#no questions !!!!!! zombie !!!!!! hungry for

[bi-writes]

attached | ghost x f!reader

i have no idea what it is that binds us together. but it doesn't really matter.

type: one-shot (8.4k)

cw: zombie apocalypse au, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, dark!reader, reader described as curvy/plus-sized + has hair long enough to braid, graphic depictions of violence + murder + gore, depictions of suicidal thoughts + intentions (no actual action), mentions of depression + sadness + loneliness, depictions of assault + harassment (not by ghost), horror movie vibes, unprotected piv, allusions to baby trapping, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), 18+

Death can be a curious thing. It used to be something definitive. Exact. It used to mean the end of something.

No, now it's a beginning. Not a sweet beginning, but a beginning nonetheless. It turns a new tide. Reactivates cells that were once dead. Sparks nerves that used to be dormant, that used to be dark. It makes muscles move even when they aren't supposed to. Brain-dead, but still hungry.

He hasn't been able to understand the phenomenon quite yet. He's tried. He's picked up a few books and tried to do his own research, but it's difficult when there is no way for him to view the cellular structure of it all on a micro-level. He cannot see the way it grows or how it takes over. He hasn't been able to figure out what techniques it uses to keep a body awake even when the central organs no longer function the way they're supposed to. What keeps it moving? What keeps the feet running and the stomach hungry and the saliva warm?

Why is it that when he plunges his blade through its heart, it still kicks? The brain is its engine, as with his own body, but this is different. The brain runs even when it has lost its necessary components. Blood circulation, oxygen, the things it needs to thrive; but this state of being is not like his own. It doesn't need the same things it used to need because its purpose is not to keep a body running. Its purpose is to eat. To infect. And that is all.

He likes to play games these days. He has a lucky silver euro, one he pried off the dead body of someone that he hated. He spit on that body before raiding his pockets. He hated that fucking brute; he disgraced the style of wearing a mask by using a fucking t-shirt instead. Perhaps Austria is a beautiful country, but it certainly produced one of the most unlikable of men. He thinks even if the world was still right-side up, he would've killed him anyway. The only thing useful about him was that he was carrying a few extra magazines and this coin in his front pocket.

Every morning, when he wakes up, he makes whatever will happen that day a game. If the coin lands on heads, he gets to kill himself today. If it lands on tails, he has to endure 24 more hours before he can play again. The rules are simple. The game is easy. Everyone knows how to play it, but not everyone will like to win it.

Today, he decides to do something different. Today, he decides if he wins, he will wait another day. He has never won this game; he decides if he can't win it, he'll manipulate it until he gets what he wants.

It hits the table with a light clink. It rattles around in a few circles before settling, and when he leans back in his chair, he sighs. He knows what it will be even without looking, but he looks anyway. When he sees the carved outline of its face-side up, his eyes flash. He won.

He never wins.

Something is keeping him here. He chooses not to ask questions. There isn't anyone to ask anyways. No one answers when he speaks. He doesn't think there is anyone left to listen.

If someone would ask him why he doesn't just put the muzzle to his temple and pull the trigger, he would just say that it was because that was how the game is played. Those are the rules. He can't try unless that's what it tells him to do. There is no fun in cheating the game; it wouldn't be proper, it wouldn't be correct. It would be grounds for disqualification, and that just wouldn't do, not for him.

He has to do things the right way. Always. It's how you keep order in a world that has none left. It's how you maintain structure even without the lines drawn in the sand. This is the way things are done; God is not waiting at the end of a very long staircase, He is rattling that coin on the table and waiting for Ghost to take a peek.

He thinks it keeps landing on tails because perhaps God is tired of playing this game with him; Ghost has never been surprised. He will always be ready for disappointment. Giving a gift is no fun when the recipient simply receives it.

It landed on heads today. He won the game. He tried to play it differently, but someone won't let him.

There's snow on the ground this morning. It snowed all night, coating the ground in a few inches of powdery ice. He looks away from the window and back towards the mirror, continue to run the razor over his head. His blonde hair falls in clumps in the sink. He keeps it neat and short, close to the head, and then he does the same with his face. He cuts the stubble close, keeping his face clean, but it doesn't wipe away the rest of his face, the things he can't just cut away. The scars, the ridges, the skin that closed over wounds angry and white and uneven. He can see his teeth through the broken skin above his lip, the yellowing of them now that he only brushes them a few times a week with his lack of proper toothpaste, and he grimaces when he sees the new red spots of raised skin left behind from the dirty mask he wears now. He dips his toothbrush into his bottle of water before brushing, careful to scrub his gums properly before spitting into the sink.

When he finishes, he makes his way back into the bedroom to get dressed. He did the washing yesterday; he found a creek only half frozen over, and he made use of the bar soap he keeps and managed to clean off most of his clothes. He feels a little better slipping into his cargos now that they aren't drenched in sweat or dirt. He tucks a long-sleeve into his pants before putting a thick windbreaker on over it, but he finally feels complete once he slips his mask on over his face. In the mirror, he adjusts it, making the skull straight, and he blinks back at himself. The mask does more than just hide him from the dead.

It keeps the living walking a careful circle around him, and he wants to keep it that way. He hasn't spoken to a single person since it began. He stopped counting the days once his boots ran out of space for notches. Anyone he sees now, he scares them off with one look, or he puts them down before they can take a step closer to finding out if he's real or not.

He doesn't take chances. He has always had a special skill, being able to sniff out the bullshit before it begins. He leans into it now, and it isn't a bullet wasted if it stops the chaos before it can wind up.

He still wears his tactical gear. He can't part with it. His holsters have not failed him, still buckled around his thighs. His vest is still strapped on, and without it, he feels naked. He has long since discarded of the Union Jack patch on his chest; there is no king nor country anymore. They are colors in different shapes, and they mean nothing now; they were buried a long time ago.

