#apocalypse prompt

[writing-to-survive]

#194

"We'll need to head south. Come on."

"Wrong direction, dumbass! South is that way."

[umprompted]

#176

The apocalypse may be imminent, but you have to 100% clear this game.

[mischievous-thunder]

Wade's life's so damn colourful

[runariya]

Part 2 of this | shout out to @slut4jeon who made this happen part of the prompt game pairing: metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, S2L warnings: survival after nuclear fallout, foul language, basically just smut, jealous JK, oral (f. receiving), a bit of handjob, boobplay, fingering, squirting, a bit of eating out and finger sucking, unprotected seggs, a bit of cock warming, spanking, body worshipping, they are just whipped for each other, rough possessive seggs, JK's a bit whiney, cum shot, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 1.336

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Living in the Metro is, to say the least, completely unexpected. It’s like stepping into an alternate universe compared to the outside world. Not that it’s entirely safe here, with certain stations better avoided, especially when you’re on your own, but it’s still so much safer than anything you could have ever wished for.

What’s also otherworldly is living with Jungkook. It’s not only a luxury but like living in a constant dream. You’d never have believed you’d find someone like him, not even when the world was green, and the skies were blue before everything fell apart. But here you are, living the dream because Jungkook is the best partner you could ever hope for.

There isn’t a single day that passes where he isn’t more than willing and eager to please you to the best of his abilities—abilities that are beyond heaven. If you’re sad? He fucks you. If you’re happy? He fucks you too. And if you’re angry with him for reasons you can’t even recall? He’s usually the one responsible for making you forget in the first place.

You’d never complain, though, and never would you deny him or the multitude of orgasms he grants you day in and day out.

Like right now. He saw a seller at Riga Station, the trading hub of the Metro, being a bit too friendly with you. The man even gave you a rare flower, despite everyone knowing you belong to Jungkook. Hoseok just wanted to wind him up, and you suspect he did it on purpose.

“Sit down,” Jungkook orders, pacing the small room while his jaw ticks dangerously. You obey, clutching the flower tightly, not at all scared but rather anticipating the ‘punishment’ you know is coming.

“So now you’re collecting gifts from every man in—”

“I’m not collecting anything, Kook, he gave it to me volunta—”

“Voluntarily?! You didn’t just say that.”

You nod, biting your lip to suppress a smile as you watch Jungkook spiral further into frustration.

“Are you still looking for someone better? Is that it?”

“You never give me flowers,” you pout dramatically, and when Jungkook gestures with both hands to the wall overflowing with flowers and other gifts, you almost feel guilty enough to stop the game and tell him how good he is to you.

Almost.

But you don’t, because his next words are exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

“Maybe I need to remind my girlfriend who’s worthy of her.”

And as Jungkook strides towards you, ripping his army shirt off, you toss the flower aside you don’t care about. In seconds, he’s on you, crushing his lips against yours, his lip piercings digging into your lower lip as his hands grip every inch of your body.

You’re both naked in the blink of an eye, Jungkook alternating between sucking and licking your nipples while you jerk his perfect, hard cock. The sight of him worshipping your body like this never gets old, and his touch is never the same twice.

“I’m going to make sure I’m the only one on your mind.”

Jungkook’s fingers glide down to your cunt, pushing two fingers inside once you’re wet enough. The way his thick fingers stretch you sends stars exploding behind your eyelids, and the pace he sets, combined with his mouth and free hand still working on your tits, is utterly intoxicating. 

It’s insane how he can fuck you so perfectly with just his fingers, knowing exactly where to touch you. When he adds a third finger, thrusting as deep as he can, you know he’s not messing around this time. The burn from the stretch only intensifies when he rasps into your ear, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

“Kook!” you cry as he presses particularly hard. You didn’t know he could be this possessive, but God, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a man.

“Scream my name, love! Let everyone in this forsaken hellhole know who owns you.”

“Jungkook!” you moan as his fingers thrust relentlessly into you, his wrist occasionally grazing your clit, sending you even higher.

“Fuck yeah. My goddess.”

Your tits and neck are littered with hickeys at this point, and you’ve forgotten all about his cock in your slackened grip, but he doesn’t care. He never cares—his sole focus is your pleasure.

It’s when Jungkook leans back, looking down at you with his lips swollen and shining, that it all undoes you. Your orgasm crashes through you, fast and hard, and even though he’s made you squirt before, it never fails to shock and slightly embarrass you.

But Jungkook doesn’t let you dwell on that. He pulls his fingers out, licks them clean, and then dives straight between your legs, licking up every drop like always.

You’re spent, completely worn out, but you know it’s far from over. His cock is standing proudly, angrily red and ready for its well-deserved attention.

You’d like to give him head, but you know you wouldn’t survive it after what he just did to you. Jungkook, knowing you too well, simply lines himself up and pushes inside without breaking eye contact.

Every inch of him makes your head spin, especially when he bottoms out completely, filling you in a way that makes you never want to be without him.

You’re confused for a moment when he doesn’t move, and then you catch his lazy, wicked smirk. His hands run up and down your thighs before hooking them under your knees and pushing you further into him, making you moan involuntarily.

“You’re going to accept gifts from other men?”

You hesitate. Should you tease him further or stop while you’re ahead?

“Yes?” you test, but it’s clearly the wrong answer.

Jungkook’s hand smacks your ass, making you yelp, moan, and clench around him, only causing that smirk to grow.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“I said yes.”

Another smack, another moan.

“You think this is funny?”

There’s something about a jealous Jungkook that hits differently, and despite knowing not to push him too far, you also know what’s coming is exactly what you both crave in this doomed world.

“Yes.”

Again, his hand strikes your ass, and this time you can’t hold back, your cunt squeezing so violently around him, coating his abs and thighs with a new wave of arousal. 

“How about I fuck that ‘yes’ out of you, huh?”

There’s no time to answer before Jungkook slams into you without mercy, stealing any possible words from your lips.

“Where’s your big mouth now?”

It’s gone, completely useless. You can only pant in time with his brutal thrusts, his fingers digging deeper into your legs as he forces you even closer, higher, as you cling to his wrists, tears forming from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Scream my name, ____.”

He thrusts harder, but your voice is stolen, only broken cries escaping your lips.

“Scream!” Another slap across your by now red ass, the only thing holding you together is his massive cock.

“Jungkook!” you finally cry out, so loud you swear it echoes not only through you both but through the entire Metro as well. 

“Again.” Smack.

“Jungkook! Yes!”

“That’s right.”

And with that, you’re gone, chanting his name with every thrust, every drop of sweat that falls from him onto your body. Your next orgasm washes over you without mercy.

You know he’s close, too, when he abruptly pulls out like he always does and starts jerking himself off. 

