can make out through the plants are flashes of grey and green and amber sunlight. You don't slow down. You need to increase the gap so they can't get close enough to scent you.

"She's right over there," Kyle urges.

The tall grasses turn into pine needle covered ground. You make it back to Cherry, who must notice the shift in the air as she whinnies against the rope. Kyle slinks his rifle on his back, unties her with nimble fingers, and without warning, grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the saddle. You grip her mane to steady yourself. He swings a leg over behind you, then thrashes the reins. She breaks into a gallop, weaving through the trees. 

You look back again once she's gained some distance. They have trampled through the meadow, consuming it, and you realize with a sinking pit that without a horse, you wouldn't have been quick enough to get away. From this height, you can now see just how far back the crowd extends, to the point that they swallow the horizon. 

If they continue this way, they'll reach the camp. 

A barbed fence and trench won't stop them.

You look back ahead of you, the forest passing as a blur in your peripherals. 

"We have to get back and tell them. There's too many," you speak into the whipping breeze. "There is no month."

He tightens an arm around your middle and mutters gravely in your ear. "No, there isn't."

It feels like hours before you make it back, though the sun has yet to fully set. Blood orange streaks the sky. They must be preparing dinner. No one is outside. Cherry slides to a halt in front of the trench and Kyle helps you down with a firm hold, as if he is worried you'll be unsteady, but you brush his hand off and race inside.

You enter with such urgency that all eyes snap to you. Ghost is crouched in front of the fireplace. Price and Nereida are curled on the couch, legs entangled, as he strokes her long, black hair. Blue and Ari are looking through a magazine splayed on the table.

"Greys," you announce, looking around. You land on dark eyes that widen as they take you in. "They're here. They're coming."

"We saw them by the hundreds about 20 kilometers south. Too many for us to handle. We have to move, Price," Kyle says.

Ghost rises. You close the distance and stare up at him with unwavering conviction, ignoring the nausea that has been churning in your gut since the moment you witnessed them. 

"Ghost, we're not fucking around. I saw them. A horde. Bigger than the one that destroyed my camp. We have to get out of here. We don't have the time to wait around until they—"

"I heard you." His eyes sweep over the length of you. "You're alright?"

"Yes," you dismiss quickly. "They didn't get to us. But if we didn't have Cherry..." 

You trail off.

Price stands. "20 kilometers, Simon. They can close that distance in a matter of hours. We move now."

You see a war dance in Ghost's eyes as he releases your shoulder and nods firmly at his old captain. The stiffness in his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw show his realization that the battle he’s been fighting to grapple for more time is unwinnable.

"Dad?" Blue's voice is small from the table. 

He looks at her. "Kid, go get your things. Everything I've told you to bring if we ever had to leave."

"Where—where are we going?"

Price answers. "We start with moving a safe distance away. South, past Loughborough, like I showed you, Simon. Get your map. Gather everything we talked about. Only the necessities that we can fit in the truck."

Then, everyone moves.

A pot abandoned over the crackling embers. 

The magazine left on the table.

You rummage for your things.

Ghost throws a military-grade backpack at you.

"Use this."

You fight trembling fingers to unzip it. You don't own much. Even after cramming all your vials and pill bottles, gauze, knives, and clothes in it, there's space. He fills the rest with food from the pantry. Canned beans, fish, soup, peanut butter. A few packages with bold letters: MRE. Military ready-to-eats. 

Minutes race, and you're back outside. Moonlight floods the sky. Time feels like an enemy. How far away are they now? You swing around back to the truck. Kyle and Price have already loaded guns, food, and the deflated raft around Ghost's kayak. Blue watches them finish packing. She has a backpack of her own and Grim in her hands. Her eyes are red.

Ghost comes out with two heavily stuffed bags of his own. 

"You can't take him."

Blue tightens her hold on Grim. "I'll hold him the whole way."

"You can't."

"I can. I'm not—I'm not leaving him. He'll die."

"Say goodbye to him and get in the truck."

The look he gives her is final.

She knows it.

She kneels down and releases the rabbit.

He lingers by her feet.

Tears flow. 

"You have to stay here, okay? I'm—I'm sorry."

Kyle and Ari give their farewell to Cherry. He removes the saddle. You are tempted to thank her for saving your life, but before you can, Kyle strikes her rear and sends her running toward the north. You hope she can get out of here. 

You, Blue, and Nereida sit in the backseats. Kyle and Ari sit out on the truck bed, while Ghost drives and Price holds the map. Faded headlights cut through the night as the engine coughs to life. The silhouette of the camp outside the window is the last glimpse you steal as Ghost drives through the trees.

There isn't much talking except for Price telling him where to go. When Price unfolds the map, a small paper falls out. Ghost quickly snatches it and stuffs it in his pocket. Blue trembles beside you, but she's silent. You switch between playing with the plastic bracelet on your wrist and reopening the scab on your finger to keep your mind busy. You can't think about the what-if's—not now.

The bumpy ride softens once Ghost makes it to the road. You squint your eyes to read the roadsigns as they pass, but they're faded and it's dark. All you can make out is the letter M: motorway. It must be the M1. You crossed it on the way to the village, but this time Ghost follows it south, opposite of Manchester. 

Not even half an hour into the drive, Ghost swears under his breath. He slows down to a near-stop, causing your forehead to almost slam into the headrest. Your heart stutters when you look out the windshield. A group of Greys, not as large as the one you witnessed, but still sizable, lingers in the middle of the road. The headlights draw their shadows against the concrete—dark, spidery fingers. 

"Go around them," Price directs. "Keep some distance."

Ghost veers the truck left onto the grassy side of the motorway. The ride turns rough again and you notice Blue pressing her knuckles into your thigh. You let her. You watch the group pass through the window—maybe twenty or thirty of them. They are moving in the direction of the woods. Drawn to the terribly strong scent of the mass already congregated in there. 

When the truck fully passes them, your mind drifts. You think of small things. The growing cabbages Blue planted. If they will survive, or be trampled. Ghost's books. The shed you used to sleep. The violets by the pond, in full bloom, soon to be crushed and matted to the ground.

Ghost won't be driving all through the night. 

Price claims it would be a waste of fuel, since they haven't decided upon the safest route to continue further south towards the channel yet. One step at a time. Instead, after passing signs for Loughborough and circling around the quaint, broken town-scape, Ghost drives down a gravel road that leads to a quiet, overgrown ranch. There is a broken barn and eroded fence posts, but mostly grass. At least, that is what you make out in the dark. It should be far enough from the horde to be a safe place for sleep. 

They have two tents with them. Kyle hops out of the truck bed and sets them up with Ari, Price shining a flashlight for their eyes. Sleeping bags are thrown in. 

Nereida touches her husband's cheek. 

"Are you going to sleep any?"

"Not tonight. We'll keep watch." He kisses her knuckles.

Nereida and Ari end up in one tent for the night, and you and Blue take the other. The three men will stay awake, watching over the supplies and keeping an eye out for signs of Greys. You have the stubborn itch to stay up with them—be a fourth set of eyes—but you will yourself to leave your bow at the foot of the tent and bend down to slip inside with Blue. You help her into the sleeping bag since she has never used one before. She curls up inside it.

You are barely inside your own when she whispers, "Twix?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't like this."

"I don't, either."

Moonlight breaches the nylon walls. You can make out the shape of her nose, the glisten in her eyes.

"Are we going to go back?"

"I don't—I don't think so."

Luckily, it's left at that. She doesn't know about her dad's plan for Switzerland yet. Or maybe she is starting to put the pieces together. She doesn't ask. 

You turn on your side to look at her better. You reach a hand out of the sleeping bag to stroke her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm...I'm so sorry about Grim. He'll be okay, alright? He's a smart guy. Learned from you all these years."

"I hope so," she says, quiet. "I don't even have any pictures to remember him by."

"You have your memories of him. All of the small things. Hold tight to those and you'll never forget him, okay?"

"Okay." She shivers. It's cold now without the sun. For a few silent minutes, she simply cries. You stroke her hair, from scalp to ends, and count in your head. It does some to ground you. To ignore the fresh images seared into your eyelids. By the time you reach 248, she wipes her eyes roughly and says your name again. Her teeth are gritted, to keep her warm, or to stop from crying too loud. 

"Yeah?"

"Are you having sex with my dad?"

The question makes your fingers pause in their ministrations.

Something clenches at the pit of your stomach.

"I, um—no. No, of course not."

A shaky breath. 

"You would tell me, right? If you were."

"Yes, of course," you whisper. "Get some sleep, alright?" You give a final stroke to her hair and turn away, flat on your back. 

Sleep is difficult, but the three shadows outside the tent offer a thread of comfort, so you will your eyes to shutter. You dream of an endless meadow. The tall plants turn to hungry mouths. By the time dawn arrives, you awaken, and feel disoriented. You sit upright, looking around and wondering how you got here. You aren't in Ghost's room, in his bed, with his warm body close by. Your toes are numb. You see Blue's face slackened with fatigue, half covered by the sleeping bag, her body snuggled close to yours, and everything comes back to you in flashes. The Greys in the meadow. The quick evacuation. Pulling over for the night. It sinks in. Your stomach howls, but you ignore it, 

There are murmured voices outside.

You carefully unzip the entrance and slip outside so as not to wake Blue. The sky is a muted purple. Price, Kyle, and Ghost are by the truck bed. Price has the map in his hands, and Ghost is showing him two bright red jerry cans. 

"That's it?"

"That's it, plus what's already in the tank."

"And it's full?"

"Bit less than full now."

With everyone else still asleep, you hesitate to make your presence known. You feel like you'd be intruding. But the thought recoils quickly. The more stubborn part of your brain bares its teeth. You have a right to be apart of the conversation. You want to know what is happening. What they plan. 

As you make your way over, chilled arms crossed tight beneath your breasts, it is Kyle who notices you first. His eyes soften. Then Price—his brown eyes lift from the map as he regards you.

"Twix." He greets and you think it is the first he has said your name. Ghost is the one you fail to look at but you feel his stare. "Sleep alright?"

"Just fine." Your eyes flick to the map, noticing new marks that weren't there the last time you looked it over. "Have you guys..." As the words leave your lips, the confidence in your chest falters. You clear your throat in attempt to recapture your resolve. "Have you decided where we are going next? I mean—Switzerland is still the plan, right?"

Price's eyes sweep over you once, twice, before moving to Ghost, brow ticking as if in question. This irritates you—as if he is asking Ghost whether or not he should tell you, and you have to bite your cheek to fight a scowl. 

There is a subtle nod from Ghost that you think you might imagine, but Price looks back at you. "Switzerland is still the plan. We need to get here first—" he taps a finger on the map at the edge of England,"—to the Strait of Dover. The narrowest part of the channel. The biggest question is how. Going through London is the quickest way."

"But London is bound to be teeming with Greys," you frown.

"Precisely."

Kyle threads a hand through his hair, visibly concerned. "But going around it means more fuel."

"Well, how much do we have?" you ask, finally glancing at Ghost. You are scared of the answer.

He lifts the two cans up. "About 43 liters, plus the 30 already in the truck."

You feel relieved. "That's actually decent."

Kyle shakes his head. "Decent, yeah. But we're bound to have to end up taking side streets and stopping here and there for shit that's on the road, which wastes fuel. It's not a perfect drive."

"Well," your eyes move over the truck, then back to Price, "Can't we just go the long way, see how far the truck gets us, then do the rest on foot?"

"Are you willing to carry the kayak, Twix?" Price asks.

You flush. "I mean, it's not impossible is it?"

Ghost sets the cans down. "It's too much to carry. We can't go on foot for very far with the kayak, and we need it."

Because the raft is for six people. Not just that, you realize, as you take in just how much is filling the truck bed. All of the supplies have to make it across the water, too. It doesn't matter if six people can get in the raft if the supplies add to the weight limit like an extra person. 

Somewhere in your thinking a hand brushes over your bicep and you flinch. "Cold?"

It's Kyle. Without your response, he chucks off his jacket and places it over your shoulders. You mutter a quiet thanks and slip your hands through the sleeves. 

You don't know why, but your gaze shifts to Ghost, though you are only met with an unreadable expression before his attention refocuses on the map. He moves a gloved finger over it, landing on Colchester.

"Then we take a longer route on the water. If we avoid London and travel on the east side, we save fuel making it to the coast. The trip across will be longer than the Strait of Dover, but I'd rather take that risk than go through London. It's a fucking death trap there."

"That's a possibility," Price nods slowly, mewling it over. He rubs his beard. "Leaving from the Colchester coastline would mean maybe eight or ten hours to get across, which we can manage—with the right weather." 

"Colchester, then," Kyle says. He seems more keen to this idea, shoulders loosening. "We can take the A14 towards Kettering. Can't be more than an hour or two from here. And then the A11. It should avoid the worst of it."

Price nods and folds the map up. "We keeping moving, then. The longer we stay in one spot, the more risk." He lays a hand on Ghost's shoulder. "This was the right choice, Simon."

Ghost simply nods.

The plan seems solid enough. Drive to the channel and get across. It is the water that makes you the most uneasy, and traveling through France where no one here is as familiar with the landscape as they are England. You've tried to recall what you heard from the radios way back at the start. You know Paris, a major city, succumbed quickly. But what about the rest of it? 

You wonder if Ghost is as scared as you are to be ripped from the small semblance of safety he has had for over five years now. If he is, it doesn't show. He is back to clinical. A lieutenant. Not the man you've grown far too comfortable throwing attitude at.

When Kyle and Price leave to make a small fire with gathered kindling, he tosses the jerry cans back in the truck and grabs your arm before you can walk away.

"How is she?" he asks.

Blue, he means.

You look back at the tent. "She's doing alright, I think. Scared. But she understands." You wet your lips. "She doesn't know, does she? About us heading for Switzerland with them."

"I haven't had the chance to talk to her yet."

You nod, teeth grazing your bottom lip. "Thank you... for letting me be apart of that conversation. I know that I—I don't have as much value here as everyone else, but I am still worth keeping around. I am ready to help. Just tell me what to do, Ghost, and I'll do it. You know I will. I am stronger than I was before, thanks to you."

Ghost's head tilts downward as a breath of silence passes between you.

He doesn't comment on anything you've just said. He takes hold of one your hands. You are confused before he pries it open, grabbing your thumb and inspecting it like a slide under a microscope. The nick from when you cut your hair. The scab you've failed to let take.

"Stop picking at it, unless you want an infection."

"I can't help it sometimes."

He drops your hand. The warmth fizzles. "You still have antiseptic?"

You nod. 

"Good. Use it only for yourself. Understood?" 

"Yeah," you breathe, and wonder with a furrowed brow why he is bringing this up now. There is no chance to ask when he grabs the lapel of the jacket on your shoulders and begins to force it off. 

"Give this back to Kyle. You have your own."

Breakfast consists of jerky, beans, and water that Price and Kyle tapped from a tree. A spile. Of course, they have one. You try not to feel spiteful of how competent they are—prepared. Just like Ghost. If only Paul had such things at his disposal. Maybe he could've devised a stronger Plan B. Maybe they would've been able to get away with you that first time around.

Ghost explains to Blue the plan. That there is no going back, not now or ever. That there will be a new home for them, a safer one where they will never have to flee, far away in another country where other people have made a community, where she could have more friends. It is all wishful thinking, of course, but he has to sell it to her as something certain.

You overhear bits of the conversation as you force yourself to eat. She sounds sad and distant. Detached. Like she hears what he is saying but doesn't really hear it. Still, she isn't crying anymore. When they are done talking, she eats her breakfast in small bites beside Ari. 