With his eyes locked on you, he comes with a desperate whine, spilling white all over your body like a masterpiece.

He’s beautiful, your gorgeous, perfect boyfriend.

Jungkook collapses onto you, and your fingers instinctively find their way into his hair while he catches his breath.

“You know there’s only you, right?”

He grumbles in response.

“I love you, Kook. Don’t think otherwise.”

“I love you too,” he grumbles again, voice still muffled, but you don’t mind. It just makes him even more endearing.

“Good, because you’re not getting rid of me.”

[questions-about-blorbos]

This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[princessbrunette]

can’t stop thinking about all the little ways apocalypse!johnb displays casual dominance.

it’s the little things, like the hand he always seems to have on the back of your neck. it’s gentle most times, standing around the camp together with the warm caress of his palm cupping the tepid skin there, rubbing a thumb along the bottom of your scalp whilst he listens to pope talk about the control tower updates. you like it, it makes you feel held without making a big scene of things. love and pda was a touchy subject now that so many people had lost someone, or were just suffering from loneliness so you didn’t wanna rub it in everyone’s faces that you’d found eachother. the gentle touch keeps you near to him, the way he likes it.

john b just does things for you to help get you ready and speed the day along. something you notice, is the way he’ll lay out an outfit for you on a cold winter morning as you stand there in pyjamas all puffy and half awake, watching in silence as you adapt to being conscious. you’re sure it’s roughly 6AM — but he’s moving around quickly throwing your things together so he can take you out into the woods within the fences and reach you how to shoot. you can tell the visage of sarah’s passing still haunts him, which is why he gets these random trauma fuelled bouts of sudden desperation to teach you to protect yourself, just incase. you pout grumpily because when it was john b who was dressing you, he would never let you dress cute during the literal end of the world. you’d mutter out something about it ‘stifling your creativity’ which he’d ignore as he starts to pull your pyjamas off to help you change. he’d pile warm layers on warm layers that would keep you comfortable in the morning chill which was honestly sweet — given that he was dressing you like a little teddy bear in those fuzzy sweaters, thick jeans and boots that you’d replaced the laces with ribbons. you didn’t really mind, not at all.

aside from this, he doesn’t let you come anywhere that he deems too dangerous — meaning it was rare you ever got to leave the gates to kitty hawk — no matter how often you whined about it. “look, okay — the answer is no. you’re not coming. no way.” he was hard on you because he cares, and felt it was his duty to keep you safe.

when he eventually lets you out with him he’s practically got you on a leash, gripping you by the shoulders and lecturing you if you take a step too far. he mellows out if it really does feel safe, only pulling you back towards him to bring his water bottle to your mouth, mopping you up when some dribbles out. “need to stay hydrated, okay — can’t afford to have you passing out.”

when you stop listening or go into your occasional daydream, john b isn’t afraid to check you. especially if it was important. you’d zoned out while jj stands before the entire camp, briefing all the campers you’d collected on some new weapons that had arrived from a successful supply hunt. he was the weapons master after all, so he really knew his stuff. you knew john b was stood at your side with that same tense look, brow creased and arms folded — but when you begin staring off at the treeline his attention turns to you, unfolding his arms to lightly grip your chin to point it back to the front. “listen up. this is no joke.” he’d warn.

overall, he’s mega patient with you. as you might imagine, you’re always thrilled to see him when he comes home from a long supply hunt or anywhere really that he had to travel to, which sometimes can take up to a week. john b, being the guy he is always has some kind of news to tell the group — so usually he barrels back through the doors immediately talking at everyone with this new information. this of course doesn’t stop you from running to his side and throwing your arms around him. the routledge boys flow state remains unbroken, continuing to ramble at the group as his hand rubs your lower back, letting you cuddle into his side. you knew he’d give you his full attention later on, laying with you quietly talking on the hammocks outside your shared cabin — but for now you didn’t mind. sometimes the casual nonchalance turned you on.

his dominance can shine through in real gentle ways sometimes — your boyfriend squatting down infront of you when you’re sat on the floor of your shared little cabin, cleaning his weapons for him wearing your dirty little white nightgown that you’d scouted on one of your few supply runs. his knees click when they bend and he’s a little tired looking but he smiles big anyway when he brings his backpack to his front, rifling through it until he pulls out a new girly trinket he’d found for you on a trip. you’re unsure as to whether or not he’s talking so gently because he’s exhausted — or because he’s just so sweet on you but he holds your gift up and barely raises his volume to say “hey, got you something. do you like it sweetheart? found it just for you ‘cause you’d been so good this week bubba.”

he often comforts you when you get upset over him returning home with a dead rabbit slung over his shoulders. “okay, oh god — you were not meant to see that.” he deadpans when you catch him in the act — but soon he’s got you scooped up on his lap (with the rabbit cooking outside over a fire) as he rocks you back and forth. “look, we have to eat sweetheart. i swear i didn’t wanna kill that bunny but we don’t have much choice right now. you can close your eyes the whole time. i’m gonna feed it to you. okay?”

of course, some dominance is just far from casual — like when he’d return from a pharmacy run during the week with his pockets stuffed with condoms so he can put your legs over his shoulders and stuff your aching cunt. “i know baby, i know it’s— it’s definitely been a while. haven’t been able to find protection i can trust literally anywhere but i’ve got heaps now, so i can fuck that sweet little pussy the way you want. i know you missed it sweet girl, i know.”

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 1 : "Dan you Stupid Fu—"

Dan Phantom/Bruce Wayne, from this prompt of mine: Dad!Dan so Uh here's chapter 1:

[𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚖 𝙲𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛]

Dante was with Ellie and Danny, Both had been de-aged because of the GIW and the Fentons, Vlad was still recovering after risking his life to get Danny and Ellie out of the Facility. Dante is now Required to Step Up as the Co-CEO of Dalv. Co. "Has Doing business always been this stressful? I have twins to take care of Sam—" he says in the phone in a tired father tone. "Suck it up, it's a good thing Clockwork is actually helping you and I'm helping you through the Galas and the Schedules you have. Just imagine How Vlad does it." Sam rolled her eyes and laughed. "Have Hope Dante. You can do it. I BELIEVE IN YOUUU!" Tucker yells through the call.

Clockwork looks at Dante and smiles, he was acting as Dante's assistant, although dante is good at the organizing and handling everything. He's not very good with kids. It's a good thing that jazz is there to babysit actually when she can— it's just that she Goes to Work to Arkham and the kids likes to eat the ectoplasm corruption stuff that surrounds her whenever she comes home ... When she <em>Does</em> come home which is rare but welcome. "How's Vlad resting?" Dante asks Clockwork and Clockwork just hums as he handles all the extra paperwork with ease and in a fast pace.