By high morning, the air heats up, and you don't need a jacket at all. It is time to move onward. Kyle and Ghost take the tents down. Nereida whispers something to her husband and then disappears behind a tree somewhere. When she returns, she taps your shoulder.

"My period just came," she says, shaking her head. "Quite the timing, huh?"

Oh. "I'm sorry, that sucks. You have little towels and stuff for it?"

She nods. "Yes, luckily. Remember the rosemary I found? I use that to help fight the odor so Greys can't smell it as well. Let me know if you ever need any." You take a mental note. "You know, I was hoping getting my tubes tied would stop things like this. All it did was make it more irregular."

Your brows furrow. "Wait—you mean, you did that before the spread?"

She smiles lightly. "I never wanted to be pregnant. Really makes things less stressful now."

That makes sense, then. That her and Price don't have to worry. The question has popped into your brain a few times now, against your will, whenever you caught sight of them kissing and touching. They seem far too intimate, even in those small moments, to not be having sex in private. 

Just before taking off, you unpack your supplies and wrap up your thumb with some ointment. More than anything you want to crawl under a blanket and hide, preferably back on Ghost's warm bed. But as you crawl back into the truck, that vision fades further behind you, and you will yourself to focus on the road ahead, to keep moving. 

[thecloudsaremyhome]

☆Platonic yandere survivors x reader☆

Headcanons

One day you are living a Normal pre adult life in your crappy apartment attending university the next well your in a apocalyptic world filled with blood thirsty creatures ready to tear you apart at any second amd turn you into one of them. Great am I right?

Well here you are now surging on your own in zombie infested city of yours. With barely enough food to make it by the week tou decide to finally leave your apartment for to go searching desperately for some source of food or water.

This hasn’t been the first time you’ve done this nor would it be the last. So you made your way out of your apartment complex and into the decaying city of death.

But of course things always don’t go your way as you make your way out of the destroyed grosherie store back towards your apartment you accidentally run in a hoard of zombies and you really thought that that was it.

This was your end until you hear shots ring out and the decaying horde collapses on the floor this causes you to widen your eyes in pure suprises.

You then hear heavy footsteps walking towards you and your met with the face of two clearly tall men carrying shotguns and other equipment.

This of course unnerves you because you barely ran into other survivors, and non of them would spear you the time of day to focused on theirselves and surviving to bother to help you.

So it’s a suprise to you that these men would bother helping you then saving themselves. You don’t notice that one of the more taller man was cradling your face until you felt the warmth emitting from his hands this of course causes you to flinch back from the contact.

The causes the man to furrow his brows in disappointment before standing up. Then they start to converse with you telling you their names.

Zanorch, and Adrian. You of course then hesitantly tell them your name, still tense and uneasy around them.

They offer to take you back to their place, but you swiftly decline stating you’ll be better off on your own not wanting the interaction to contiue any more longer you walk away before they could get another word in.

You expected that this would be your one and only jnteraction between the two but you were dearly mistaken.

As the weeks contiue on they keep on showing up every time you make an outing to grab supplies. And it annoyed you to no end. They wouldnt leave you alone even with your constant protests.

They would just follow you and try to converse with you as if the apocalypse isant going on. And their constant coddling was getting very annoying very fast.

But one day it wasn’t the same when you went to do your ussal outing they weren’t there which was strange but you didn’t think anything of it at first. Then as you were walking back to your apartment you felt a presence behind you but before you could react you feel a cloth on your face. This causes you to struggle against the intruder, but they only coo at you until you eventually pass out in their arms.

The next time you wake up you notice you’re not in your normal clothes but a swaddle!? What the fuck! And you’re in a crib! Where the hell are you but before you could process what’s going on your then picked up by Adrian as he forces a boddle in your mouth which of course you struggle against. Which causes him to coo at you and gently rock you. Which unfortunately you give in a drink the bottle reluctantly. You haven’t had milk in a long time and this is especially sweet. You finish the full thing much to your disappointment before yawing as you start to drift off but not before hearing Adrian say

“It’s okay baby just go to sleep your dada’s will be here when you wake up!”

Authors note: I’m defiantly going to make this a oneshot buttt meet my two new ocs! If you have questions about them let me know!

[multifandom-exe]

Love In The Time Of Zombies- G. Rhee x Reader (1?) 

Word Count: 1.6k  Synopsis: He almost took your head off with a 2x4 and you start screaming like a banshee. Zombie Apocolypse meet cute with Glenn Rhee  A/N; no warnings other than avg zombie apocolypse stuff. This is part one of a series im creating maybe idk lmk what you think. Also a rewrite from last year? Find the og here, lmk if ive improved, also leave requests Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The stillness. The calmness. Something that can often be eerie, or calming, depending on the situation. Right now, you were just waiting. For a groan, a shot, a nasty, brain-eating, maniacal, shell of a human to creep up behind you. But it was nothing like that. A sharp sound split across the quiet store as a tin can hit the ground and started rolling around in the most patronizing way. You didn't dare move a muscle, fearing it may have been caused by a walker, or drawing the attention of a horde as we speak. Every muscle tensed as you glanced around your field of view. Throwing a shady glare at the can that was still stupidly rolling around. Glancing down at the sparse array of cans in your arms, you think maybe this supply run wasn't worth it after all. 

You tried to conceal your movements as best you could, sliding across the floor so your footsteps didn't make any noise. You stepped lightly on the can; it came to a light stop. In a sudden flurry of movement, a body had twisted from around the corner aisle and a plank of wood was raised high above your head, ready to bare down on you like gods' almighty wrath. The cans that were once carefully balanced in your arms now lay sporadic and spilled across the shop floor. A shriek comparable to that of a banshee left your mouth as you scrambled back, desperate to escape the death that God wished upon you so dearly.  

It became evident that you weren't a walker to the man standing above you the moment you let out that deafening howl. Although his nerves lit on fire all the same at the thought of attracting a horde to the shop door. He dropped to the ground swiftly and clamped a soft hand over your mouth. Unaware of if the stranger was friend or foe, you wriggled desperately to get out of his grasp. 

“Hey. Hey, stop moving. Listen, please?” His soft voice became more exasperated the longer he restrained you. “I'm not here to hurt you but screaming like hell and high water is gonna get us both killed.”

Your wriggles slowed to a stop as you evaluated his words and your surroundings. A backpack. Assumedly for the supplies he was in the store for. A knife capped onto the side of it. Hard muscles and strong arms gripped around your body. Your senses edging on fight or flight. You tapped him lightly to signal for him to let go as you finally regained your breath. He broke the silence. “I'm sorry I thought you were a walker, and then the scream just... Are you alright?” 

 You finally looked up at your persecutor. Young, no doubt the same age as you. He didn't look exceptionally prepared for an apocalypse, but then again, neither did you. “You didn't need to try to take my head off with a 2 by 4!” The whisper yelling wasn't nearly as threatening as you thought it was. Not when you're in a heap on the floor surrounded by life-long tins of beans.  

Your ragged breaths turned into quiet laughs as you finally came to terms with the past 5 minutes. “I was just on a supply run, the house I'm holed up in is almost empty and I haven't seen anyone the last few times I've been here, so I thought today would be the same.” 

He glanced around at your backpack and other supplies in a pile and nodded cautiously. “I'm the same, I'm the runner for my camp, their food supply depends on me, 2 by 4’s be damned.” He added a lilt of humor in his words and a slight smile crept onto your face.

“Are you with a group?” In honesty, Glenn knew he should've been in and out as soon as he learned she wasn't a threat, but it was just nice to see a new face. One that wasn't trying to kill him anyway. 

You suddenly felt self-conscious, as if you were doing the apocalypse wrong or something. It was reminiscent of a school teacher asking if you had someone to play with on break. Your gaze shifted to the shelves behind him, trying not to betray the fact that he was the first person you had seen in a long time. “Not really. I mean, I lived alone before... and i just never really found a group to join when the majority had left the city.” 

When you finally looked back at him, you found him already staring. “Just me and Robert for now, I suppose.” His eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly parted as if to ask a question. You knew the question already. You nodded your head towards one of the shelves, and lay against it was a baseball bat, with a drawn on smiley face, and the name ‘BOB’ underneath.  

Slowly, a smile crept up on his face until he was creasing over in laughter. You stared at hm shocked and grabbed a rag from next to you. “Stop.” Slap. “Laughing.” Slap. “At.” Slap. “Robert.” Slap. 

Quickly enough he was holding his hands up in defense as he tried to sooth his breathing. “Not, not that that's not resourceful, and also slightly insane, what kind of name is Robert? For a Baseball bat?” The look on your face couldn't have grown more incredulous.  

“I don't know what would you call him!” Instinctively, you crawled across the floor and reached protectively for your bat, as if it was a real person who needed shielding from his words.  

This caused him to almost burst into another fit of giggles before he caught himself. “Not Robert that's for sure!”  

“Alright whatever! Let's just drop my terrible naming skills, I promise you can name the next thing we find.” A hope slipping off your tongue, the idea that you may not be alone in this for much longer. He raised his eyebrows, but you pulled a mocking face at him. “While you're here then. We can split whatever's in here.” You stood up and offered him a hand up. 

“Split?” He took your hand and hauled himself onto his feet, dusting off his jeans.  

“Well, you're not having it all! You almost killed me!” You crossed your arms over your chest defensively. Maybe not as over that as you thought.  

He sighed a heavy breath and looked at you. But you were just motioning your head questioningly, begging him to argue. “I meant.” He started to collect supplies into his backpack. “I think you should come with me.” You stared up at him in disbelief. “As long as you bring Robert.” If you hadn't been so shocked, you probably would have laughed. In all your time out here alone, you'd rarely met others, none of them ever this kind. 

“You better not say this to all the girls who you almost kill.” Recovering, you eyed him defensively and poked at his chest, still unsure of if he was being serious. 

He let out a small laugh at that. “Believe it or not, I don't make it a habit of slamming down on screaming girls with a 2 by 4.” 

“Well. Good.” You still stood defensively; arms crossed, even as your mind tried to twist that sentence into some form of innuendo. 

“So, is that a yes? We have shelter, tents, people, even nicer than me, kids even.” Your heart softened; it had been so long since you'd seen a child who hadn't met a terrible end. “And now food, if you'd let me just...” He trailed off as he tentatively reached behind you to grab a stray can, acting as if you would run any second. 

“Yes. Okay.” Your muscles loosened as you dropped your arms. “As long as Robert can come.” A small smile crept onto your features, as did it on his a moment later. 

“Sounds like a plan. You didn't tell me your name, Banshee?” He stuck out his hand to shake yours, a bit late after almost taking your head off, but you appreciated the normality, nonetheless.  

“Ha. Ha. Its (Y/N). And yours, Wood Wielder?” Your frown turned up slightly as you took his hand. Softer than you had imagined. 

“Its Glenn. Ill introduce you to everyone when we get there, its just up the roadways, if you're okay walking?” He dropped your hand and returned to gathering the supplies he needed. 

“Yeah, that's fine, although there's a bicycle outside, if you fancy that?” You quirked an eyebrow at him, daring him to agree. And to your misfortune, a mischievous smile grew on his face. 

“You're on. I used to deliver pizza on a bike.” You gaped at him, not expecting him to take it seriously. “You're sitting on the handlebars though.”  

“Not fair! I saw the bike first!” You whined as you continued stuffing supplies into your bag. 

“I used to drive one for a living, that's as qualified as someone can get right about now.” He made a fair point, and all you could do was huff and turn down an aisle.  

After a few moments, you found him in a different aisle and let him know you were ready to adventure towards your new chapter, in this godforsaken life. It would've been more nerve-wracking if you weren't cycling towards it with a cute pizza boy.  

Supplies and weapons accounted for, you hopped on the handlebars, trusting a man, who not an hour ago almost took your head off with a wooden plank, to drive you to your new future. With Glenn. His voice broke you out of your thoughts one last time before you set off. 

“Im calling the bike ‘Henry,’ by the way.” 

A/N: lmk what you think, and leave reqs for your favs

[nizhspo]

genre: haikyuu imagine, zombies, angst

pairing: osamu miya x fem!reader

summary: good afternoon everyone i decided to ruin lunch because of this tweet

you haven’t seen a clean sky in months.

not without smoke. not without haze. not without the black outline of something burning in the distance.

your throat is raw from the cold air and the weeks of silence. words feel foreign. even your own name sounds strange when you think it.

miwa’s limping two paces behind you, dragging her right leg in slow, stubborn swipes through the brush. the bandage under her jeans is dark and stiff—she tore her calf on a fence three days ago trying to outrun a horde that came out of nowhere, moaning and fast, jaws snapping like dogs. you stitched her up in the rain with a half-rusted needle and dental floss while suna stood watch, holding the flashlight steady. she didn’t flinch once.

she hasn’t said much since either.

suna walks ahead now, machete strapped against his back, the radio pressed flat to his spine with duct tape and fraying rope. he doesn’t look back. doesn’t have to. he always knows exactly how far behind you are, how deep the limp, how much longer you can push before someone collapses.

your breath rattles in your chest like it’s breaking.

you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. and even then, it was half a protein bar and rainwater you boiled in an old tuna can. your backpack’s too light. your socks are soaked. and the cold air bites hard through the holes in your coat.

still, you keep walking.

because last night, suna caught something. a signal.

a man’s voice crackling through static. coordinates. a woman’s voice echoing behind him: “supplies. safe perimeter. we’re holding.”

your heart had nearly stopped. you’d grabbed the radio with shaking hands and whispered into it until your voice broke. no one answered. but the signal kept looping.

a base. a camp. a real one.

and now, after two years of ruined cities and cold woods and empty roads, the three of you stand at the edge of a hill, staring down at fences topped in barbed wire and armed guards watching from wooden towers.

“this is it,” suna murmurs.

you don’t reply. you just run.

but you don’t make it far.

before you can reach the main gate, someone’s shouting. a spotlight blinks on. figures move fast. two, no, four of them emerging from the side path with rifles raised and metal masks hiding their faces.

“stop right there! hands in the air!”

your arms lift automatically, joints screaming. miwa stumbles and drops to her knees. suna’s hands are already up.

they descend like a tactical unit. quick, efficient, not cruel—but not gentle either.

you’re yanked out of line. separated. shoved against a wall and patted down. they check your sleeves, your throat, the backs of your knees. one of them shines a blue light into your eyes. another pricks your finger with a needle and smears the blood onto a glass slide.

you want to scream. instead, you sway.

“we’ve been on foot for three days,” you manage. your voice sounds ruined. “we haven’t been bit.”

“you’ll be cleared after 24 hours if that’s the case,” the soldier replies. “no exceptions.”

they don’t wait for a reply. they’re already dragging you toward a side corridor of concrete and steel, where they shove you through a reinforced door that slams behind you like a prison gate.

miwa is next. suna follows.

the lights buzz above you. flickering fluorescent strips. the room smells like bleach and rust. there’s no furniture, just three mats rolled against the far wall and a drain in the center of the floor.

you want to cry.

but the tears are dry before they reach your eyes.

…

the first hour is silent.

then someone slides a tray through the slot in the wall.

you don’t even get a good look at the person on the other side. just gloved hands. no words. the tray clatters against the floor, metal, with dents in the side, and you crawl to it before either of them can.

the bowl’s steaming. thick broth. something floating on top that looks like oil and herbs. a chunk of rice. maybe tofu. the bread is stale, but it smells familiar, and when it hits you fully— you freeze.

because you know this soup.

you know this soup like you know the curve of your own palm, the sound of your own laugh, the pattern of your fiancé’s heartbeat when you used to lie curled against him in bed.

smoked miso broth. charred shiitake. grilled green onions. sesame oil. a pinch of chili flake—he always added too much.

you blink hard. grip the tray tighter. try to breathe through your nose.

it can’t be. you’re exhausted. you’re hallucinating. you’re fucking grieving.

you haven’t eaten in almost three days. it’s not real. it’s not him.

you sit down at the far table.

you don’t taste the first spoonful. you just feel it. like warmth seeping into bone. like time reversing, just for a moment.

you close your eyes and chew slowly. when you open them again, suna’s across from you.

he’s already halfway through his plate.