"Frostbite has informed me and I know myself that he'll wake up in approximately... 2 weeks. Do not worry Dante about your children, the Observants are very fond of them when dear little Jasmine is not around and tend to care for them and educate them with humane books. If they didn't I would have banished them back to the Infinite realms." Clockwork chuckled and hums in amusement. "First I become a Ghost King for Danny, Second I become the Co-CEO of Dalv. Co. Three I become a Dad to Twins. Fourth, My Technically Dad Vlad Masters is in a comatose state, and fifth the GIW AND FENTONS still want me and the kids dead." Dante groans. "Sixth, you have to socialize and attend Galas for your Technically Dad Vlad Masters" Sam Adds and he hears Tucker just laughing on the other side of the phone.

Dante let his head fall on the Table as Clockwork chuckled and Took his paperwork and helped him handle them. "Thank you Mentor..." He groans tiredly. "Remember Little King, We still have a gala to attend for Tonight and as Always Jasmine has said she will attend with you to help you escape when possible and if you want to leave smoothly and you need not worry as Sam Manson and Tucker Foley have their day offs today and are willing to babysit the two Little Demonic Chaos Spawns that is the Prince and Princess." Clockwork reassures Dante and pats his head softly.

Dante groans and just Clockwork raises his head and puts a pillow under him, He just goes to take a nap at his desk which he really deserves as he's already very tired from everything. How could this all start because of Danny trusting his Mother and Father?.. Disgusting people. Nocturn who also decided to temporarily work for them and in a human disguise decided to help Around in Dalv. Co. Especially with Finance and now he's official the CFO of the company which has been a great help.

How did Vlad handle all this again? Surely he slept, surely he wasn't always handling everything by himself. If he was then now Dante respects the Man for Handling all of it himself and not letting exhaustion take over his whole soul and Body functions.... Dante soon fell asleep on his desk and Nocturn came over to help suck out the nightmares he occasionally experiences and suffers through, "Clockwork do you think he'll get through two more weeks or are you planning something?" Nocturn asks with an amused smile.

Clockwork smiles back cheekily, "I always have a plan for something." Both Motherfuckers Laughs and Sam and Tucker on the phone still are just dead silent as Sam shakes her head in disbelief and Tucker holding back a smile. "Make it Gay." He mutters on the phone Jokingly, "Well Maybe I should!" Clockwork laughs and Nocturn holding back his own laugh as he can imagine Tucker just dumbfounded as they heard a smack on the other line, presumably Sam smacking Tucker for doing and saying something absolutely stupid Infront of these 2 men who they still label as "Potential Threat" in Danny's Book of Rouges along with some others. "We'll be there at 9 before the Gala." Sam reassured the other Ghosts before hanging up.

[𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙶𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚖 𝙲𝚒𝚝𝚢]

"Remember what we discussed?" Jazz asks as she fixes Dante's tie. "Yes, no growling, no hissing, no biting, no excessive flirting, no cursing the living daylights out of people, no letting my emotions get to me and No mentioning of Vlad being sick and just tell the others that do ask that he's on vacation in the Himalayas." Dante lists from the top of his head. "And Don't interact with the Wayne's because?" Jazz adds on, "Because they're Nosy. Got it." Dante just looks determined to get through the night. "Tonight I am your sister because I always was and will be your sister. And Tonight clockwork is merely your butler. And Tonight we will ALSO make sure that you don't get swept away by some hot guy in a suit because you're a simp for people that are both muscular and have a thin waist." She strikes a warning glare at him.

"Yep yep." Dante nods as she pats his chest when she finished fixing his tie. "And if you see a handsome Badboy guy DO NOT, and I shall say again DO NOT introduce them to me because I will fall for them on the spot. Noted?" Jazz says also trying to be single for as long as Possible and Dante laughs whilst nodding which made Jazz smile as she had successfully comforted and made her brother smile once again. Clockwork was smiling pleasantly as he watches the two siblings in the backseat. "We're arriving soon <em>Madame Masters & Sir Masters</em>" Clockwork says with a teasing tone as both tenses up on the spot and fixed their clothing and straightened their backs.

The two out on their poker faces and Dante made sure his pure white long hair was neat and calm unlike it's usual messy and Flame-like appearance, Jazz made sure she looked presentable as to make connections with being a doctor of Arkham Asylum. "We're ready." She smiles gently and lowere her eyelids, to look almost as if she's judging or mesmerized by the sight of anyone or even possibly bored, either way her expressions screams "mysterious lady" which made Dante snort. "You look like you're about to fall asleep—" Dante was holding back his laughter and Jazz pinches his side, "ow—" he yelped as he too straightened his expression to look more charismatic and sociable. Also for the sake of connections.

Clockwork parked Infront of the venue and Opened the door for them as they walked side by side with her arm gently and subtly wrapped around his, it's become almost common fact and Implied that Dante Jamie Masters("37" yrs old) was albino because of his Pale Skin, Pure White hair and Red Eyes that is littered with his long white lashes whilst Jasmine Aqua Masters(21 yrs old) Took after her mother's features. Oh to be Rich and Successful, Both These two hated the attention directed to them as Both of them Stood Out with Ease, Jasmine having a Firey Like colored hair and Dante's supposed Albinism made the pair of siblings stand out more than they'd like be.

"Remember the List Dante." She mutters and Dante nods with a soft gentle smile he always saw Vlad use when socializing with people of high society. Hours Passed within the Gala and Jazz was Slightly and mentally panicking as she could not spot where Dante's outstanding white hair could be but she continued to chatter around with the ladies with ease, the ladies being pleased by her manners and "mysterious elegance" she mentally rolled her eyes at that. All that She's doing today is for her remaining family. Dante, Ellie, Vlad and especially her Precious Baby Brother Danny. She keeps a mental note on why she is doing this at all times. But she finds it pleasant to talk with the ladies about girls stuff such as Makeup and Fashion and especially Art. But occasionally they would ask About her job at Arkham Asylum, she would tell them her achievements.

How she has backhanded knocked out Joker who had tried to escape and saw her as his first target and out of instinct she slapped him with the back of her hand and he dropped on the spot that was always Amusing. Or how she was the one to release and Help Harley become a 'better person' esque. Somehow Jazz thanks her childhood being a messy fighting ring 90% of the time as because of that she can effectively pull out a weapon faster than her targeters or The rouges of Arkham Asylum could.

Wait.

She's getting distracted.

Where the Fuck is Dante.

[𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝙾𝚅, 𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚕𝚊 𝚅𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚎]

Dante thinks he must've drank too many wine glasses, although he kept his composure he found himself chatting with a man who jazz told him not to converse with but here he is. Now... Both of them were making out in the halls where no other people visits, Dante carried them up pinning them to the wall.

Them being Bruce Wayne, he's especially light for Dante's Inhuman Strength. "My— Wow— you're actually very strong just like your size—" Bruce says unexpectedly, both Men drunk.

Was Bruce Wayne always this hot? Jesus Christ. Ancients help him, he's losing sanity and making out with Bruce Wayne in the Gala where Jazz, his sister had told him not to MAKE OUT WITH ANYONE INSIDE. Well you know what. Fuck it. "You're light for someone your size." Dante says softly leaning to Kiss the Back of Bruce's Palm and licking his fingers. "If we want to continue this we could atleast get out of here don't you think?" Bruce pulled Dante's tie and Dante just growls under his breathe taking Bruce Aback. Dante smirked and Took Bruce Away and out of the gala through the backdoors.

Sorry Jazz, I'm gonna do something Naughty tonight. Dan thought to himself as he chuckled and called an Uber To take them to the nearest fkn 5 star Hotel. Bruce was amused and they waited until they got to their hotel room before Continuing what they were doing.

[𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝙹𝚊𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎]

"Clockwork did you plan this?" Jasmine glared at Clockwork who was driving her home after 4 hours of her trying to look for Dante only to find out he's left with Bruce Wayne.. BRUCE WAYNE OF ALL PEOPLE!! THE PEOPLE SHE WARNED HIM NOT TO FUCK, FLIRT OR INTERACT WITH! "I'm getting a migraine..." She stated massaging the bridge of her nose and sides of her forehead as clockwork merely chuckled.

She knew it. Clockwork knew this would happen. Oh Clockwork you— Jazz just groans and upset. "How long will he be gone at the very least?" Jazz asks calmly and tiredly. "Tomorrow by 6 PM." Clockwork smiles cheekily which in turn made jazz groan louder but tried to calm herself and keep herself composed. Alright Jazz just Calm down. You can do this. You can not Not Slap Dante's Head later for his stupidity, he's your brother you can do it later, just calm, you can handle this, you can smack the shit out of him later anyways. Jazz took a deep breathe and smiles, "I shall Beat the shit out of him later!" She smiles excitedly which made Clockwork look at her visibly Bemused.

As they reached the Manor, Danny and Ellie were waiting for Jasmine and Their Dad But got upset when it was only Jasmine who came home, the twins thinking Dante is too busy to come home again. "Oh no little Danny and Ellie(Both 8 years old)! Your Daddy is not at work! He's just preparing a surprise for the both of you tommorow okay?" She smiles gently reassuring them and they're brightened up again. "Okay!" They jumped and said in unison, Jazz swears if they had tails it'd be wagging and it made Jazz's Heart have a cuteness overload.

"My Exact reaction when they started calling me Auntie Sam-sam and Tucker as Uncle Tuckie." Sam Manson (19 yrs old) Chuckled and Tucker Foley(19 yrs old) groggily following behind her, "they're quite tiring but it's worth it" Tucker Yawns and Sam laughed at him before kissing Danny and Ellie's Forehead. "I'll be heading home now, my Little Aria(Pet Pigeon) must be waiting for me" she coos as she walked off waving goodbye to the kiddos who were waving goodbye back. "Me too Jazz! I miss my couch and my Tools." Tucker laughed and followed Sam to His Car, Both going to the same college just different majors, the two drove off back to the city and Jasmine cooing over the twins who giggled happily in her arms.

"Don't worry Okay Ellie and Danny? Your Daddy will come home by 7 PM tommorow! I promise!' She reassures them! "What Surprise Will Daddy give?" Danny asks Expectedly with a very cute high tone and Jazz swears her heart is about to explode. "It won't be a surprise if you two know now doesn't it?" She chuckled and the twins looked at each other expectantly and nodded in agreement, the twins held Hands throughout the day not letting go of each other and truly attached by the hip.

The two chattered about their day with Their Uncle and Auntie as Jazz listened through still in her fancy Dress, she tucked the two to bed before she went to her bedroom to finally change.

She is so going to Beat up Dante once he calls her.

[𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙳𝚊𝚢, 12:58 𝙿𝙼]

Dante flutters his eyes open to the hot sun peeking through the window curtains.. Dante groans but stopped still when he felt movement beside him, he faces his head to the side and sees. BRUCE WAYNE??? on his Arm sleeping. Resting. Messy Looking and Probably still naked. Dante combs his hand through his hair as he stared at what he calls "Majestic Man" that is Bruce Wayne. "Fuck... What did I do last night." He Groans and slowly but gently sat up as to not disturb The Sleeping Bruce Wayne. He stood up from the bed as he processed what the fuck he did to get to this moment and went to the Hotel Room's Kitchen. And started cooking something up just to relieve his stress.

Soon Later about an hour, Bruce woke up. He groaned.. his back was sore. He looked around the bed and slowly sat up thinking the person he Fuck must've left him— but nope. "Oh good morning." The Albino(?) possibly Meta-Human Man was staring at him fully clothed ,looked like he didn't look tired at all and had prepared food for him. 'is this what aftercare is?' Bruce asked to himself mentally as This Man Puts the Bed Foldable Table Infront of Bruce and Literally served him, home cooked Breakfast in bed.

Did he accidentally get married whilst drunk?? Bruce was bemused, cautious but also felt fucking stupid but he's calculating everything he needs to say from now but he totally didn't have a contingency plan for this occurrence. "Sorry for going too rough on you last night, Kinda lost my Temper and Control—" The Suspected Albino Meta-Human, Dante Jamie Masters as Bruce Recalls was Apologizing as he scratched his nape. "It's quite alright, Thank you for serving me a meal so early in the morning—" Bruce tried to play it cool and smiled but damn. His body felt numb. How long did they go for?

"I can help you get out if you wish! And dress even!" Dante smiles at him softly and even kissing the back of Bruce's Palm. Bruce is totally unprepared for any of this happening as he did not expect to get princess treatment by a possible One- night stand. Goddamn. He hopes none of his kids find out. This would be the most Embarrassing story that his kids will poke fun of him about if they ever found out what this man did and He hopes that Dante also doesn't tell anyone.

Meanwhilst Dante was already totally smitten with the man and Jazz told Him that he should be polite and Kind to those he wants to court and Somehow... Dante has a feeling that he should take some toys home for his kids... And oh god Jazz is going to kill him.

Oh god, the Ghostly Courting Methods Shall start today. WHOOOO!!!

[unboundprompts]

hello! stumbled across your tumblr recently and love it, so resourceful! I wanted to know if you had any prompts or a list of ideas for things to occur/prevent someone going to their destination in a dystopian/post-apocalyptic world?