“this rice tastes like it was cooked with ginger,” he says flatly.

you nod, swallowing hard. “this soup,” you whisper. “this is sammy’s.”

suna doesn’t react. he keeps chewing.

“no,” you insist, voice cracking. “i mean it. this is his recipe. his exact recipe. he used to make this on snow days. he grilled the mushrooms in a cast iron pan. said the smoke made the flavor cling harder.” your lips tremble. “i watched him do it. a hundred times.”

miwa slides in next to you. she’s pale. shaky. but she eats, spoon clinking rhythmically against her bowl.

“maybe someone here’s got the same taste,” she murmurs, echoing suna’s earlier line.

you don’t answer.

because taste isn’t coincidence. taste is habit. taste is love.

and this? this tastes like coming home.

you don’t say the rest out loud: that you’ve been looking for him for two years. that your ring is still in your pocket. that your last memory of him is him kissing your shoulder and saying, i’ll see you at dinner.

they know the story.

you’ve all told your stories, late at night, when the wind howled too loud and the stars were too bright. miwa’s brother. suna’s girlfriend and best friend. your fiancé.

they’d been there for the phone calls that never connected. for the endless nights you clutched your cracked photograph and stared at the ceiling of whatever safehouse you’d found.

so when you say nothing else—just hold the bowl in your hands like it’s the only warm thing left on earth, they don’t push.

suna leans back against the wall, arms crossed.

“pretty good soup,” he says.

but you don’t eat the rest. you just hold it. and shake.

…

the next morning, they let you out.

a soldier appears at the door, taps twice, and steps back.

you blink into the light.

the hallway smells like cleaner and fresh fabric. someone hands you a lanyard with a number on it. someone else tells you where the showers are. what time breakfast is. where to get issued new clothes. you don’t remember half of it.

outside, the camp is bigger than anything you expected.

rows of buildings, concrete and wood, some prefab, some clearly scavenged, line narrow walkways. there are watchposts. bunkhouses. medical stations. generators hum somewhere in the distance.

and people.

people in patched jackets and mismatched boots. people pushing wheelbarrows. people holding babies. some of them look clean. like they’ve been here a while. others look exactly like you: wild-eyed, skin grey from dust, hunched like hunted things.

and then there are the ones in between.

the ones who’ve been here long enough to get warm again, but not long enough to forget.

you recognize it in their eyes: the shellshock. the bags. the flinches. you’ve seen it in mirrors.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the glass pane of the nearest structure.

you look just like them.

but you don’t settle.

how could you?

even when they give you boots that don’t rub your blisters raw, even when they show you to a bunkhouse where the walls don’t leak, even when they pass you a dry pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that doesn’t smell like death, you don’t rest. your body’s still in fight mode. like if you let your guard down even a little, it’ll all vanish.

miwa’s asleep before dinner.

they gave her a single room in the recovery wing because of her leg. you helped rewrap it after the shower, both of you crouched on a cement floor, scrubbing dirt and infection out of old wounds. her breath hitched only once.

now she’s curled on her side, hair loose over her face, a blanket pulled to her chin.

you leave without a word.

suna’s the one who finds you wandering near the supply shed, staring at an empty crate like it might grow answers.

he doesn’t say anything. just walks beside you until you both see the notice board.

VOLUNTEERS NEEDED: food sorting, guard rotations, radio scanning, nursing / childcare, kitchen / compost.

he looks at you.

you look at the word “nursing.”

you tear off the slip.

…

the clinic is quiet.

the nurse leading orientation says her name is ito. she’s missing her left thumb. you try not to stare. she tells you the real medics were overrun in the first year, so now they use whatever help they can get. you tell her you used to work as w nurse, triage and peds.

she looks at you like you’ve grown a halo.

“you’re in,” she says.

they assign you to morning shifts. you’ll help with wound care, med distribution, and childcare.

you ask about miwa. they say she’ll be discharged tomorrow.

you ask about suna.

ito just shrugs. “he signed up for radio and fencing work. boys like him don’t sit still.”

by mid-afternoon, you’re knee-deep in screaming toddlers and broken thermometers.

it’s the first time in a long time you’ve felt… needed.

your voice softens as you wrap a bandage. you hum when you hand out cough syrup. you tell a crying mother that her daughter will be okay, that the fever’s already breaking, that she just needs fluids and sleep.

the mother clutches your hand. she thanks you three times.

you can’t stop shaking for ten minutes after.

your name spreads before you realize it.

“that new girl. the one with the soft hands.”

“she stitched up my boy’s leg, even gave him a stuffed toy.”

“heard she used to be a real nurse.”

“she knows things. real things. not just guesses.”

“she was looking for someone, too. a fiancé, i think.”

“she made a baby laugh yesterday. haven’t seen that in months.”

they don’t know your name. but they know your voice. your face. the weight of your touch.

and behind the mess hall doors, stirring another pot of miso broth over an open flame, osamu miya hears the whispers.

he nearly burns the soup.

“what’s wrong?” she asks from behind him.

he turns.

she’s there: his new shelter.

the woman who pulled him from the river when grief nearly drowned him. who bandaged his wrist when he tried to break down a concrete wall barehanded. the one who helped him bury atsumu when he wanted more than anything to sink into the grass with him and stay there for eternity.

she’s real. she’s kind. she saved his life.

he kisses her cheek.

but he doesn’t answer.

because he thinks he just heard your name.

…

you don’t know he’s here yet.

you’re too busy stitching up the boy who took a spill off the rope ladder. he’s maybe ten, with big eyes and a cracked tooth and blood down his shin. you clean it with warm water and hum a song he doesn’t know. he doesn’t cry once.

when it’s done, he whispers: “you’re like a real nurse.”

“i am a real nurse,” you murmur.

then he hands you his bread roll and runs.

…

you’re halfway through your own dinner when it hits you again.

soup.

the same as before.

you haven’t had it since quarantine. but now it’s here again.

and it’s perfect.

you stare into the bowl like it’s trying to speak.

suna’s across from you again. miwa limps in and sits beside him. they’re both looking at you.

“not again,” suna says flatly.

you taste it.

same grilled mushrooms. same chili burn. same everything.

you set your spoon down. “i’m telling you he’s here.”

suna raises a brow. “y/n—”

“no, suna.” your voice doesn’t shake. “he’s here. in this camp.”

neither of them speaks.

miwa blinks. “you’re sure?”

you nod. “i know his food. i know his hands. he taught me how to cook. i watched him perfect this recipe for five years. there’s no way this is a coincidence. he’s here. somewhere.”

…

in the kitchen later, osamu burns his hand when he drops the ladle.

he stares down at the burn on his hand. red. angry. pulsing under the skin like a warning.

he should be running cold water over it. should be grabbing gauze. something. anything.

but he doesn’t flinch. his hand just shakes.

and in the distance— your laugh.

it’s soft. not loud. not the belly-deep one he used to tease out of you when you danced barefoot in the apartment kitchen. this one is smaller. quieter. but it still hits him just as hard.

he grips the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles go white.

he wonders who you’re laughing with.

he wonders if you’ve let someone carry your bag for you.

if someone helps you rewrap your bandages. if someone sleeps on the other side of the bunk with you. if someone gets to hear you hum when you stir a pot, or if someone touches your wrist before bed.

he wonders— have you found somebody to hold you, too?

he’s not sure which would hurt more.

you being alone.

or you being loved.

he hears someone whisper, “she says her name’s y/n.”

he walks out the back door before anyone can ask why his eyes are glassy.

…

that night, you barely sleep.

the bunk mattress is too soft. not like the ground you’d been used to. your body doesn’t trust softness anymore. it sinks too much. makes you feel exposed. you keep expecting screams. gunfire. the stink of rotted teeth. but there’s only the hum of electricity and the shuffle of boots outside.

you lie still for hours, eyes wide.

you can still taste it.

the soup.

you taste it like he’s still in your mouth.

…

you wake early. tie your hair back with the same band of fabric you’ve used for a year. slip into your boots. pull the lanyard with your ID over your neck like armor. no one says a word to you on your walk to the clinic.

ito nods when you arrive. “we’ve got two births coming today,” she mutters, already elbow-deep in towels and iodine. “you good with blood?”

you blink. your fingers curl around the edge of the counter.

“i’m a nurse,” you say.

she smirks. “good answer.”

you spend the morning elbow-deep in childbirth and wailing mothers. the first one’s young. the second is not. both scream like they’ve lost the world. both grip your hand until your bones ache.

you guide them through it. breathe with them. hold pressure where you need to. tie off cords with sterilized twine. it’s messy, ancient work. and it makes your blood feel useful again.

afterward, your hands are sore. your back screams. you still haven’t eaten.

but when you walk out into the cold air, the camp smells like firewood and pepper. like the kitchen’s already prepping dinner.

and your heart starts to stutter.

not quietly. not subtly. not like a memory creeping in. no. like a drumline in your chest, like every nerve ending is snapping awake all at once, like instinct. the kind of instinct that makes you run toward the person you love even if it kills you.

he’s there.

broad shoulders. thick forearms. same fucking walk. a little slower, maybe. a little heavier. he’s wiping his hands on a rag, standing by the mess hall’s side door, his hair longer, jaw sharper, but—but that’s him.

that’s osamu.

and you run.

your boots hit the gravel hard. you hear someone call after you, maybe suna, maybe ito, but it doesn’t matter.

you’re running.

your throat is closing up. your breath’s ragged. your ankle aches with every step. but still, you run.

and then he looks up.

his head turns. eyes meet yours. and he goes still.

you crash into him full force.

your hands grip his sleeves, fists in the fabric, and he catches you like he knew this moment was coming. like he’s had dreams about it too.

“sammy,” you choke out, voice breaking on the name.

his mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

you touch his face. your fingers tremble as they trace the line of his jaw, the new scar on his cheekbone, the dark circles under his eyes. you don’t even notice the tears until you feel them on your lips.

“i thought—” he swallows. “i thought you were—”

“don’t.” you shake your head. “don’t say it.”

he nods. presses his forehead to yours.

you’re crying in full now. shaking in his arms. he’s gripping you like he’s afraid to let go.

he whispers, voice wrecked, “you’re here.”

“i’m here.”

for a long moment, it’s just breathing. just skin. just the weight of two years collapsing into a single, fragile second.

but then—

you hear footsteps.

a voice. soft. feminine. “sam?”

his body goes still. just slightly.

the word is soft. not accusatory. just.. confused.

you freeze.

you turn your head against his shoulder, slow, unsure, like moving too fast might shatter you.

and there she is.

she’s standing maybe six steps away, bathed in the gold spill of late afternoon sun. her skin is warm brown and sun-kissed. her cheeks flushed like she was just laughing. her braids are pulled into a low knot at the nape of her neck, loose tendrils curling around her jaw. and on her wrist—a bracelet.

hand-twisted cord, dark leather maybe, with a small stone braided into the middle.

your eyes drop to osamu’s wrist. same bracelet.

you don’t speak. your breath gets shallow. you feel your pulse in your ears.

her eyes drift between you, slow and blinking.

then—then they widen. just slightly. like something’s slotting into place. like she’s trying to remember where she’s seen your face before.

her fingers twitch at her side. she touches the bracelet once. her jaw tightens.

and then she says, voice cracking around the edges, “i’ll… give you guys a second.”

just that. no venom. no questions. no fury.

just that awful, awful softness. the kind that says: you’ve already lost. i’m just stepping aside to let you feel it.

her eyes meet yours one more time.

and in them—pity.

not disgust. not hate. pity.

and that’s what does it. your stomach drops so hard you feel it in your knees.

you step back.

osamu doesn’t stop you.

your hands fall from his chest.

his arms hang in the air like they don’t know where to go.

you stare at her retreating figure. the way her hand curls over the edge of her other wrist. the way she walks fast, not frantic. like she’s trying to get out of earshot before she hears something she can’t unhear.

your breath catches and you turn to him.

he looks… wrecked. mouth parted. brows drawn. his whole face pale beneath the sun. like he just remembered how to be human a second too late.

and on his wrist, that bracelet glints in the light.

you’re still staring at the spot where she was standing. your mouth opens like instinct, like survival, like hope still has one last thing it needs to hear before it can die.

“who…” your voice breaks halfway through. barely makes it past your lips. it’s all splinter, dry and shaking. “…who is that?”

the moment it leaves you, your stomach twists.

you already know. every part of your body already knows.

your pulse thunders in your ears. the ground sways slightly under your feet, the dirt shifting like it might swallow you whole. your chest is too tight. your fingers, white-knuckled at your sides, are trembling so hard it feels like your bones might crack from the inside.

osamu looks at you.

and in his eyes, it isn’t guilt. not the coward’s guilt of someone caught. not shame. not regret.

it’s worse. it’s heartbreak. quiet and immense, like something he’s been carrying for months.

he just stares. doesn’t blink. doesn’t speak. just takes you in. like you’re light filtering through water. like he can’t believe you’re real.

and in that silence, you feel it like ice seeping into your lungs. you already know. but you ask more anyway.

“…how long?”

his lips twitch like the words sting his mouth. he looks down. exhales. his voice is rough and small when he answers.

“since…” he swallows. “since atsumu died nine months ago.”

your whole body recoils.

it’s like something’s struck you in the chest, hard, cruel. like someone reached in and twisted your heart with both hands.

you stagger, the air leaving your lungs all at once. your vision goes glassy.

osamu steps forward, barely a footfall, and your body lurches like prey. your breath picks up, shallow and fast. the warmth of him feels too close, too dangerous. you feel the heat coming off his skin and it makes your stomach flip.

he doesn’t touch you. but his hands twitch. like they want to.

you look at him.

your samu.

your high school sweetheart. your long-distance phone calls and 7am airport goodbyes. your slow dances in the kitchen. your ‘come home safe.’

your always.

and now he has someone else’s bracelet on his wrist. he smells like her. he held her first after the world ended.

your eyes are shining. you’re blinking hard, biting the inside of your cheek just to keep from crumbling right there in the dirt.

you speak, but your voice is barely a whisper. “…i waited.”

and that—that’s what breaks him.

his expression shatters. he lets out this tiny, pained sound, half gasp, half sob, and his shoulders fold inward like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

he reaches out, finally, hand shaking.

you stumble back so fast your heel kicks up gravel.

you flinch like he’s fire. and his hand drops. like it burned you, too.

you can’t stop crying now. the tears stream hot down your face, burning paths down your cheeks. your mouth trembles as you try to breathe through it.

you shake your head, trying to stop your voice from shaking, but it doesn’t work.

“i searched,” you choke out, “i—i prayed. i never gave up. not once. i didn’t look at anyone else. not once.”

your words hit like waves, each one pulling more breath from you. each one dragging you further under.

osamu’s eyes are rimmed red. glassy. his jaw tight. he’s breathing like it hurts.

and he winces. physically, visibly. like every word is a blade to the chest.

but he doesn’t interrupt you. he doesn’t defend himself. because there’s nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

“you were it for me,” you whisper. “i was gonna find you. i knew i would. and you—”

you stop.

you can’t say it.

it’s too big. too painful. too real to speak aloud.

he takes one more step toward you. one more inch.

you take another back.

a boundary. a border.

you put that space between you like it’ll protect your ribs from collapsing.

his breath hitches.

the weight of it all presses down between you, heavy, suffocating. like the air’s too thick to move through. like the silence could split the earth.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers.

his voice is wrecked.

and maybe he means it.

but it’s too late. you’ve already broken. and the worst part?

you still love him.

you’d still trade everything—every mile, every wound, for one night with the version of him that still belonged to you.

and now he doesn’t.

and he never will again.