Problems That May Occur in a Dystopian/Post-Apocalyptic World

The fresh water supply is running low and your character needs to find a resource to replenish it.

A family member or loved one has fallen ill and your character needs to care for them/find the medicine they need.

The map your character has been following was ruined by the rain.

An animal/monster/rival group is attacking your character's home!

Someone important to your character has gone missing.

The wall around your character's base has fallen. It needs to be rebuilt before *it* gets in.

A storm is passing through and the conditions are too rough for your character to continue traveling. They need to find shelter before it gets any worse.

A dead animal has been found in the middle of your character's base.

Something is causing the food supply to rot.

A group of thieves has robbed your character while traveling.

Some kind of creature has been stalking your character during their travels. I hope it's friendly.

One of the wheels on your character's mode of transportation has broken/gone flat.

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[writing-to-survive]

#201

"There's a hoard coming from the west. We have to get going."

"I can't walk. You've gotta go."

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #286

"You can't be nice out here, Hero. No saving people or fighting your adversaries head-on, basically no heroing whatsoever."

"I wasn't--"

"You were! You did! You saved that guy's life, and how did he repay you? He mugged us! You're still stuck in the old world where everything works out and everyone loves you.”

Hero hesitated. “Not everyone can be bad now…”

“Don’t think of it as bad as much as selfish and desperate. And I’m a pro in that department. So from now on, we play it my way. No helping. No trusting. No healing. Got it?”

“What about you?”

“Probably not such a good idea to trust me either.”

Hero limped after them up the dusty sidewalk. The city felt hollowed out without the old hustle and bustle that once inhabited its many streets and buildings. Now Hero’s steps echoed each time they hit the concrete.

“I’m going to trust you anyway.”

[mischievous-thunder]

Wade vs the Peanut Gang

[bilosan]

buddie + zombie apocalypse au

(9-1-1 // gif prompts)

[runariya]

🥸🤫☠️ : JK

He wants something 🤫 as down payment before he lets u inside safe haven (a place where survivors go to seek refuge)

(yandere+smut+apocalypse) part of the prompt game pairing: metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, S2L, yandere-ish? warnings: survival after nuclear fallout, dark creatures, denied prostitution for safety, Jungkook is whipped from the start so that should suffice for yandere, foul language, smut, oral (f. receiving), squirting, JK comes in his pants, fluff, lmk if I forgot smth (still hate writing warnings) word count: 3.239 (upsiiii)

a/n: I couldn't rly make JK more yandere without it feeling a bit too dub-con, so I hope that's alright 💕 also it's heavily inspired by the trilogy '2033' by Dmitri Gluchowski (and to my Russian readers: Московское метро выглядит так круто на фотографиях в интернете, надеюсь, однажды смогу его посетить☺️)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’ve been wandering for what feels like years, though it could be months, or perhaps just weeks; time’s an abstract notion now, in this world broken to pieces and baked under a nuclear sun. 

With each step you take, the weight of exhaustion and your protective suit presses harder against your bones, but you don’t let it stop you. The world may be a dying beast, choking on its own ash and poison, but you still walk through it, a lone ember that refuses to snuff itself out. The remnants of cities whisper ghost stories to you as you pass, their bones twisted metal and crumbling concrete, charred earth for flesh. The wind sometimes hisses through the ruins, carrying tales of survivors—others like you, fighting, scavenging, enduring—and sometimes it’s silent, as if even the air is holding its breath for fear of what’s out there in the deep silence of the aftermath.

The black creatures—those twisted silhouettes of the apocalypse—roam the earth like shadows unbound from their hosts, moving through the poisoned fog with an unnatural grace that chills your very marrow. They are things of nightmares, remnants of the old world, perhaps, mutated beyond recognition by the fallout or born anew from the hatred that festers in the radioactive soil. 

Their eyes, if they have any, are voids, consuming light and hope in equal measure, and their movements are barely perceptible until it’s too late, until they are upon you, whispering your end in a language only the dead would understand. They hunt relentlessly, not for sustenance, not for survival, but as if driven by some primal force deeper than instinct, a desire not just to kill but to erase, to wipe away the last remnants of humanity like dust from the pages of a forgotten book. 

And you—battered, exhausted, teetering on the edge of oblivion—cannot rest, not here, not ever, because even in your sleep they find you, crawling into your dreams with their inky tendrils, reminding you that peace is a luxury no longer afforded to the living outside of shelter.

Your gas mask, an old friend now, covers your face like a second skin at this point, the filters clogged and heavy with days of dust, radiation, and fumes. You’ve noticed the way it pulls in air with more effort now, as if it’s trying to remember how to breathe. 

You check the filter again. It’s nearly gone, the little red marker ticking closer to empty with every breath you take. You’ll have to find something new soon or you’ll suffocate on the very air that should sustain you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to find shelter. In those early days, the optimism hadn’t yet drained from your veins and the desperation to belong somewhere, anywhere, had clouded your better judgment. 

There had been men—those ones with teeth like wolves, eyes like death, always leering, always demanding. You’ve had to pull your knife more than once to remind them that your body isn’t for sale, that safety shouldn’t cost that much. That death, perhaps, is a kinder alternative to what they would have asked of you. 

You can still hear their laughter sometimes, echoing in your skull—mocking, cruel. You had fled from them, from their dark gazes and cruel hands, from the taste of fear that licked at your throat when their eyes lingered too long on your body. Better the damnation from outside than their promises of protection.

But today… today you find yourself at the mouth of the metro. The entrance yawns wide like a secret, and the shadow of it draws you in, as though it’s reaching out for you. Your steps falter, but only for a moment—just long enough to recognise the hesitation in your chest, the uncertainty gnawing still on your mind. The thought flickers briefly across your consciousness—what if the people down there are like those others? What if all you find is more violence, more degradation, more proof that humanity has shed its last skin and become nothing more than base instincts and brutality?

But the mask is running low, and you can feel that desperation is creeping back into your bones, burrowing deep. You tighten your grip on the strap of your pack, pushing the fear down, burying it beneath a layer of resolve. You’ve come this far; you won’t turn back now.

The entrance is quiet—eerily so, as you push the tall hermetic door open and step inside, closing it quickly after. You glance around, eyes scanning the wreckage for signs of life. There’s nothing at first, just the silent exhalation of wind and the low hum of the distant, underground world. Then, movement.

You hear him before you see him—a soft shuffling of boots against stone, the faint click of a weapon being cocked. You freeze, instinctively tightening your grip on your knife as he steps into view.

Tall. Taller than most of the men you’ve encountered in these forsaken times. Muscles sculpted from necessity, sinew and strength coiled beneath his clothes like a waiting beast. He’s staring at you through the mask, gun raised, the barrel pointing at your chest. For a second, neither of you move. Then his eyes flicker downward, just for a moment, taking you in, assessing, like all the others. You brace yourself for what’s to come.