[caoimhewritesfics]

Undying Ground (Pt1)

When the sickness came and the world crumbled around you, you hadn't expected to make it this far, especially not with an ex lieutenant with a skull mask

CW: mentions of death, post apocalyptic world, canon typical violence, injury, grief, zombies (mentioned) WC: 1.8k

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader. Reluctant allies to lovers

Series Masterlist → here

A/N- this takes place in the southern US because idk anything about England so lets just pretend that Simon was stationed there when the infection spread

The summer heat blazed mercilessly overhead, the relentless sun casting its harsh rays down upon you. The pavement of the long-abandoned highway seemed to pulse with the heat, the black asphalt radiating waves of burning warmth beneath your sock-clad feet. The ground beneath you felt like an unforgiving furnace, each step sending a sharp discomfort through your soles. You had lost your shoes days ago, a casualty of the night when a horde of infected descended upon your small camp. It had been you, Vivienne, and a fragile sense of peace, shattered in an instant as the creatures tore through the camp with mindless hunger, leaving only destruction in their wake.

You hadn't had time to grab your shoes when they came gnawing at the doors and windows of the old shack you two had been using for the past 6 months. You two had gotten lucky. Finding shelter for that long with hardly any infected and no desperate scavengers coming to try and take what little you had was nearly impossible.

Now, it's just you, the road, and a sharp, pulsing pain in your side. In the chaos of your escape, a jagged, rusted nail had torn through your skin. The antibiotics had been in Vivienne's bag. Now they're probably under the feet of hundreds of infected, mashed into the mud along with your memories of her. You had met Vivienne just weeks after the beginning. You were both on your own and in need of someone. No one could survive alone with millions, billions even of infected running around.

The past few days alone and with an untreated injury, one measly knife to catch dinner, and burning feet was insufferable. The only thing keeping you walking was the fear of the infected catching up and taking a bite out of you.

A tidal wave of relief washes over you as the soft murmur of a running creek reaches your ears, its gentle, soothing sound cutting through the tension in your chest. Without a moment's hesitation, you dash toward the water. You hadn’t had the luxury of a proper cleanse since the day you fled the ravaged shack, and the cool embrace of the creek feels like salvation itself, a balm for your raw, scalding skin.

The water is a welcome relief as you plunge in, the chill of it stark against the heat of your body, washing away the layers of grime and sweat that have clung to you. The blood, too, is scrubbed from your skin, a necessary ritual. For the infected, blood is an invitation. The infected are drawn to it like moths to a flame.

You scrape away the dirt from your clothes, but deep down, you know it’s a futile effort. No matter how many times you try, the world always seems to find a way to soil you again. Dirt clings to you like an old companion, never letting go, no matter how hard you scrub. But still, you wash and you rinse.

This had been your routine for five years now. Five years of running, hiding, fighting the hollow husks that used to be people, their pale, ghastly faces gnawing and growling as they made a meal out of whatever or whoever got too close. Five years of scavenging for all the things you used to take for granted. The grocery stores had been one of the first things to be cleared out when everything started, making resources scarce.

As the sun begins to slip behind the trees, finally granting some relief from the blistering heat, you tie some strings with empty cans around some trees and make camp in the small circle. If any infected tried to get into your small makeshift camp, the clanking of the cans would wake you up with hopefully enough time to take out any infected or get out of there if there were too many to fight on your own.

Sleep comes easily after so many long days spent walking, each mile blending into the next beneath blistered feet and a sun that never seems to wane. You think you're somewhere in Alabama, maybe Tennessee. It’s hard to say for sure anymore. The borders have blurred, just like everything else. Most of the road signs are rusted beyond recognition or lying twisted in ditches.

The gentle babble of the creek wraps around you like a lullaby, its rhythm steady and soothing. Your body, worn and heavy with exhaustion, sinks into the dirt as your eyes grow heavy. The tension that usually coils in your chest loosens, and you drift slowly, irresistibly into sleep.

You don't hear the quiet shuffle of footsteps through the underbrush. You don’t stir as the sound of something or someone moves closer. On any other night, your instincts would have kicked in fast. You would’ve bolted upright, hand on your knife before you were fully awake. But not tonight. Tonight, you're too far gone.

Your eyes pop open when you feel a hand over your mouth. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark, unable to make out the details of the figure kneeling over you.

---

You remember exactly where you were when the world came crashing down around you in seconds. You were spending the summer with your grandmother in North Carolina. The air was warm, the kind of summer heat that wraps around you like a soft, weighty blanket, and you found yourself mindlessly flipping through the endless parade of channels on the old television in the corner.

The smell of her freshly baked berry pie from the berries you two had gotten up early to pick wafted through the house. "Baby, can you put on that little show you were showin' me yesterday? I like that funny young man. The one with the aliens," she requested softly as she puttered into the room and patted your arm.

"You wanna watch X-Files, Mawmaw?" You chuckle and find the proper channel. Navigating her TV was always a challenge. She refused to get any streaming services, set in her ways of good old fashioned cable.

"I like that... wolf boy," she giggles as she settles in.

"Wolf? Mawmaw, do you mean Fox? His name is Fox," you let out a stream of uncontrollable giggles. "You've got the hots for Fox Mulder?" Before you can keep teasing her, the TV flashes with an emergency warning, its bright red letters stark against the soft lighting of the living room.

"This is a national emergency. Please stay tuned for important information." The voice on the screen was calm, almost too calm, but something about it made your skin crawl.

"What the devil is this now?" Your grandmother stands and shuffles over to the TV.

"We interrupt your regular programming to bring you breaking news," the anchor's voice trembled just slightly. "This is not a drill. Multiple reports are coming in of unusual, and unexplainable, events taking place across the country. Please stay indoors and avoid contact with the public. Authorities will provide further instructions shortly."

She strikes the TV screen a few times, a habit she’d picked up over the years whenever it started acting up. Her wrinkled hand lands with a thud, the familiar sound filling the room as she mutters under her breath. 'Mawmaw, that won't do anything. It’s not broken,' you say gently, trying to reason with her, but your words are abruptly silenced by a spine-chilling screech that echoes from outside. Before you can even register what’s happening, the front door suddenly bursts off its hinges with a deafening crash. A group of strangers, their eyes as white as marble and their faces frozen in eerie, vacant expressions, rush into the room with unnatural speed, their slack jaws hanging as they move like something not quite human.

---

The skull of the infected holding onto you is all you can see. Panic surges through your chest like a lightning strike, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your instincts scream at you to fight, to flee, to do something, but you’re frozen. You've been in close contact with them plenty of times but it never became less terrifying. Their rotting flesh and gnashing jaws always sending fear straight into your soul.

Then it speaks.

“What are you doing here?” it growls, voice low and rough like gravel in its throat. Your body goes still.

That sound, those words, they don’t belong to the infected. They can’t. The infected don’t talk. They scream, they moan, they howl. They don’t ask questions. They don’t think. Your heart stutters. Your eyes go wide. And suddenly, what you’re looking at changes.

The skull isn’t flesh and bone, it’s a mask. The rot you thought you saw is just dirt and dried blood smeared across worn fabric. The hands holding you aren’t cold and rigid, they’re warm. Human. This isn’t an infected. It’s a man.

"I asked you a question," he growls, eyes wild and blazing in anger and defensiveness.

You blink up at him, caught off guard, your mind scrambling for something to say. "I'm sleeping," you manage, your voice shaky but laced with sarcasm you hadn’t meant to let slip.

His jaw tightens. He pulls you closer, not in comfort, but in warning. His grip firmer now, a silent show of dominance cloaked in irritation.. "What are you doing on my property?" he bites angrily, his words accusing and bitter.

“Your property?” you snap, eyes narrowing at him. Who was this guy? Who was he to wake you up, grab you and act like you’re trespassing on some made up property line. “You own the trees or something?” 

“You’re damn right I do” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His voice is steel-wrapped, unyielding.

You stare at him, searching for any hint that he might be joking. But there’s no humor in his face, just fire and suspicion. You’re still trying to catch your breath, heart hammering from the scare, and now you’ve got to deal with a lunatic who thinks he owns the wilderness? You would take a dozen infected over this freak any day.

“You can’t own the forest,” you argue, trying to sound firm, even though your legs are still trembling. “There’s no fences, no signs. Just trees. Last I checked, that doesn’t scream ‘private property.’”

There’s a long, tense silence. The man watches you like he’s still deciding whether you’re a threat or just a pest. You can feel him sizing you up, your gear (or lack thereof), your posture, the wear in your boots. He sees something in you that keeps him from turning away, and you’re not sure if that’s a good thing. "This is my property, and you're trespassing."

Finally, he exhales, sharp, and irritated. Before you can so much as flinch, his movement is a blur. Pain blossoms at the edge of your skull, and then... nothing. The world vanishes into darkness.

[domesticatedstew]

a little gaslight district fanfic i wanted to write (might make more) Basically a prequel to what happens in the pilot, like a few hours before the pilot happens

It had only been a few years since Jack joined the Whale Belly Butchershop crew. It felt like a fraction of a second and yet somehow not a single moment was dull or boring.

Ken was a pretty good boss, hard on his employees but Jack knew it was from a place of care (for his employees and the resturant.) Breadhead was always a goofball around Jack, he's lucky that he's never been on the receiving end of one of Breadhead's yeast filled rampages. Mud was a bit sketchy, but he was funny and was nice to talk to from time to time (while Jack desperately tried to bum a cigarette off of his sludgey coworker.)

Mel was... something else though. She was closer in age to Jack than anyone else (at least as close in age as two immortal zombies can get), and they got along better than anyone else too. But no matter how cool she was, Jack couldn't look passed how much different she was to everyone else.

She was still perfectly intact, no decay or scars or even missing limbs. Her hair was all natural and her eyes were still so full of life. He hadn't even seen her die once, while every other coworker had at least one death on the job.

Weirdest of all, nearly everyone around her had disappeared.

It wasn't all that weird that the crime family he worked for got rid of some people, it just made Jack worry he could be next at any time. Jack knew that something had happened to Romeo, and then Cathy, and then Syd. Which was an odd coincidence the more he thought about it. Unfortunately, Jack didn't have time to keep thinking about it.

"JACK!! BRING OUT THE CLEAN DISHES, AND PRONTO!!!"

Ken's loud, grumbly voice snapped Jack out of his train of thought, sending a chill down his exposed spine. "COMING SIR!" Jack scooped up every single clean plate, fork, and knife he could find (which was barely a dent in the mountain of dirty dishes the resturant accumulated.) He always wondered how this place got so many dirty silverware when most customers ate with their bare hands.

He raced through the back room and into the kitchen where Ken was chopping up some sorry fly person, still kicking and screaming until Ken brought down a larger butchers knife. Jack could see the bright red guts seeping out from different slashes from the torso, he began to wonder if he could take some leftovers home with him after his shift.

"Youre gonna have to help Mel bring out the food, it's chaos out there and people are ordering more food than I can chop up." Ken snatched the stack of dishes from Jack's hand and started portioning out the fly carcass. "Why can't the others help Mel? I've still got a million dishes to clean back there-" "You need to help because 3 of my employees ran off and the other 3 can't put plates on tables if it was the ONLY thing they could do!!"

Ken slammed the butchers knife he held into the table, walking off into the freezer to presumably thaw out some more bodies.

Jack didn't want to still be standing there when the butcher got back, so he stacked as many plates as he could on his arms and shimmied his way through the swinging doors into the dining area. "Holy shit, he really wasn't kidding."

People were sitting on any surface they could find, cluttering up the floor and making it practically impossible to navigate. "JACK!! IM DROWING OVER HERE," He swiveled his head to look for whoever was yelling at him.

Mel was trying with all her might to climb free from the swarm of customers, reaching out for Jack who was in the safety of behind the counter.

Jack grasped her gloved hand and pulled back with all his might, completely forgetting about the stack of plates in his arms as Mel sprang free from the horde. He realized too late that she was coming straight towards the stacks and stacks of plates. All that food would go to waste and Ken would for sure fire him on the spot, at least Jack he'd only be fired.

Before the food could even touch the floor, swarms of zombies and flies devoured every single scrap.

"Thanks for helping me out Jack, they act like they've never had breakfast in their life," Mel chuckled as she climbed off of Jack. Somehow she didn't get a single piece of guts on her, it made Jack just think she was cooler. "No problem Mel, I didn't want to see your crushed corpse on the job," He said in a joking manner, but he could have sworn he saw a different emotion somewhere within Mel's glistening red eyes.

"Hey, uh... where's Mud and Breadhead by the way?" Jack finally noticed the lack of giant bread men and tall gooey skeletons. He hoped they hadn't been devoured by the starving mass of customers.

"I'm not really sure if I'm being honest. Mud is probably hiding somewhere to avoid work like usual, but Breadhead should be playing the piano-"

Before Mel could finish her sentence, there was a sudden loud commotion coming from the kitchen. For a second Jack had thought someone had started driving through the resturant and was coming straight for them.

Ken burst through the kitchen doors, fists clenched around the necks of two rottlings who were trying desperately clawing at the butcher's large knuckles. Jack could feel his own throat tightening and his already clammy hands getting clammier.

"ALRIGHT YOU SCUM, EVERYONE WHO'S BEEN LOITERING HAS 5 SECONDS TO LEAVE OR ELSE." He tightened his grip on one of the rottlings necks, an audible crunch filled the silence of the once chaotic dining room.

Everyone started bolting out of any and all exits, busting through windows and nearly breaking the front doors off their hinges.

The rottling that was still somehow alive was dropped like a bag of garbage is dropped in a dump; struggling to breathe or stand while desperately trying to crawl away from the enraged butcher. Ken dropped the other rottling, who was quickly revived by the black hand and sprinted out the building. Being revived felt amazing, but that feeling wore off in a few minutes and all the pain that you endured would come crawling back into your body. Jack shuddered as he remembered all the times he died.

Ken sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "We're never serving breakfast again. MUD, BREADHEAD, STOP HIDING AND COME OUT TO HELP ME FIX THE DINING ROOM!!" Ken turned to look at the rest of his family with a look of exhaustion (Although Jack was pretty sure that expression was permanent.)

"You two are on dish duty, I don't care how long it takes just get it done."

Mel and Jacked looked at each other, Mel having a mischievous expression plastered all over her face.

"You still got that magazine, Jack?"

[shycloudkitty]

His Sweetest Escape

Summary: Leon returned from a mission. Safe but exhausted and traumatized as hell. He doesn't want to drown in the suffocating thoughts of survivor's guilt. He wants an escape. And you were always his sweetest escape.

Pairing: RE6 Leon Kennedy! × Fem! Reader 

Tags: (NSFW 18+), MDNI, FWB relationship, Angst at first, talking about Leon's trauma (necessary for the plot), Oral (f receiving!), Cunnilingus, fingering, sitting on Leon's face, nipple play, Leon being a tease. A bit ooc? Probably. 

A/N: Hello Guys!!! My FIRST smut fic is here🤭. Yes I know…FWB again, but I just really wanted to write a smut fic with that trope😭. Also I am very serious about minors not interacting with this post. Please don't.

(Edit) : This can be considered a sort of rough prequel to Just a little touch. Cause for a prequel I have something else cooking up🤭

Hope you enjoy this and have a good day!! 😊😊

A huge thanks to @elfven-blog and @luniaxi for helping me a lot. A little birthday (belated) present to @nexysworld 🥰

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

WC: 5.6K

Masterlist | Ao3 account

Another mission. Another horde of zombies and tyrants. And dozens and dozens of lives that he wasn't able to save in time. But it was a successful mission or at least that's what he was told by his superiors. 

Leon tiredly pushed open the door to his apartment and deeply sighed as he slowly entered and closed the door behind him. 

It is said that a home perfectly reflects people's personalities. The things there give bits of how a person lives and wants to live, their likes and dislikes and much more. 

And his cold and empty apartment gave a perfect reflection on who he was. The furniture was there, furnished of course. But that was it. No decorations or signs of someone living there. And that's how he felt he was. A person who had all the features of a normal person but cold and empty on the inside. 

But then again he never found a home. This was just a place to live in. 

Leon found a whiskey bottle from the liquor cabinet and dropped to the couch, groaning as he sat down after a long time feeling his injuries stretch uncomfortably making him wince. Leaning his head back and staring at the empty ceiling, flashbacks of the mission running wild in his mind. Taking a big swig of his whiskey to numb it. Trying to forget everything about that God forsaken assignment. 

Leon kept drinking and drinking till he started to feel a bit numb to it and sighed tiredly to himself and pushed the bottle aside. Allowing himself to get a bit lost in his thoughts and closed his eyes. 

He was so fucking tired of all this fighting, fighting it to no fucking end and never seeing the ray of hope that all of this shit would end one day. Instead it only got worse. And he fucking hated it. 

His survivor's guilt continued to eat at him slowly and bit by bit on his consciousness, till he felt suffocated by it. 

He opened his eyes, taking a deep breath and groaned in frustration. The fuck was wrong with him? Actually don't answer that, he already knows. 

He took a deep breath to calm himself. Closing his eyes and taking small deep breaths. 

Leon shook his head to himself and sighed again. This wasn't going to go away anytime soon. And he really didn't want to wallow and drown in the guilt or he was sure it would kill him more than it already had. He wanted an escape. 

A sweet escape that always made him forget about the hellish missions and the guilt that comes with it. 

He opened his phone and searched for your contact and pressed the call button. Bringing the phone to his ear as it rang. 

For some reason he felt a bit guilty for only calling you for these things, which was weird because it has always been like this between you both… and neither of you minded it before. 

Maybe he needs this more than he thought. 

“Hey handsome” Your sweet voice rang in his ear from the other side of the call making his mood a bit better. 

He cleared his throat and said “Hey… Doing anything right now?” Trying not to sound too desperate for her and playing it cool. 

“Sort of… But… I can be free if you want~” trying to tease him a little bit. 

A small smile bloomed on his face when he heard that and teasingly replied. “You will make time for me huh? That's sweet.” 

You chuckle and tease him back. “Oh you know… I could never say no to you…or a good time.”

Your teasing words made Leon smile a bit more. Knowing you could always tease him a little and get away with it and he wouldn't mind it even once cause he loved the tease. 

Leon then says. “Then be free and come here.”

“Uff… So bossy. Can't add a ‘please’ in your sentence?” You asked in a playful way. 

“One more comment out of your smart mouth and I will come to your apartment to show you how bossy I can actually be.” Voice getting sultry as he teased you. 

It's not like it will be the first time he bossed a sweet thing like you around… always so eager to please him, following the orders he used to give you while you were a moaning & whimpering mess but oh, so ready to do them… just for him. 

How could he not feel like a God when you were always ready to be his devoted worshiper. 

There was a beat of silence, and Leon smirked knowing that teasing worked perfectly in making you flustered. 

He took the opportunity and said “Hmm… that's what I thought, now come here…please” emphasizing the word please more on purpose. 

You lightly huff over the phone. “You know you are making a lot of promises.” your voice was clearly flustered even if you tried to hide it. 

“Cause I can keep ‘em. I don't make empty promises and you know that…” His voice lowered. He knew how much he had an effect on you, and he couldn't help but use it to his advantage. 

Leon waited for a response. 

“...I do.” your voice came out more breathy than he expected. 

“Good girl… now come soon. I am waiting.”

He cut the call and tossed his phone aside, taking a deep breath. He wasn't going to lie to himself, he got plenty worked up from just one call and it was probably less than a minute. 

You were a damn vixen and he loved it. 

Now that you were most certainly coming over, he could at least take a shower. He got up from the couch with a groan and stretched his arms a bit and made his way to his bathroom. 

Removing his gear and soiled work clothes, he got in the shower and turned it on. Letting the water slowly wash the grime and dried blood away along with the horrible memories of the mission. 

Instead he focused his thoughts on you. He let his mind slowly fill with the sweet memories of you. Your soft red lips against his… They tasted like candy, sometimes cherry but always something sweet. 

And he especially loved when your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock…slowly taking him in and looking up at him with those greedy eyes all your senses focused on him to pleasure him. 

How could he not want a sweet thing like you around forever? 

But he wouldn't admit that out loud. 

Leon could feel himself get more worked up as he felt more images fill up in his head and groaned quietly.

He huffed lightly, and quickly finished his shower and got out of it. Moving towards his wardrobe and wearing his sweatpants and one of his casual blue t-shirt. And decided to wait till you arrived. 

15 mins later his doorbell rang and he grinned at the thought that it was you. And quickly walked towards the door and opened it. 

And there you were, a smile on your face and a soft blush on your cheeks. Wearing a white crop top and blue jeans to pair it up with and he couldn't help but smirk at the sight. He bit his lip lightly and teasingly said. “You came huh?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled playfully at his words. “You called.” your voice being equally teasing. 

He grinned and let you inside his apartment and closed the door behind you. 

“When did you come back from your mission?” You asked as you went over and sat on the couch and looked at him. 

“Today actually…” Leon said as he came over and sat beside you. You raised an eyebrow and said. “Today... Like..Just now?” 

Leon nodded and shrugged lightly and looked at you. “Yeah. Why?”

Your eyes widened and said. “Wow… aren't you tired and sleepy as hell?”

Leon chuckled and shrugged. “No, not really.”

Well to be fair he was exhausted but that's why you were here… to take it all away. 

You frowned slightly not believing his words. After all, he was gone for a considerably long time. You then slowly ask. “Are you sure?”

Leon just chuckled and teasingly replied with a smirk. “Don't worry your pretty little head about it… Although I am flattered that you care that much about my health.”

While he was grateful that you were concerned for him, he didn't want to talk about it. He would rather focus on you and get lost in you than talk about his awful work. 

You roll your eyes and smirk at him and playfully reply. “Please… I am only asking because I don't think you will be able to last if you just came back home tired as hell.” 

You knew what you were doing, but again a little friendly fire never hurts anyone. And in this, you don't care if it hurts you. 

Leon looks at you in amusement and scoffs lightly, shifting closer to you as his voice lowered. “You think I wouldn't be able to last long hmm?” Slowly bringing his hand to your thigh and caressing it gently while looking in your eyes. 

You bite your lip and slowly say. “You heard what I said… Did I hit the nail with that?” 

No, but you did hurt his ego. And he was going to prove exactly how wrong you are. All in the name of friendly fire. 

Leon started to gently run his fingers to your inner thighs and rub teasing circles there. His hand inching closer and closer... but never touching you where you really wanted him to. 

His lips curve in a smirk and biting his lip lightly. “You really think that huh...” his hot breath hitting your neck. His gaze falling on your lips, on how you are slowly biting them. 

Your face grows flushed and goosebumps rise on your skin as he… slowly moves his free hand on your other thigh and does the same thing there. His smirk grows wider when he feels you squirming a bit. 

Everything around you feels so much hotter now… his touch, his eyes shamelessly tracing every inch of your soft body. 

Leon watched as you cleared your throat and looked away from him. “Not really… I was just joking, you know.” 

Leon smirked some more and teasingly repeated your words. “Just joking hmm?”

Your breath hitches when Leon presses his lips on your neck and presses feather light kisses on it while gently nibbling on it too. You tilt your head back giving him better access, eyes fluttering shut as his teeth lightly scrape your skin.

Your perfume slowly fills his senses and makes his mind hazy with lust. You smelled so fucking good to him. All this teasing was doing a number on him. So much so that now all he wanted to do was to fuck you dumb against this couch and still keep going. 

He gently bites your earlobe and mumbles. “Can't have you making jokes everywhere on serious matters baby…”

You gasp as he suddenly spreads your thighs apart, settling himself between them. His bites on your neck get a bit more harsher as his hands start sliding to your ass. Gripping them tightly and bringing you close, pressing you against the couch and him.

He then whispers. “Can't have a sweet thing like you leaving my bed thinking my cock wasn't good enough for your pussy…”

You squirmed in his grip as his words shoot straight at your core. His touch felt as if it was burning right through your skin. You opened your mouth to say something and a small whimper escaped your lips as he bit down on a much sensitive part of your neck. 

“Oh Leon…” You mumbled and looked at him. And he quickly sealed your lips with a kiss and mumbles against your lips. “I know baby, You love that cock don't you? Love how good it feels when it ruins your little cunt.” 

A small mewl left your mouth as two of his fingers reached your center, sliding them up and down on your clothed cunt giving you the stimulation you were craving. 

Leon smirked at your little sounds and snakes his other hand under your crop top, slowly groping your right breast in his hand. And tauntingly says. “Yeah…Feels good when I give that cunt a bit of attention, Doesn't it? Already squirming under my fingers and I haven't even started.” 

Your body grew hotter as his fingers started to rub small circles over your cunt and now groping your breasts a bit harshly now. You can feel your panties getting wet from his teasing and lean more into his fingers to search for that friction. You whine and pout at him. “Leon…Stop teasing.”

He bites your earlobe. “You try to tell me what I should…And teasing you will be all I do tonight.” You pouted him in response and he just gave you a teasing grin.

As he says that he pinches one of your nipples making you jolt in surprise. You whine as he continues to pinch and roll it teasingly between his fingers drawing a needy moan from you. 

He then pulls away slightly and starts to unbutton your jeans and kisses you. He lightly tugs at your lower lip, giving you a pleasant shiver down your spine. Removing your jeans he cups your ass and drags it a bit closer for him to see. Smirking at the wet spot on your cute lacy panties. 

Soft moans and whimpers fall off your lips as he presses his thumb on your clit over the thin layer of the fabric and rubs slow teasing circles. 

His free hand makes its way to your chest and eagerly lifts your crop top and tugs your bra down to free your breasts. And latches his mouth to one of them and eagerly starts to suck on them, not even bothering to fully remove it.

He then starts to slowly suck on your nipples taking his sweet time with it while still paying attention to your cunt. His eyes are shut as if he was concentrating on the world's most important task ever. Your moans started to get louder and more whiny, and feel the flimsy fabric of your panties sticking to your folds by now.

He suddenly pinches your clit at the same time he gives a harsh tug at your nipple. Your body twitches from the sensation and you whine louder than before. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you gasped for breaths.

You looked down to see his face and whined to him. “Leon, I want more…please.” Your voice was more breathy than before. You gave him a pout and looked at him with those same needy eyes which he usually gave into.

He feels so proud for having you this way, seeing how quickly you used to melt for him and gave him the control he was so desperately craving without any resistance. And he loved it every single time. Seeing your red pouty lips, eyes filled with lust, messed up hair, flushed face, it made his heart skip a few beats every time… He could always get lost in your beauty and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Leon presses a kiss at your temple and drops another at your shoulder. And smirks and in a taunting tone whispers. “We just started baby, Already can't last hmm?”

Ass. That's what he was. An ass for using your words against you. 

He then pulls back and you whine at the loss of his touch. Panting softly, your skin feeling as if it was burning under his hot gaze. You look up at him and he wasn't any better but he had a better control on it. 

He grins and kisses you softly on the lips to make up for the teasing and softly asks “Want to move this to the bedroom?” You nod and kiss him back. Wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him close. 

You both kiss each other softly and he slowly removes the rest of your clothes and lifts you up in his arms and slowly stands up. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Your hands gripping his shoulders and continue to kiss him softly while he makes his way to his bedroom. 

He places his hands on your hips to hold you and never breaks the kiss even once. If anything he pulls you more close and deepens the kisses. He opens his bedroom door and slowly lays you down on bed and pulls away a bit and smiles at you and softly whispers. “Want more?”

You nod and he leans in close and deepens the kiss. Gently caressing your body all over, his hands kneading the soft plush fat of your thighs and hips. Tongue exploring your mouth sensually while kissing you. Both of your eyes closed while enjoying the sensual kisses and touches. This was much calmer than what you both were doing earlier but still very sensual to keep you both going. 

“Feeling better?” He mumbles against your lips. 

You chuckle softly and in a teasing tone reply. “I would feel much better when you actually start.” 

You feel a deep rumble from his chest as he laughs softly at that and shakes his head lightly. His voice takes a quick change from soft to sweetly seductive and whispers. “Fucking insatiable…Love it. Who could tell that a cutie like you was such a slut inside. But you are not gonna hear any complaints from me.”

Your cheeks burn red from his words as he now starts to kiss your neck and collarbone. A moan slipped from your mouth when he pressed himself forward and his boner made contact with your sensitive clit, letting you feel how much he was turned on right now. The cloth of his sweatpants gave enough friction to feel amazing as you started to grind against him, wanting to continue where he left off. 

Soft grunts slipped from his mouth as he felt you eagerly rub your pussy against him. A rough chuckle leaves his lips and he mumbles. “Patience baby…” and moves his hips away to stop it, pulling a whine from your mouth from frustration. 

He brings your lips in a deep kiss which you were more than happy to respond to. His hands found their way back to your chest to your breasts. Groping and massaging them and giving light tugs at your nipple which made your body twitch in excitement. 

He then tugged your lower lip, gave a harsh bite to it and tweaked your nipple lightly. He continues this motion of torturing you like this. While you lay there under him writhing and moaning for him. “Leon… I can't take it… please..”

The little piece of shit just laughs and tweaks your nipples once more making you whimper for him. And in a taunting tone says. “Oh yeah? You can't take it hmm? Too damn bad…”

You feel him rubbing those little buds under his thumb sometimes rolling it between his fingers while basically tongue fucking your mouth. You whimper, whine and even try to push him off but if anything that encourages him to do more of that. 

Soon you feel that invisible band in your stomach stretching and stretching… just waiting to snap. And Leon notices it, the way your body starts shivering and your moans get louder. He then leans in to whisper. “Gonna cum baby?”

You nod and look at him with a pout. “Please…” He just smirks and keeps doing what he was doing. Your body twitches and holds onto his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You are just so close… Right… there. 

And he pulls away. 

Your eyes immediately shoot open. “Nooo!” A loud whine leaves your lips and look up at him with a frustrated expression. 

How could he do this to you? Such a fucking tease? And you were so fucking close and he just had to pull away and ruin it. 

He had a big shit eating grin on his face but he wasn't faring any better than you were. His shirt was clinging to his body, face flushed red and his hair messed up. And the way you can see his dick bulging in his pants proved he was just as pent up as you. 

He was just teasing both of you to hell. Asshole. 

You gave a pout as the tears from frustration started to brim in your eyes. “You are so mean…” 

Leon smiles as he leans down closer to you and softly coos to you. “Aww… is my baby angry at me?”

You nod and continue to pout at him. Leon smiles and takes your face in his hands. And kisses you gently on your soft lips. You don't kiss him back at first but you hear his soft whispers to forgive him for teasing you so much. “Please baby… forgive me? I swear I wouldn't tease you now… Kiss me back?”