But it doesn’t come.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice low, barely more than a growl. His weapon doesn’t waver, and his expression is hidden behind a mask, eyes glinting through the cracked visor.

You hesitate. There’s a moment where you think of running, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s only the metro behind him, and the world ahead, both full of uncertainties, both as equally capable of destroying you. You suck in a breath, let it fill your lungs like a final goodbye to the stale air in the mask, and then you reach up to peel it away from your face, your skin sticking to the rubber for a moment before it falls loose.

The air tastes strange on your lips—metallic, sharp, almost alien after all this time behind the mask. You lift your eyes to his, half-expecting some sort of reaction, maybe disgust, maybe lust. But instead… there’s something different there, something you hadn’t anticipated. His gaze softens, though his grip on the weapon remains steady. He stares at you as though you’re something out of place in this hellscape, something fragile, a curiosity more than a threat. His gun lowers, just slightly, but his eyes don’t leave your face, as he too rids himself of his mask. 

He’s younger than you thought. Ink spills across his skin—tattoos that ripple over his arm, dark lines twisting around muscles. You catch a glimpse of two piercings through his lip when he tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out, and then his lips curve, ever so slightly, not quite a smile but not quite hostility either.

“Shelter,” you say, your voice rough, the words like stones scraping against the back of your throat. You cough once, clearing the dust away. “I need shelter.”

He eyes you for a moment longer, his gaze wandering down your frame, but it’s not like before—not like the leering stares of the men who sought to take more than they were willing to give. This is different. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as though the mere fact that you’re still standing here, after all this, after the end of the world, is enough to stir absolute disbelief in him.

“Alright,” he says, after a pause that seems to stretch out longer than it should. “We’ll see.”

He gestures with his head, motioning for you to follow him into the metro. You hesitate for only a heartbeat before stepping forward. The air inside is cooler, the shadows deeper in the few flickering candle lights, and for a moment, you think you can almost breathe easier.

“Wait here,” he says, nodding towards a bench half-buried in dust. “There’s a process. Need to fill out a form.”

You blink. A form? The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—almost. But you’re too tired for laughter, too worn down by the world to even consider the possibility of joy. So, instead, you sit with an exhausted plop. You watch as he disappears for a moment, hear the soft scrape of papers being shuffled, and then he’s back, clipboard in hand, a pencil poised like a weapon in his grip.

He doesn’t sit down. Just stands there, towering over you, his presence impressive but not oppressive. You glance up at him, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel exposed—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that makes you feel seen for the first time in a long time. It’s unsettling.

He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the clipboard. “Name?”

You give it to him. He writes it down, slow and thoughtful.

“Age?”

Again, you’re honest, coughing right after. He writes again, his eyes lifting to your face between each question as if checking to see if you’re lying, or maybe just to remind himself that you’re real.

“Where did you come from?”

You answer, though the place you once called home feels distant, like something from a dream you can’t quite remember. His pen scratches the paper, and you almost lose yourself in the sound of it, that soft, repetitive scrape, the only noise in the otherwise still part of the metro.

“Any medical conditions? Injuries?”

You shake your head, your body numb to the aches and pains that have become part of you, the exhaustion that’s settled into your bones as permanent as the sorrow for the destroyed outside world.

He writes.

The questions continue. And all the while, his eyes keep returning to you, scanning your face as if he’s trying to commit every line, every shadow, to memory. You can feel his gaze lingering on your skin, not in a way that makes you want to shrink or hide, but in a way that makes you want to ask why he’s looking at you like that, why his lips keep twitching into something that almost resembles a smile, sometimes a pout. 

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes writing, his pen stilling against the paper. You think he’s done, that maybe this bizarre interaction will end and you’ll be allowed to rest, to sleep, to breathe for just a moment.

But then he clears his throat again. And this time, when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Something you can’t quite place.

“There’s one more thing,” he says, and the air between you feels too much like outside, chocking and not fit for you. 

You stiffen. You feel that old familiar dread curling up inside your chest again, clawing at your ribs. You’ve been at this stage before, the formality of it, the false promises of security, of kindness. The moment where it all comes crashing down, where the mask slips and you’re left standing there, alone and defenceless against the greed, the hunger that always lurks just beneath the surface of those too desperate to remember what it means to be human.

He sees the shift in you. You know he does. You see it in the way his brow furrows, the way he toys with his lip piercings as though he’s searching for the right words, something to say that won’t make you bolt for the hermetic door. He takes a breath, and for a moment, you think you might run, you think you might grab your mask and take your chances with the toxic air outside because anything—anything—might be better than this.

But then, he speaks.

“I—” His voice falters, and you see the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. His grip on the clipboard tightens, the knuckles going white. “I want to… I want to eat you out.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. You blink, stunned, and for a moment, you’re not sure you heard him correctly. Did he really just—? 

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to process the absurdity of it, the strangeness, the unexpectedness.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, almost pleading. There’s no threat in his posture, no demand. Just… want. Raw and unfiltered. Like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t even be allowed to ask, but he can’t help himself. His breath is shallow, and you can see the way his hands tremble slightly, the tension in his body like he’s bracing for you to reject him, to walk away.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should get up, leave this place, leave him behind, leave all of this strangeness and vulnerability and run back into the wasteland where at least the dangers are known, where the air is poison but the intentions are clear. But instead, you sit there, frozen in place, your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at him.

He’s not like the others. That much you know.

He’s so painfully handsome, a rare sight in this broken world, and it’s been so long—too long—since you’ve felt the heat of another body, since before the fallout turned everything to pure survival. 

So, when the chance arises, when you catch the hunger in his dark eyes and feel the thrumming ache in your own bones, you seize it like a lifeline in the endless wasteland. Your fingers tremble as you pull the zip of your protective suit down, the rough fabric parting like a sigh, and you free your legs, peeling it off your lower half. You shift on the bench, boots still clinging to your feet as you raise them to rest beside you, and open yourself to him, your legs spread wide, exposing your cunt like a silent offering, need pulsing through your veins.

Jungkook barely hesitates. The clipboard thrown, clattering to the ground behind him, forgotten, his focus now laser-sharp on the sight before him, his eyes flickering wildly between your face and the growing wetness glistening between your thighs. He steps forward with a pull that feels almost sacred, falling heavily to his knees as if the ground beneath him is the only place he belongs. His warm, calloused hands trace their way up your bare legs, the roughness of his skin sparking something primal under your own.