And you really wanted to stay mad at him but… you couldn't do that for much long. 

How could you when he looked at you with those blue lust blown eyes and gave you soft kisses across your face to make you forgive him? 

You then slowly kissed him back and he was more than happy to oblige. Kissing you softly, taking his time to ease you and then he says. “Ride my face? I promise I will let you cum this time..”

Your face went red and your eyes widened and mumbled against his lips. “Really? Are you sure you want me to do that?”

You feel him nod, lightly tugging at your lower lip and say. “Of course…Want that pretty pussy of yours on my face.”

It's not like this was your first time riding his face either...

Your face goes red but you are more excited than embarrassed. You nod and kiss him back with more fervor. “Okay… I will.”

He pulls away and finally removes his clothes. Removing his sweatpants and freeing his cock from it. Groaning softly as his cock slaps against his stomach. Precum leaking from his cock. Spreading it with his thumb from his tip to the rest and lightly strokes himself. Hissing at how sensitive his cock was from all that teasing. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of him naked. His body was littered with scars but that only made him more alluring at this moment. You just wanted to kiss and nibble on each scar till he was red from all the hickeys. It always took your breath away when you watched him like this. 

You lick your lips and come closer to him and give him your most innocent doe eyes and make your voice as seductive as possible. “Can I taste you?”

Leon feels his cock twitch at the request and lightly bites his lips. He was really really tempted to take you up on that offer but he had other plans… 

He tilts your chin up and says. “Look at you… so eager for this cock hmm? Already want to wrap your pretty lips on it.”

You feel yourself getting more slicked from his words and eagerly nod. “Yes…please, want to suck your cock so bad…”

Leon smirks and gives a teasing kiss on your lips. “Some other time baby, want you to ride my face today.”

Your face flushes deep red and nod. “Okay…”

He grins and lays back down on bed adjusting himself with pillows under his head and motions for you to come up. 

You bite your lip and slowly crawl over to him. Slowly bringing your thighs on either side of his head, hands grasping at the headboard as you position yourself over his face. 

A loud groan leaves his lips as his eyes locks down at your drenched cunt. He licks his lips and feels his mouth water, he immediately grasps your hips and thighs and positions your cunt in front of his hungry mouth. 

You gasp softly as you feel him suddenly shift you more and look down at how hungrily he was looking at you. 

Leon moves his hands to your ass and squeezes it gently. And looks at you. “Come on baby sit. And don't hover, don't want to waste a drop of you”  His words make your stomach flip. Your heart thundering in your chest as you try to come up with something to say but feel your words stuck in your throat. 

You bite your lips and follow his words. And slowly sit down on his face and the moan he let's out when his tongue makes contact with your clit was downright pathetic. He immediately tightens his grip around your thighs and your ass, closing his eyes and lapping at your cunt happily. 

You moan softly as you feel his tongue give you lazy, slow licks from your labia to your clit. Taking his time with it, slowly tasting through your folds. Swirling his tongue around your already sensitive clit giving it occasional tugs with his teeth.

Your body twitches above him as your moans turn into cries of pleasure. Trying to move away from his face but he grunts and grabs your ass and pulls you back in. Giving your ass a light spank, “Don't move…” 

You squeal and close your eyes as you focus on his tongue, trying not to move that much. Biting your lip, one of your hands makes into his hair. He groans at the feeling of your fingers lightly threading through his hair. And pushes his tongue inside your sopping hole, slowly fucking you with it. 

He moans when he feels your juices on his tongue. You always tasted like a fucking heaven to him. He could stay between your thighs all day if he could. Drinking what you had to give to him while hearing sweet chorus of whines and moans as they left your mouth, his own favorite music to listen to when he came back home from those fucked up missions. 

You were his personal haven, letting him have you like this, he felt the luckiest man in the world. Feeling you tug his hair, squirming on his mouth and still riding his mouth like it was your last day on earth. He fucking loved it. He could get off on having you just like this. 

Your thighs squeeze around his head and tug at his hair a bit harder than necessary pulling a groan out of him. It only encouraged him to fuck his tongue into you faster. You squealed a bit as lifted you up a bit only to feel two of his fingers enter your cunt drawing a long moan out of you. Slowly sliding in and out of you, your wet walls eagerly sucking him back in. 

A loud groan leaves your lips when he starts to suck on your clit too. “Oh fuck…Leon!” Hips moving on its own, as he continues to finger you and tug at your clit. Curling his fingers inside and moving them against the spot which always made you see stars. Your body twitches and eyes roll in the back of your head as he moves his fingers faster. 

His fingers constantly assaulting that sweet spot within you, sometimes slowing them down to hear your pretty whines of protest and suddenly increasing the pace just to fuck with you. Feeling your thighs squeeze around his head tightly drawing a loud groan from him, the vibrations going straight to your core and giving you an instant jolt of pleasure. 

All the teasing slowly piled up and you felt that familiar band in your core just waiting to snap at any moment. You clenched tightly around his fingers. He hummed in satisfaction as he felt you do that, removing his fingers and pushing his tongue inside, wanting you to cum on his tongue instead.

He held your hips tightly to support you and let you ride his face as much as you wanted. Both of your hands going down to his hair, tugging at it while riding his face at your pace. Your clit constantly bumping against his nose making you a moaning mess above him. “Fuckkkk… Leon… feels so good… Just like that! Fuck! Yes!”

His eyes roll in the back of his head as he feels the stinging pain as you tug at his hair. Loving the pain and pleasure that came with it. One of his hands goes down to his cock and stroking himself in time with the pace that you set. Feeling himself getting closer and closer as you both kept going. 

He felt he could burst at any moment just from hearing the lewd noises you both were making. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

You open your eyes, your gaze drifting to the sight of him between your legs. And it instantly brought you closer to the edge than ever. His eyes were screwed shut, focused on giving you the high you were so eagerly chasing. His grip on your ass was tight enough to leave bruises, not that you cared.

You loved seeing his marks on your body anyway. 

“M’ gonna cum… so close…” you whined as you looked down at him. His eyes opened to look at the heavenly sight of you writhing above him and smirked. 

He winked at you and moved his tongue faster inside you and gave you a sudden spank from the hand that was already gripping you while he stroked himself with the other. 

You whine from the spank and feel that band inside you finally snap “Leon!”. He soon comes after you with a loud groan and hisses as ropes of thick hot cum fall on his thighs and abs. 

Your body twitches and shakes when the euphoria flows through your body. You felt so lightweight, feeling like you could drop at any moment. Leon gently grasped your waist with one hand and the other on your thigh, slowly helping you ride through your high. And eagerly drank up every drop. Humming softly in satisfaction. 

You whined softly still feeling his tongue swirl around your clit. You tried to get off of him whining softly in protest and he gently lowered you down in bed. His chin was soaked with your release as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. 

He brought you close to him, pressing you against him and giving soft kisses on your forehead and cheeks. Both of you were breathing heavily in each other's arms. His soft kisses act as a soothing balm to your tired body. 

You gently caressed his hair and face in return as he started to pepper kisses along your collarbone now. “Feeling good?” Leon's soft voice entered your dazed mind. You smiled lazily at him and sighed softly. “I feel amazing…”

Leon chuckled and gave a soft kiss to your crown and pulled you closer. “Good…I would be disappointed otherwise.”

You chuckled and teasingly say. “In me or yourself?” He snickered and replied “You of course. I am amazing at what I do.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and say. “And I am not?” Leon smirked and bit your earlobe playfully. “That’s up for debate…”

You scoffed, giving him an offended look at him and narrowed your eyes at him “Excuse me?”

Leon had to bite back a chuckle as he saw you trying to be serious, and he could tell that you weren't serious either. Seeing your smile threatening to take over your face.

You huff when you saw a chuckle slipping from him. “You are laughing at me aren't you?” Still keeping your eyes narrowed at him. 

Leon cleared his throat, trying his best to be serious. “No, I would never laugh at you.” 

You rolled your eyes at him and said. “Liar.” 

Leon chuckled, shaking his head in amusement and playfully whispered. “You look cute when you are angry.”

Your eyes widened at his words and looked away from him to hide your blushing face from his comment “Whatever.”

Leon chuckled. “Uh huh… What is this then?” Poking at your red cheeks. 

You pouted at him and huffed. “Nothing okay? Just shut up.”

Leon’s snickered and a mischievous grin spread on his face. “You want me to shut up? Sit on my face again and then I will think.”

Leon's smirk widened as he saw your face flush red and looking away from him, squirming slightly as you thought about doing it again. Leon squished your cheeks and turned your face back towards him and looked at you with a smug face. 

“You want to sit on my face again don't you?” A knowing smug smile on his face. 

Your face turned beet red as you felt yourself heat up again from his words and slowly nodded. 

Leon smirked and started to kiss your neck all over again and mumbled. “So...fucking...insatiable.”

This was sure as hell gonna be a long night for both of you. But none of you had any complaints. 

God. It's done. Oh my god. FINALLY. I honestly didn't expect this to take so much of my time but it surprisingly did. I guess it did cause it's my first time writing smut rather than consuming it lol.

Anyways... I hope you liked this fic. Hope it made your day!!🥰😊.

Until next time 😊❤

-Bella

[anarchy-and-piglins]

How about a Zombie Apocalypse AU in this trying time?

And its me soooo... make it Dark SBI 😘

So, the Zombie Apocalypse happened and Technoblade's biggest regret is that it means his asshole doomsday prepper parents were RIGHT. But it doesn't really matter because he was at college MILES away from home, so its not like he is going to benefit from his parents cache of goods.

He...survives, though. The first few years are chaos as humanity adjusts to being hunted and killed. Little pockets of civilization pop up behind fences and walls. And, in a world of limited resources, there are fights over resources.

Technoblade has been in compounds that completely fall apart from infighting. He is familiar with the signs. The shiftiness of those in charge. The glances between whispered conversation. So, Technoblade knows something is stirring in the current compound.

He volunteers more often to go out and search for resources. He is allowed, of course, because most people don't WANT that job. Technoblade also isn't fond of trawling across Zombie filled land, but he knows trying to hide something inside the walls of the compound would be impossible. But, if he hides a stash somewhere OUTSIDE the compound?

Well, no one would know he didn't bring all of his resources back.

Technoblade has to go pretty far from the compound to find anything of use. The closest areas have already been picked over. So, its a few days travel before he starts to find more goods.

When he is rummaging through an abandoned building, he hears voices and hides. Sometimes, people are friensly. Most of the time, they are not. So he hides and he listens and he is a little bit afraid because there are so MANY voices.

And then, someone walks into the same abandoned building as him. He hears the guy whistling and honestly? Its strange that this group is being so loud. They act like they don't care if they draw a horde to them. Which means they have to be some form of crazy, right?

Technoblade hides in a closet, hand clenched around his axe while he peaks through a crack.

Eventually, someone walks in. Brown curly hair. Long brown coat. Technoblade is expecting the guy to start scrounging like Technoblade had been doing, but the guy looks almost bored. Kicking things to the side without care, hands in his pockets. Barely opening cabinet to look inside.

Technoblade is hoping that the guy gets bored before he gets to Technoblade's hiding spot.

The guy sniffs and whips around, looking directly where Technoblade is hidden. There has got to be something wrong with the guy's liver because his eyes are an unnatural shade of yellow.

The guy grins and rushes over to open the cabinet door. The guy opens his mouth and yells out "Hey, guys! I found-" before Technoblade knocks the handle of his axe into the guys mouth. The guy stumbles back in shock and Technoblade sprints away.

The guy grabs Technoblade by the shirt, giggling as he called out again to people. Technoblade twists and kicks the guy in the gut. The guy stumbles back and Technoblade runs part 2.

Cue chase scene through an abandoned building, Technoblade dodging Wilbur and others while Wilbur whines about how Technoblade should just make this EASY and come with them.

Technoblade isn't going with these weirdos.

Eventually, Technoblade gets cornered and has to jump through a window. He catches himself on the building next door and climbs through. Wilbur calling after him, telling him to come back.

Technoblade manages to lose them, maybe with some scrapes and scratches. Its difficult to get back to the compound because not only does he have to dodge zombies, but he also heres the crazy guy calling out for him like he's a lost dog.

He gets back to the compound and tells the people there everything.

Some of the people want to see if the group is friendly, even with Technoblade's description. Others want to put together a show of force to scare off the group or kill off the group, whichever is necessary. It turns into an argument and Technoblade is reminded of how the people in the compound were stupid. He excuses himself from the conversation and wonders if it would be better to cut his losses and run. His stash isn't PERFECT but he has some stuff squirreled away. He won't be starting with NOTHING.

Days turn to weeks and nothing happens. No one sees a hair of the strangers.

Until, one day at dawn, an explosion tears down the front gate of the compound.

Technoblade is JOLTED out of bed. He and everyone else who wasn't on the nightwatch. The alarm bell is going off and everyone is grabbing clothes and weapons to fight off the raid.

Technoblade prepares as well, but he looks out the window and happens to lock eyes with a blond man, eyes as yellow as the crazy man before, and decides right then and there that he is LEAVING.

There is a lot of yelling, only a couple of precious gunshots fired. Guns and ammo had been running low for a while. Technoblade isn't paying any mind to that, though. He knows there is a building close to the wall that he can use to jump onto the wall, then grab a tree that is right near the wall.

He makes it over, having to kill a few zombies that were drawn by all the noise. But he is sprinting to his stash and getting OUT of there, ignoring the shouts behind him.

He makes it to his stash, hidden in a bush inside a small park. He rushes to grab his stuff and get away, but in his haste he doesn't notice the trap.

A net pulls him into the air like some kind of Indiana Jones movie. Hanging upside down. He struggles in it, trying to reach his pocket knife to start slicing at the rope.

"I told you it would work!" Technoblade freezes as two people walk into sight. A blond teenager and the same brown haired man as before. Both of them are grinning up at him with yellow eyes.

Wilbur brightens even more when he recognizes Techno. He is excited that he was able to catch the guy he found before. Tugs on the net in excitement acting very childish.

Technoblade snarks at him, saying something about he looks like a guy who gets rejected a lot, he should recognize when someone wants nothing to do with him.

Wilbur pouts but Tommy cackles. Without warning, they cut him down. Before Technoblade can try to get his bearings, but both are on him and binding his hands tightly in front of him. They are...very strong for such lanky looking guys.

They drag him back to the compound where...most people are still alive? Usually, in this sort of thing, the raiders just kill everyone. It's odd to see them taking hostages? But yeah, most everyone in the compound is tied up similar to him, sitting in the middle of the square.

The invaders seemed almost excited and that was just...was this a cult thing? He had heard word of some weird cults popping up in the apocalypse but-

Technoblade is forced to sit with the others while the invaders search for any other people, search through the buildings-

One blond man just stays standing in front of the captives, occasionally directing the other people to do this or that. Technoblade watches and notices that ALL the people have the same yellow eyes.

After a while, the compound has been searched and it is probably around noonish when Phil begins to speak.

He introduces himself as the head of the invaders and he tells them all about how he came to discover that some people were immune to a Zombie's bite. Not a real immunity, though. It still changes them, just not into a mindless corpse. Some people survive being bit by a zombie and become stronger for it. And after, the zombies don't even try to bother them.

As an example, they bring out a zombie. Its arms are ripped off, and it has a thick rope harness on it. The people of Technoblade's compound shy back in fear. But while the zombie tries to shamble closer to those tied up, it completely ignores the invaders. Phil even walks up and begins to poke at it, but it pays him no attention.

It's crazy to see, but what is crazier is when Phil starts to explain what will happen next.

He is going to let that Zombie bite all of them.

Dismay and anger from the people of the compound. Some cursing him and all the others out. Phil seems unbothered just continues to explain that maybe some of them will get through it okay, and if not, well, the change DOES let them eat human flesh now. They won't let their corpses go to waste.

One by one, Phil's group drags each human to let the zombie bite them. Some fight against it or try to run, but they don't get very far. Phil's group is too strong. They seem practiced at it, never letting the zombie bite anyone somewhere vital. Arms, legs, hips, but nothing that can kill them.

Finally Technoblade is dragged over by Wilbur and Tommy. They make some kind of joke to Phil who laughs, but Technoblade is not laughing. When the zombie lunges at him, he tries to kick it away, but the zombie bites into his calf, taking a large chunk out.

Wilbur makes a joke about how at least Technoblade can't try to run a 3rd time with a bum leg. Technoblade smashes the back of his head into Wilbur's face. Wilbur lets go of Technoblade and before Technoblade can try to rip himself out of Tommy's grasp, Phil is placing a hand on Technoblade's shoulder.

"Strong-willed people usually make it through the change," Phil says, patting Technoblade on the cheek when Wilbur grabs him again. "Good luck!"

The compound has contained the old jail, so they move all of the compound people to the cells. Two to a cell, hands still bound and tied to the jail bars in a way that the "roommates" couldn't reach each other. There is sobbing and screaming as everyone is locked up.

Time passes and the zombification begins.

Its miserable. First, its just a light fever and some aches. But then nauseua sets in. Then the fever gets worse and Technoblade starts hallucinating. The aches turn into blistering PAIN. His bones feeling like they are one fire. Blood dripping from eyes and nose and a constant pounding headache that makes Technoblade want to bang his head against the ground until he can get to his brain.

Everyone is going through similar experiences. Occasionally, some of the invaders drop by and look in on them, seeing if anyone is dead, a zombie, or something else.

Technoblade is a shivering sweating mess when Wilbur and Tommy come by to coo over him. Technoblade has no idea what they are saying, his fever too high to comprehend anything, but part of him recognizes that they are lingering near him more than the others. Maybe, in a twisted way, they think of him fondly. Weirdos.

As time trickles by, people begin becoming zombies.

Technoblade isn't able to move when his roommate finally turns. Techno is too weak, too sick to do anything more than curl up as his roommate tugs against the rope and snaps his jaw at Technoblade, drool dripping down the zombie's hollow expression as it dumbly continues to tug against its bindings to feast on Technoblade's sick form.

Technoblade's thoughts get cloudier and cloudier and he fears the end is near. He falls into a fitful sleep.

When he wakes, he doesn't feel as bad as he did before. He still feels like he got runover by a train, but he isn't shivering as much. His head still pounds, but it's less of a railway stake being hammered into it and more like a normal hammer against his temple. There is a really strange smell in the air that almost makes his mouth water, if there were any liquid in his dehydrated body to spare.

He glances over at his roommate and...for some reason the zombie is trying to get at the person in the cell next to them. Unable to reach the person.

Technoblade is confused. Zombies usually have a one track mind. They won't take their eyes off their fixation unless its dead. Technoblade...isn't dead yet. Or is he?

Technoblade moves his fingers in front of his face. It's painful, but he can still move. Probably not dead, then.

There are footsteps approaching. Someone is speaking. Technoblade weakly glances up to see Wilbur strolling into the jail, chatting with Tommy while glancing into the different cells. Both stop when they see Technoblade looking at them.

They both cheer, Technoblade flinching at the noise. His headache worse. Both rush over to the cell without a hint of caution and open it, stepping inside and ignoring Technoblade's zombie roomate almost as much as it ignored them.

They chatter, talking about how they KNEW he would pull through. Help him sit up. Wilbur unties his wrists as they talk about who knows what.

As soon as his wrists are free, Technoblade punches Wilbur across the jaw. Its a weak punch, doesn't do anything, but Tommy laughs loudly as Wilbur pouts, re-tying Technoblade's wrists. Wilbur tells Tommy to go get Phil, who does after a bit of complaining.

Tommy returns with Phil in tow, who has a canteen with him. Phil, Tommy, and Wilbur help Technoblade to drink from the canteen. Technoblade had almost been afraid it was filled with blood, but it had water to help his parched throat. They are careful not to give him too much.

Phil and Wilbur haul Technoblade to stand, but he is so weak he nearly collapses again. They are ready for that and pretty much carry him, Tommy Jabbering behind them.

And that's all I got! I feel like they would have a horrific feast of Technoblade's former compound buddies and make it so Technoblade ate some of them! They are going to have to convince Technoblade to NOT sprint away at the first opportunity, which will take a while.

Hope you enjoyed!

Bruh, this one has been sitting in my inbox so long it's SHAMEFUL.

But yes, tasty soup. Very tasty soup! Supremely messed up tasty soup! If you want to be very evil, I could see them forcing Techno to eat the corpse of somebody he actually liked or befriended. A rare thing for Techno to do, so it makes the pain that much worse.

And I also enjoy the idea of Techno still fighting back and trying to leave them. Maybe this is unusual for SBI? Most of the time when they go through this routine, the people that end up becoming superhuman like them are so emotionally broken by the loss of their friends/family/group that they don't really fight back and just go with whatever SBI wants, AND/OR they're secretly relieved not having zombies after them anymore. So they come around to the idea of being part of their weird cult and putting other people through that same suffering rather quickly, just grateful to be alive, seeing it as a net positive.

But Techno? Techno is out. Not even because he hates SBI for their fucked up actions (even if he doesn't exactly like those actions either) but equally because he just doesn't like people and his introverted ass is not wanting to travel with a group.

SBI gets really hung up on getting him back. Maybe mix in some of that other idea where Techno has the weird power to repel zombies and that makes people distrustful of him. Techno who leaves SBI but keeps running into trouble because the yellow eyes and the fact zombies act weird around him makes people hostile towards him?

[hurgablurg]

Minecraft 2d animated (with rotoscoped / painted-over in-game backgrounds) movie plot where it doesnt feel the need to do the player's batman origin and instead starts in media res with

A trio of piglin children, let's call them lapis, lavender, and daisy (ego, id, superego / whatever trio trope you want to use), playing around an inactive, old portal frame in the nether, running home only to find their settlement being destroyed by territorial ghasts, their families nowhere to be seen - these are our focus characters, and the audience surrogates. A ghast catches sight of them and gives chase, firebombing the area behind until they run into the portal frame again and a fireball activates it - with no other choice, they flee through it (with minor hijinks as they try to run through it at first and only realize on accident that they have to stand in it) just as another fireball deactivates it.

They arrive on the overworld, in an old player base, and wander and wonder at their new surroundings, before one of them collapses and starts coughing and spasming, as the undead plague takes hold of all three. They are about to turn until they are doused with a splash potion of weakness and chunks of holy golden apple, inoculating them for the time being.

They awaken in the modest house of an aged and experienced Steve, dark skinned and stoic, but with a kind twinkle in their eye, like Santa claus.

The language barrier and Steve's muteness prevents any complex explanations, but the kids get through that they had a bad experience and need help.

There can be a comedy bit where Steve sweats over only having porkchops on hand and tries to make due with some noncontroversial mushroom stew, until the kids happily dig into the "hoglin meat" as well.

Steve plunges into the nether to clear a path for the kids to go home, not realizing they are telling them that their home is gone, until Steve sees it for themself. Unwilling to condemn the kids to a zombie apocalypse in the overworld, Steve elects to lead them across the land to other player's bases in hopes of finding a nether portal that leads right to a settlement or bastion, before their immunity wears off. Adventurous hijinks ensue as they marvel and panic at the beauty and dangers of this world!

Some bits and story beats could be:

Alex (or one of the other, or even all, of the default skins) is one of the players encountered, kitted with elytra and netherite, building a massive megastructure, contrary to Steve's humble lifestyle. Alex does some cool air tricks as they land, but Steve is unimpressed, even cocking their hip and raising an eyebrow.

Steve and another player seem to be communicating, eyes locked together, with Lavender theorizing that they have some kind of telepathy, until it briefly but jarringly switches to gameplay where the players are allcaps "screaming" at each other in text chat.

The kids are attacked and one seems to be on the precipice of death, or even infection, until one of the players slaps a Totem of Undying into their hands and they are saved in the nick of time, deposited a few blocks away.

Lapis is in awe of the gold ore littering a badlands canyon while camped and tries to be brave to get some, accidentally falling, as Steve jumps down after them, catches them, and buckets just at the bottom, revealing an expertise and practice with the game belied by their wooden cube house, grass block floor, and disorganized chests.

They see the ruins and zombie hordes and even the Skulk, spawned by whoever the Ancients were, and the dangers of going too far. Maybe they are even pursued by a zealous Warden who breaches the surface to "correct" these "anomalies", as an additional "big bad".

It ends up being, of course, that the portals all lead to inhospitable places, like soul sand barrens, nether fortresses, and somehow even above the bedrock ceiling. When they actually DO find a settlement, it's a bastion, and while the other piglins are ambivalent or cautious, the Brutes are quite dogmatic, refusing and attacking the kids on the basis that they are forest-dwelling foreigners who reek of the overworld. Luckily for them, they have a new found-family of players who've been quite taken with them over their adventures who arrive to help, and elect to build a sanctuary just on the other side of the portal for them to live in, and which they can visit freely. Overtime, other refugees make their way, and an amicable piglin village starts up (perhaps even hinting at a theoretical future piglin rework, hmm), with Steve raising the kids personally, and with proper anti-zombie safety precautions, showing them how to Build, in Steve's sustainable, low-impact style. A Happy ending!

[whxre4hange]

the hargreeves vs zombie apocalypse - my headcanons!

op's note: hihi so i finished watching sweet home (monster apocalypse) and thought hey i know i have 2 assignments going on BUT ima make some tua hc's instead :D ....sigh i need to get a life...and a bf/gf...if u look like aidan gallagher hmu i cook clean and cry. anyways. lmk what u think tehe...here we goooo

luther: immediately declared himself "commander of survival operations" and made everyone vote on it, even though no one else ran. thinks he’s giving inspiring speeches, but they always just turn into long-winded monologues about "the importance of teamwork" while everyone else loots the area. sweats even more than usual because the apocalypse is stressful and deodorant is a thing of the past. so he stinks. really. bad. once tried to punch a zombie with his bare hands because “they’re technically just slow-moving people,” and almost got bitten. keeps a detailed survival journal but it’s mostly doodles and passive-aggressive notes about diego ignoring orders.

diego: treats the zombie apocalypse like it’s an elaborate training montage just for him. dual-wields knives at all times, even when eating. thinks guns are for "amateurs" but once tried to throw a knife at a zombie and accidentally hit five (who then spent 30 minutes cursing him and his entire bloodline while bandaging himself up). keeps sneaking off alone to "clear out infestations" but always ends up running back covered in blood (his) and pretending it was part of the plan. has an actual kill count scoreboard going against five, but no one else cares. tried to roundhouse kick a zombie’s head off, tripped and fell on his face. five still hasn’t let him forget it.

klaus: thriving, honestly. claims he’s "always been a post-apocalypse kind of guy." wears a fur coat, cargo shorts, and mismatched crocs because "fashion is still important." talks to zombie ghosts just to see what they have to say—turns out, it’s mostly just "braaaains" and regrets. keeps making bets with ben on who will be the first to get bitten (ben doesn’t find it funny). once used an old ouija board to ask the undead for directions—accidentally summoned a ghost horde instead. somehow still has a never-ending supply of alcohol despite no one ever seeing him loot anything. tried to convince the others to start a zombie wrestling league for entertainment; diego almost agreed.

allison: has fully leaned into her "mom friend in the apocalypse" role. keeps a clipboard with laminated pages to track supplies and rationing. still does her makeup every morning, even if the world is ending—calls it "a small act of self-care," but five thinks she’s just flexing. uses her rumor power only when absolutely necessary, except for the one time she got sick of diego and five fighting and just went, "i heard you both shut up for five minutes." once convinced a zombie to walk off a bridge just to test if it would listen to her (it did). pretends to be chill but secretly writes everything in a tattered notebook titled "this is why we’re all gonna die."

ben: still dead, still annoyed. sticks around out of sheer spite, even though he’s not affected by the apocalypse at all. the only one who doesn’t have to fight for survival, but complains the most. keeps pointing out everyone’s bad decisions, but no one can hear him except klaus, who either ignores him or deliberately misinterprets everything he says. once tried to warn them about an ambush but klaus was too busy trying to do a handstand to listen. occasionally poltergeists objects to mess with people. once whispered "behind you" to diego in a creepy voice during a supply run—diego screamed and nearly stabbed luther. absolutely haunts reginald out of spite. keeps track of all the dumb ways klaus has nearly died (current count: 14).

five: convinced the apocalypse is everyone else’s fault. keeps muttering about how "if i had just been in charge, none of this would have happened!" goes feral on zombies like it’s personal, but still somehow has perfectly combed hair. does not believe in rations, refuses to eat canned food, and once teleported into an abandoned café just to make himself an actual cappuccino (he was chased out by a zombie horde but it was worth it). has a whole mental flowchart for survival scenarios but refuses to share it because "you wouldn’t understand." yells at everyone for being inefficient but nearly died once because he was too busy monologuing about quantum theory to notice a zombie sneaking up behind him.

viktor: quietly the most terrifying person in the group. has turned emotionally repressing his rage into a tactical advantage. never panics, never runs—just stares at approaching zombies like he’s thinking about it. could and would clear an entire street of zombies in one dramatic violin solo but refuses to use his powers for anything practical, like opening cans. once casually mentioned that he "has a plan" if any of them get bitten—has not and will not elaborated. writes in a notebook constantly, but no one knows if it’s for strategy, revenge fantasies, or fanfiction about the group. keeps making unsettlingly specific comments like, "if we had to eat someone to survive, i know exactly who it would be."

lila: showed up unannounced in the middle of a supply raid, eating an apple and acting like she’d been there the whole time. refuses to explain how she’s survived alone this long. mocks diego for being dramatic but absolutely eggs him on whenever he gets in a fight. regularly disappears for days and comes back with a suspiciously good haul—won’t say where it came from. keeps threatening to start her own rival group just to mess with luther. once convinced klaus to let her yeet him over a fence for fun (it did not go well, but at least ben's "klaus kill count" went up alot). absolutely the kind of person who’d trip you to escape faster but would feel kinda bad about it later.

reginald: still an absolute bastard, even in the apocalypse. probably knew this was going to happen but didn’t bother to warn anyone. survived longer than anyone expected by somehow manipulating the zombies into ignoring him—no one knows how, and he refuses to explain. still demands perfection from the siblings, even though they’re all just trying to stay alive. once built an elaborate fortified bunker but only let himself inside, forcing the others to fend for themselves. keeps making cryptic remarks like, "this was inevitable," and "you should have been prepared," despite offering zero helpful advice. has a secret spot filled with supplies, food, showers but refuses to let the others in because they "need to learn resilience." probably caused the zombie outbreak but won’t confirm or deny. treats the apocalypse like a science experiment and keeps making notes on who’s "adapting" best (spoiler: he thinks they’re all disappointments). will absolutely sacrifice someone "for the greater good" and won’t even pretend to feel bad about it. somehow never looks dirty, despite wandering through the same zombie-infested wastelands as everyone else. if anyone asks him for actual survival advice, he just gives cryptic nonsense like, "the key to survival lies within the absence of fear" while nodding wisely (he has no idea what he's doing either)

[manias-wordcount]

Stand and Deliver (Akira Tendou)

Kinktober 2024 Day Eleven: Standing Carry

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧��� 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You knew you had to try your best to stay quiet. But it was really, really, really hard. So Akira had to do his best to shut up you anyway.