He leans in close, close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your slick skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling you, and the word falls from his lips like a prayer, “Fuck,” and then he’s there, tongue pressing into you with a hunger that’s suffocating, lapping at your cunt as if he’s desperate to prove himself worthy of it, as if he knows exactly how lucky he is to be granted this wish. 

A moan escapes your throat, unbidden, as his tongue forces its way into the tight heat of your hole, your hand reaching instinctively for his dark hair, fingers threading through the strands as you push your hips into his eager mouth. The sound that rumbles from deep within his chest vibrates against you, a groan of raw pleasure that seems to send waves of newfound pleasure coursing through your body, arousal dripping from you, coating his tongue.

“Taste so good,” he rasps between breaths, his voice rough and broken with want. “Fucking angel sent from heaven.” His gaze flicks upward, catching yours, his eyes wide with disbelief, adoration simmering beneath the surface despite the fact that you’re strangers, despite the fact that the world outside has crumbled to nothing.

You find yourself moving against him, riding the flat of his tongue, his fingers dancing over your clit in a rhythm that feels almost divine. His other hand grips your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh with a kind of desperation, as though he’s terrified that if he lets go, you’ll disappear, that this will vanish like a dream.

“Yes,” you cry out, breathless and shaking, as he finds the perfect pace, the perfect pressure, his mouth and hands working together with an almost agonising precision. And neither of you can tear your eyes away from the other, locked in this frantic, desperate exchange of need and lust and something deeper you can’t yet name.

He gives you everything—every ounce of affection and euphoria you’ve been deprived of for months—and you can feel it in the way his own body trembles, the way his hips move mindlessly against nothing, rutting into the air as though he’s just as desperate to be filled with pleasure as you are.

“I’m close,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair, pulling him harder against you, urging him on, desperate for more, for him to push you over that edge.

And he listens, his tongue working with relentless skill, circling your clit with a pressure so precise it almost drives you mad, and then you feel it—your orgasm tearing through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, shockwaves rippling through your body as you squirt onto his tongue, something you’ve never done before, the surprise of it lost in the haze of pleasure. Jungkook groans beneath you, greedily lapping up everything you give him, cleaning you with his mouth like he never wants to stop, his hips stuttering forward as he spills into his pants, caught in his own silent climax.

“Fuck…” he moans thickly and long, collapsing against your stomach as your legs tremble and fall to the floor, muscles too weak to hold them up any longer.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing, the disaster of the world momentarily forgotten. But eventually, he pulls himself together, straightening up with a sheepish grin, adjusting his pants which are now damp with his own release, his expression cringing just slightly.

You quickly dress again, pulling your suit back into place, feeling a flush of heat creeping into your cheeks. There’s an embarrassment there, sure, but not disgust—not even close. If anything, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction, of relief, and you catch yourself hoping this won’t be the last time you see him, that he isn’t bored now that his hunger has been sated.

But as you reach for your pack, Jungkook’s voice breaks through the quiet, and he gestures for you to follow him deeper into the metro, his arm draping casually around your shoulders as if he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he says, a grin spreading across his face, his eyes bright with something that looks almost like joy—something you haven’t seen in anyone since the fallout. “You can stay with me if you want.”

There’s a pause, your heart skipping a beat at his offer, and you hesitate only for a second before whispering, “I’d like to stay with you, if that’s okay.”

He beams down at you, stars shining in his dark eyes like you haven’t seen in months, and he takes the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Good,” he says softly. “I’d like that too.”

PART 2

[cute-sucker]

note: im begging for requests for this au!!! i'm sobbing, idk what character it is <3

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

jonbee taking care of you during an apocalypse and you're in near tears begging him to kiss you. it happens all the time, the casual way that he's dominant over you. if it's the way that he's so much taller, the way his rough hands feel on yours. he always drops a kiss on your forehead before serving you french toast.

you love the normality of it all. the way he's humming the song on the radio, and you're bobbing your head to it. ivy is growing in the trailer park, and the shorts you have on have dirt smudges all over it when the two of you were running.

yet john b is giving you everything he can to serve you a normal lifestyle. he's trying everything to make you feel better, tucking back your hair, and coaxing you to eat. he's even found an old apron that has, 'kiss the chef,' on it, and suddenly your tearing up, holding up your brittle knife and fork.

hot tears drip down your face, as you sniffle quietly nudging at the food on your plate. almost immediately john b turns around, eyes full of concern.

"hey? hey, what's wrong?" he murmers, dropping down to your level. his hat is on backwards, and you fight the urge to turn it the other way. "don't cry pup," he cooes, grazing your wet cheeks, and you fight the urge of jumping into his arms, or asking to sit on his lap. after all, the two of you are platonic anyways. that's clear to tell.

you choke on your sob, "iono, just feel this pressure on my chest. i really need to be close to someone." even as you say this, your eyes are wide ready to be rejected, but john be is always there for you, as his hands snake up your sides, and sits you down on his lap.

"alright now. let's eat something now. maybe that'll make the ache go away."

you nodd at his soft words. he's right, he's always right. the two of you could barley find normal food now, always preservatives, or food that makes you hurt. you like it when he embraces you like this, his big arms around your waist, as you feel like a kid swinging your legs. and yet here you are crying the one day that there is good food.

suddenly you feel worse. the world is ending, and you'll be dead soon, and john be will never be with you, and you will have never kissed anyone. you'll never be a librarian in a niche town with a husband who would kiss you off your feet. no, you will have never kissed someone! what a tragedy to love someone so deeply yet never touch their soothing lips. maybe john b's lips on yours would fix everything.

you feel so stupid.

finally, john b puts the fork down, warm breath on your neck, and he sets you off his lap to look you in the eye.

"i need you to tell me what's wrong, and so i can fix it." he whispers to you, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. you shake your head, feeling the pounding feeling in your chest, as if you were going to vomit but your stomach was empty.

john b sighs, his voice firm now, "this won't go away. show me where it hurts. do you feel sick?" he murmurs to you, giving you his hand to guide, and you tentivally take it to place it on your heart.

"here," you croak, "it hurts here."

he looks surprised, yet his eyes are warm as he speaks in his soothing tone, his words practically melting in your mouth, "why does it hurt pup?"

"i need you to kiss me," you blurt out, and let go of his hand, "so it can stop."

he tilts his head almost amused, "yea? you need me to kiss you, so your heart can stop hurting."

you hate the way he's teasing you, a soft lint in his tone, his large hands still settling on you as he talks to you. he's so gentle with you it burns your skin, it burns everything inside of you.

"i can't take it. i can't take the fact that i've never kissed someone," and then you pause, your voice a whimper, "i can't take it that i haven't kissed you jonbee-"

and then without a doubt, he looks at you again, his eyes so feverious, so full of emotion, burning with the exact same fire that you feel your body ablaze with.

just like that john b cups your jaw, and kisses you so sweetly you see stars.