“Shh, you’re gonna get us caught.” His voice comes out just by your ear in a tense murmur. You can tell he’s straining a bit himself. It’s apparent in the tightness his voice holds and the rough way he swallows every few seconds- as if holding back his own groans. But still, he’s fairing noticeably better than you at the moment. And you’re thanking your lucky stars for that. Because even though it was his idea, you were the one stupid enough to go along with it. He at least has the decency to be in control of the situation enough for the both of you. Somewhat, anyway. “We don’t want that to happen, right?”

At his last question, his voice takes on a teasing lilt while an all too easygoing smile spreads across his face for the given situation. One that you can’t help but turn your head and glare at. But all too quickly, your glare falls apart- and the two of you know exactly why too. After all, it’s not exactly easy staying mad at the very guy who’s currently lifting you in his arms and fucking into you. Even while there’s a group of zombies on the other side of the door. 

It’s one hundred percent his fault the two of you are here right now instead of at a nearby safe house. And knowing him, you figure he would take responsibility for it full-heartedly since he’s currently having such a good time. 

He told you this morning that he wanted to check out one of the stores he would often stop by after work and he wanted you to come with him as his back-up. He said it was the type of place that had absolutely everything and was often overlooked. The chance of it being raided already was a fair one, but you knew it wouldn’t hurt to look for yourself. And when the two of you got there, you both were able to find a few hidden gems that made the trip worth taking. But when a horde of zombies started to lurk near the store entrance, the two of you decided to barricade yourself in and hunker down until it was deemed safe enough to leave and deliver the supplies back to the safe house. 

That was nearly an hour ago. There wasn’t much to do to pass the time though. Not much to talk about. Not much to see either. So you both spent your time looking over every crack and crevice in the store, carefully making sure you didn’t miss anything. Well, at least that's what you were doing. Because before you knew it, you had your boyfriend standing behind you, resting his hands on your hips and grinding into your softly. Then you blinked. 

And just like that- your pants were in a pile on the floor next to his and his cock was slipping in and out of your pussy while your hands clung onto his neck for dear life.

“A…Aki-” In a struggle to keep your voice lower than a whisper, you only manage to get half of his name out before you find yourself having to squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip hard in an attempt to keep a few moans from escaping. Your boyfriend is quick to nuzzle into you, place his lips on yours, and kiss you deeply. It’s an action that you usually find cute. Although, you could instantly tell he was doing it to muffle your sounds and to keep you both from getting caught. But it was whatever- at least he’s a good kisser. And besides, it’s his fault for this too. He had a knack for making sure you always got loud with him.

Just like everything today, it was his idea to fuck you like this. It was his idea to take you in his arms, hold you above the ground, and bounce you on his dick as if you weighed absolutely nothing. He said he felt bad when he thought about making you ride him on the dirty, dirty ground. He couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t do that you were you were already being kind enough to let him rut into you so he could release the dull ache that was starting to build up in his boner.

But you know him too well- you know this is one of his favorite positions because it makes you as desperate as him. You know this is one of his favorite positions because it always has you moaning right into his ear as his thick cock aims for all the right spots inside of your pussy in ways that have you wanting to sob out loud and call out his name. You know this is one of his favorite positions because it leaves you helpless and him with all the control. Your feet are off the ground and there’s nowhere for you to run or to ease the feeling you get whenever his tip presses against your g-spot. Meanwhile, he gets to spend every single moment in this position with his hands on your ass as he lifts you up and down and up and down on his cock. It allows him to feel you up and grope at the curve of your backside while your chest presses against his. It allows him to feel powerful and forget about how the two of you were stuck in the store, to begin with.

It allows him to fuck you the way that he wants to. And while you just sit back and enjoy the ride.

‘Shh. I know, I know.” He murmurs to you the second he breaks the kiss. His eyes are half-lidded and his stare is heavy as his eyes flicker towards the trail of the saliva that’s connecting you both- evidence of a more than sloppy kiss. He still looks hungry for it. He still looks hungry for you. But you both need to start being more careful. And that’s gonna have to start with him finding a way to keep you quiet for once. Though luckily, an idea must have sprung to him rather quickly. Because all of a sudden, he’s slowing his pace just a bit and cranes his next in a way that exposes more of it than usual to you. “Here, bite my shoulder.”

You hesitate when he offers it to you. It’s just a spot of his neck that is a little more exposed than usual due to the way his shirt hangs off of his body. Even so, you hesitate. Usually, it’s Akira who is the one being a little rough with you. Not the other way around. But you know he could take it. In fact, you think he deserves a rather hard bite from you right about now considering all that he’s put you through. And you know it would it make it easier for you to stay quiet. And easier for him to fuck you without worry. 

And easier for both of you to cum…

“Fuck…that’s it.” Your boyfriend groans lowly as you sink your teeth into his flesh. It’s awkward and you realize you’re not the biggest fan of biting him. But it makes it almost infinitely easier for you to muffle your moans now that your mouth is preoccupied with something. So that makes it infinitely easier for him to bounce you on his cock. “Good girl…take it just like that…”

So that is exactly what he does. That’s exactly what you do too.

You let him spend the next couple of minutes grunting quietly while he ruts into your warm, wet pussy desperately. You let him- because you're far too busy going cross-eyed and drooling at the near-constant feeling of something pressing up against your g-spot and causing you to clench up and dig your nails into just apart any part of him that you can. You let him because the two of you needed something to do while passing the time. You let him because the two of you needed something to do to let off steam. You let him because it- because you- feel too good to listen or use reason anymore. So you just won’t. And besides, right about now? 

You’d rather be eaten by zombies than not cum on Akira’s cock after all this.

[terpsichorestyx]

hiiii!! i was wondering if u could do a aouad Su-hyeok fic where him and the reader we’re together in the broadcasting room with everyone else but she ended up getting lost when they were going to save Cheong-San? Maybe she re-finds them after the group got to the roof ?

(established relationship if that’s okay 🤗)

i really hope that makes sense (_T_)

sorry it took so long 😭 su-hyeok x f!reader

murder, zombies, blood (everything in aouad basically)

(on-Jo likes cheongsan, Nam-ra doesn’t like anyone. Also the whole rooftop thing with eun-Ji doesn’t happen at the same time. she’s already a halfbie and her friend is at the safety camp already.)

Not proofread and it’s not very good 💀👍

————-

You both were together when it happened. Su-Hyeok had bought you flowers out of the blue, and you were laughing together outside. He had put a baby pink flower in your hair, stuffing the rest in the dark blue bag that hung on your shoulders. He was just leaning in for a kiss when you both heard a bloodcurdling scream, and saw a horde of students running in one direction infront of you. Looking to see what they were running away from, you saw a group of bloody students stumbling behind the rest. An unfortunate girl had tripped and fell, and you both watched as the group fell on top of her while ripping flesh from her skin with their teeth. You looked at Su-Hyeok in fear, and he got up holding your hand and ran through the halls, following the other students.

You both ran until you found a safe classroom and locked yourselves inside.

Gyeong-Su, Cheongsan, On-Jo, Na-Yeon, Dae-Su, Nam-Ra and Hyeon-Ju were already inside.

Since then, you all stuck together. Bad things happened, like Hyeon-Ju getting infected, zombies breaking in, and more, but you all stuck together and fought no matter how much you were hurting. Eventually, you had found a way to the broadcasting room. The water-pipe hung from the window and everybody took their turns going down. You volunteered to go last, after Su-Hyeok.

In the broadcasting room, Na-Yeon and Gyeong-Su had began arguing. Su-hyeok and Cheongsan went to make them stop, so they didn’t notice. If they did, you would’ve been with them right now. You weren’t blaming them, if anything, you blamed yourself. You had slipped. You slipped off the pipe, and luckily grabbed onto a ledge a few floors down just in time. Too scared to call for help in case you attracted the zombies, you went inside the class hoping to find the others soon later.

Su-Hyeok realised soon enough, and he was frantic. He tried climbing up the pipe to get you, but in your place were a bunch of zombies. He wanted to leave, to find you, to save you and bring you back to safety, but nobody let him. He still had hope you were alive. You were strong, he knew that. Despite the growing feeling of despair each hour he wasn’t with you, he held onto that string of hope.

You, on the other hand, were fighting. Running from class to class, hitting zombies with anything and everything you could find. You took a break in the music room, trying to stock up on food and water. Opening your bag and looking at the flowers for a second, before gently placing the food inside to not ruin the flowers. “He’ll be okay. He’s with everyone else, and he’s going to be safe.” You thought.

Your break was interrupted by a lone zombie running to the music room. Dropping your bag, you pushed a piano onto it before grabbing a bottle of water and running. You ran to the roof. Luckily, the door was unlocked and you could find refuge there.

You saw helicopters near the school before, you knew more would come soon after, so you waited.

Meanwhile, Su-Hyeok was with everyone else. They had used a drone to locate Cheongsan, but couldn’t find a trace of you. They had made their way to the music room and sat there for a while before exploring the music room for useful things. They couldn’t open the supply room door, but they saw a zombie stuck under a piano.

“Hey, What’s this?” Dae-Su said as he picked up a dark blue bag. Su-hyeok didn’t pay attention. He was caught up in his thoughts. “Is she okay? It’s almost been two days.” He thought. Dae-Su opened the bag and said “Hey! There’s food here!” Which caught Su-Hyeok’s attention. They group had been starving for hours. They all scrambled to Dae-Su to take some food. Su-Hyeok went last, but just as he was about to pick up a Soda can he saw a familiar bouquet of flowers. Wilting baby pink flowers were placed beside the food, just barely out of sight. He grabbed the bag and looked around it, finding a name tag with your name on it.

He froze. He couldn’t think of anything, nothing registered in his mind. Your bag was in the music room, bloody. You were in the music room. You left your bag here, with food and water. By choice? No. Something must have happened. The small string of hope he was holding onto was gone.

Everybody came around to gather, and they all saw your bag. Though they tried to comfort Su-Hyeok, they were all thinking the same thing. You were bitten.

After that, nothing mattered. su-hyeok felt dissociated. He was fighting, but for what?

They made a plan to go to the roof, so that the helicopters notice and save them. So they did. They fought and fought until they made it to the roof, and started banging on the doors to get in.

You were skeptical at first, but you heard Cheongsans voice. You ran to the door and pulled it open.

Everyone fled inside and closed the door behind them, and then you saw him.

He spotted you and his eyes widened in relief. He ran to you and pulled you into the tightest hug, never wanting to let you go. “I thought you were dead” said su-hyeok, holding back tears.

You didn’t say anything, you just held him closer. Sure, you would have to keep fighting, and it won’t be easy, but you were together. All of it was okay if you were together, and he wasn’t going to let you go ever again.

[hades-in-bloom]

Al Dente

Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

summary: he might be of Italian descent, but he still can’t nail cooking pasta.

warnings & contents: assumed older Leon, but could be of any period; assumed age gap, but could be none; reader could be of any gender; fluff with attitude and smth that could be considered a prelude with grabbing and kisses; mentions of drinking; no pasta recipes, really, just stupid banter; a little bit of manhandling

a/n: am not Italian, so please let me know if I’ve committed any blasphemy. Also, this is one silly piece of writing because I’m de-stressing and can’t write anything serious, but am also obsessed with Leon tapping into his Italian descent. As always, proceed with caution and at your own risk. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo

***

‘Oh, I swear…’ Leon mumbled, taking a look into the deep cylindrical pot that was cooking on the stove; the water boiling merrily. Kennedy sighed; he got distracted for a few minutes while taking a call from D.S.O.—which seemed enough for a batch of pasta to turn into goo.

Again.

Leon huffed out a bad word, lifted the pot from the heat, and dropped it straight into the sink without any attempt to retrieve its doughy contents. The man cracked open another beer bottle and took a sip, visibly consumed with heavy thoughts; the number of beers had perfectly correlated with the number of unsuccessfully cooked batches of pasta. Although Leon has never encouraged food waste, this time the big and scary D.S.O. agent refused to give up, steadily losing his sobriety with each try.

You watched him suffer for quite a while, half through the bottle of wine yourself—because grabbing popcorn would be too obvious and undoubtedly rude, although the show was getting more entertaining by the minute; Leon’s frustration was evident.

‘How’s it going?’ you hummed from behind his back. You did your best to hide your smirk.

Leon groaned. He knew you were having a laugh; who wouldn't in that situation, anyway.

‘I’d rather shoot a horde of zombies,’ Kennedy mumbled. He took another sip of his beer and hummed, assessing the situation. ‘Also, I'm running out of pasta.’

You were convinced he deserved the roast; however, his genuinely concerned facial expression made you chuckle.

‘Should we take a break?’ you tilted your head slightly, watching his reaction.

‘We?’ Leon raised his eyebrow, giving you a side-eye. ‘I am getting tortured. What exactly are you doing?’

You thought about it briefly; took a sip from your wine glass.

‘I guess I should be qualified as moral support?’ you assumed.

Leon scoffed, then couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He turned around, facing you; his eyes trained on your features then.

‘I bet you don’t know how to cook a proper al dente either.’

‘You bet?’ wine was your liquid courage, so you might have been too venturesome at that moment. Neither of you complained, though. The man of the hour was intrigued. ‘What if I were to cook you the nicest al dente pasta you’ve ever eaten, Kennedy?’

Scott snorted in a friendly manner and folded his arms over his chest.

‘Ever eaten is a bold claim, sweetheart,’ he teased, his smile growing wider. ‘My family were immigrants from Italy, you know that, right?’

You shrugged his comment off light-heartedly.

‘If I lose, I lose, right? And you could claim your prize,’ you smirked. Oh, you had no doubts he was interested.

His gaze bore into yours for a second; then his features relaxed, although you still could see his shoulders tense—you let it slip.

‘Alright, go forth and forward,’ he smirked; his stare spoke volumes. ‘I will start thinking of what you owe me in return when you screw it up.’

You quickly cleaned up the kitchen countertop, allowing clean water to boil one more in the cooking pot while you measured two portions of store-bought pasta.

Leon watched your actions over your shoulder before you felt his large palms on your hips.

‘Nicely done,’ he murmured from under your earlobe.

You knew he wouldn't be able to play fair; he wasn't big on losing, whether major or minor—and you cooking pasta al dente better than him, taking into account his heritage, was a below-the-belt insult to him. Thus, he didn't mind deploying desperate measures.

‘That’s cheating, Kennedy,’ you muttered, putting the batch of pasta into the pot.

‘I don't remember me touching you being against whatever rules,’ he hummed, placing his lips on your neck. Your heartbeat fastened. ‘Fairly, I don't remember us discussing any rules.’

‘You’ll regret it when I win,’ you claimed. Leon glanced into your pot once again. ‘A couple of minutes more…’ You hummed.

‘How do you know the perfect timing?’ he moaned into your ear. You smirked.

‘Who knows, maybe it would be awful…’ you teased, and he shook his head.

‘No, it won’t,’ Leon concluded quickly and, by lifting you up, grabbed you onto his shoulder. You squealed, losing the ground from under your feet, and clung onto his t-shirt from the back in an attempt to keep your balance.

‘Oh, you fiend!’ you watched him turn off the stove before dragging you into the bedroom. ‘That was our dinner!’

‘I think you're right—we should take a break; maybe, we could order pizza…’ he hummed. You groaned in response, helplessly hanging from his height, his hand holding you tight right under your asscheeks.

Leon let you slide from his shoulder onto the mattress in the bedroom, hovering over you in the next second. His lips barely touched yours when he smirked and watched you blush then.

‘…after I finish with the appetizer.’