[princessbrunette]

you were headed to the control tower. it was the haven above the camp that saw everything, heard everything — and yet felt so out of reach and oddly peaceful. that’s where apocalypse!pope always resided, and today was like no other.

obviously, at the end of the world it’s not often you see anyone skipping around, singing and jumping for joy — but pope had been real moody. it was totally valid, since sarah died and all… but the group had finally been finding ways to cope. moments of solace. moments of laughter and joy where you could forget for a second what the world had become. but not pope, no — he’d lost so much. he was tense, you could see it in his body language from the way his shoulders were all tight and you could see the hunger for revenge in his eyes. there was nothing you could do or say to ease that, hell — you’d come to terms with the fact he’d probably drive himself straight into his death over it… but you could try and prolong it. take some weight off his shoulders even for a moment.

“knock knock!” you hum brightly, not wanting to startle him as you poke your head round the door, the sweet chime of your voice accompanied by two solid wraps at the tower door. you were still a little out of breath from climbing all the steps up when pope glances over his shoulder at you before promptly removing his headphones.

“oh, hey.”

as you step inside, you’re quick to gently close the door behind you. you got the sense that pope enjoyed being shut off from the outside. when he realises you’re here to stay, he swivels round in his chair to face you — slumped in his hoodie. “anything i can do for you?”

“no uh, thought i’d hang for a bit if that’s okay?”

his first instinct is to say no and busy himself with something else — but it was you, so his eyes soften and he shrugs.

“well, i’m not much fun right now. i’ve spent hours checking through the index of radio stations i can connect mine to. whoever we heard last week must’ve just been passing through.” he converses, wringing the wire of his headphones between his wrists. “or it’s rafe, just messing with us.” at the mention of the eldest cameron his nose curls and his eyes are cast down angrily — never missing an opportunity to spit venom at the killer.

you nod sensitively, shuffling a little closer. “right, yeah. could be.” you breathe — and let him cool off until he’s back with you, eyes flickering back up. “do i smell…”

that pretty smile reaches your lips and you dig into your pocket, pulling out the joint. “should’ve known you’d pick it up.”

some guy on your camp had been farming cannabis since you’d let him in. he offered a pretty sick trade, do his daily tasks and he’d hand you a generous lump— even roll it for you if you bat your lashes. pope grins too at first, and then it’s like he catches himself and he swallows it down, clearing his throat.

“yeah…uh, as much as i’d love that right now i should probably… keep the signal clear. you know, just incase.” you wanted to grip him by the shoulders and shake him. just let yourself have fun. stop punishing yourself.

“pope,” you deflate. “it’s been a week since you’ve come into contact with anyone through the radios. you’ve been sitting in here, cooped up, alone. just… a few hours of relaxation. that’s all i ask.” you pull out the doe eyes, and it’s like he’s the tiny insect in your venus fly trap because it works and he tips his head back sighing before nodding.

“fine. do you have a lighter or are we gonna have to do this the old fashioned way?”

an hour passes — and with the help of the stale doritos in your backpack, a joint, and some well deserved giggles, somehow you’ve relaxed pope to the point of having his pants around his ankles, ass scooched right to the edge of his seat where he slumps back, legs open with you between them.

you stare up at him sweetly through red iris as you pull off for a moment, savouring the moment and licking up his pearly precum. he lets out a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if momentarily regaining the consciousness.

“how did we… end up here?” he strains and you hum out a sound that resembles ‘i dunno…’ before pulling off with a wet pop.

“jus’ enjoy it… you taste good.”

“fuck.” he sighs, resting the crevice of his arm over his forehead as he leans back. you push him further into your mouth, and it’s like something snaps — the resistance he’d been putting up. momentarily, he’s limp — before suddenly he’s pushing his hips up, gagging you.

“shit, i’m sorry. i’m so… fucking sorry.” he moans, gentle hands contradicting his actions as he caresses your hair and rubs at your scalp with his thumbs all whilst using you as handlebars to fuck your throat. wet gags fill the room, and if you weren’t so hazy and out of it you might’ve needed a moment— but instead you let him, aroused and lazy as he manhandles your face. “feel so good— you— make— me— feel— better.” each word is punctuated with a thrust, before soon he’s throwing buckets of his warm seed down you.

there’s not a second of hesitation post orgasm before his guilt settles back in and he’s leaning forward, eyes wide and red as he holds your cheeks watching you sniffle and splutter.

“hey, hey— was i too rough? i’m sorry beautiful. god, i’m sorry.”

as soon as you can speak, you do. “pope, s’okay!” you squeak, letting out a giggle that relieves him enough to pause, catching his breath. “i liked it. i liked seeing you let go.”

“…probably let go a little too much.” he’s pulling his pants up and you shrink a little, watching him spin back round to the radios. “knowing my luck i missed something, missed a communication or—”

“you didn’t.” you interrupt, and he turns back round, analysing you. before he says a thing, your brows furrow. “nothing happened. you just relaxed. come down to the house pope. sleep.”

“i sleep in here—”

“not tonight.” you’re still on your knees, clammy hands clasped pathetically on your lap with his arousal actively drying into your skin. “please.”

pope blinks, melting just a little more once before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the centre of your forehead.

“okay.”

[conman167936]

Borrowers In The Apocalypse

So I had this idea specifically while thinking about The Last Of Us, but any zombie apocalypse story will do.

A few days after the initial outbreak, the existence of borrowers is revealed to the world. See, borrowers can get infected just like humans, and tiny zombies don’t care as much about staying out of sight. So humans discover tiny zombies, and soon after, tiny people.

However, this revelation is completely overshadowed by everything else going on in the middle of the apocalypse. Humans, quite literally, have bigger things to worry about.

And so over time, borrowers just kind of… assimilate themselves into the human quarantine zones. Obviously there are some bad humans who want to kill and cage borrowers, but a lot of humans are pretty on board with coexisting alongside tiny people. It’s not like they use up a ton of resources.

But here’s where things get interesting. You might think a zombie apocalypse would be super dangerous for borrowers, but they’re actually holding their own better than most of the humans. After all, the average borrower has way better survival skills than the average human. They’ve had to survive against impossible odds all their lives, whereas humans are just now having this problem.

And so we start to see interesting alliances start to form between borrowers and humans. Borrowers can teach humans everything they know about survival, in exchange for food and shelter. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

Now, when it comes to the zombies, borrowers are actually really good at staying out of sight. Most zombies never even think to look down. But tiny zombies are actually significantly more of a threat to a borrower… unless you have a human friend who can just squish them.

So yeah, a human and a borrower as a badass apocalypse duo.