His backpack feels light. He's running out of bullets, and he doesn't like how it feels. Nowadays, he has to go further and further to get what he needs, and recently, he's taken to picking up everything and simply moving to make the trips all the easier with no home to go back to.

It's not all that different to the life he had before. He never stayed in one place too long then either. He signed the shortest leases, and he would move once it was up, never lingering and never buying more things than he could carry in the back of his truck. His memories are in his head and nowhere else. He keeps no trinkets. He saves no pictures. There is nothing from the old life that needs to be brought into the new. He shifts between both lives, one foot in the past and one in the future, and he thinks that's what really makes him live up to his name.

He's a Ghost. A drifter. Standing between two places at the same time, not knowing which to stay in and which to leave. It would hurt, if he was really human inside, if he could feel anything at all.

But he's not. His insides are nothing but organic matter. His head is a clock, ticking, counting down, but he's not aware of when it runs out.

He digs the heel of his boot into the snow to gauge the depth. It barely comes up over his toes. He huffs a little before taking a peek at the map tucked into his vest. He had circled a place just north, a main street he is hoping will have a stash of things he will need.

Ammunition. Weapons. Food. Water. A new book, for fuck's sake, maybe a Sudoku puzzle that isn't already scribbled into.

The forest gives him cover, so he sticks to it. Out in the open, he would stick out, dressed in all black. He keeps to the trees, ducking under the leaves and trying not to leave too much of a track behind. He doesn't plan on staying in that cabin again, but if he must, he doesn't want anyone seeing a way to come back to it.

The one thing he does appreciate about this new place is the quiet. It lingers, and it's calm, and when he breathes, the world breathes back. He feels like he had always been telling everyone to shut up, but now, his voice hasn't been used in months. Even when he passes other people, he doesn't speak to them. If they don't spot him, he keeps to the shadows, and if they do, they don't see him for long enough to know what hit them.

It's a good stash. The store had been rifled through by now, but in the office, there had been a nice drawer filled with supplies. A few boxes of ammunition, a revolver, and a new blade to stick in one of his boots. He picks up some other odds and ends. Batteries. A roll of yarn. A small sewing kit. A few pens. His backpack feels a little heavier, and it's a weight he appreciates when he makes his way back outside.

He sticks to the alleyways as he searches for the roof over his head for the night. He decides the cabin he slept in last night was too close to the road; if anyone was driving or following it, they could find that place too easily, and he wouldn't be able to sleep another night comfortably there knowing this truth.

He finds himself veering off road just enough. It's fucking cold, freezing, and he's grateful to the mask for helping him keep it together as he ducks under the wind and keeps an eye out for any nearby landmarks. Sometimes, on slow days like this, he would sit on a ridge and kill infected for sport. Practice focusing his sight, calculating the wind, keep his mind in check by hitting his targets and ridding the world of another one of those things.

There are different kinds of hunters out today.

He hears them before he sees them. He knows what kind they are when he hears their laughter. Low and untamed, sloppy and fucking messy. They always are. These kind spoil their treasures. They eat their food until it makes them sick, and then they do it all over again. They never learn their lesson.

When he settles his rifle down along a fallen tree, he eyes them through his scope. There are two of them. Both are fattened, with dark hair and lazy eyes, and they look greasy. Their clothes are in ruins, and their packs are light, and Ghost figures that they look enough alike to be perhaps brothers, or maybe cousins. Their smiles are equally as sadistic. The taller one tugs something along, and when Ghost aims the scope down a little, he sees her.

Her.

He's dragging her by her legs. She's kicking, but it's hard for her to do much when her arms and legs are bound by mismatched bits of fabric and rope. She's crying, that much is clear, squirming as she spits and gargles around the gag in her mouth as she tries to break free. She has heart, but she isn’t a fighter. If she was, she would’ve realized her teeth could snap that fabric of her gag, and she would know that the knot they’ve tied succumbs easily to upwards pressure.

He follows them. They keep going, dragging you and laughing as they make it to a makeshift camp hidden amongst a clearing. There's a few tents set up, a small dip in the earth to hold a campfire, and when they settle on tree trunks to sit, the smaller one takes a blade and cuts your gag off, leaning over you with a low chuckle. They mean to maim and to take and then to kill, and you know this when you look into his eyes.

"Hello, darling."

"Bite me."

He laughs again, dropping onto his knees over you, but when he gets close enough, you sit up with what little strength you have and bite him along his ear. The cartilage rips, and you tear half his ear off, and then he's scrambling off of you, screaming, holding the side of his head as he rolls around in circles in the snow. He colors it red, and you snarl with satisfaction. Ghost takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily. The look in your eyes–he can taste that, roll it around on his tongue. You did not clock the poorly-tied knots, but you do see opportunity, and you are the kind to take it.

"You bitch!"

Just as the taller one is about to get on top of you, Ghost decides he's seen enough. He closes one eye, lines up the sight, and he lets out a cool breath as he drops the both of them within a second of each other. They fall easy; a bullet clean through the back of their heads, and now they're finally quiet again. They will not get up, either.

Your lip trembles as you look towards the trees. You watch as the leaves rustle, and when you see a man emerge from the thick of them, you start to cry. You think maybe you're seeing things; you must be so dehydrated, so hungry, that a reaper has come for you, and you are much deader than you thought.

The reaper stares down at you curiously. He swings his rifle over his shoulder, tilting his head to the side as he bends, getting a blade out of his boot before he cuts the restraints that bind you. He doesn’t hesitate when he does this; he does not deem you enough of a threat to keep you bound.

You sit up slowly, wiping your face, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to see how human they are. They're dark, but alive, and he has blonde lashes and pale skin underneath. He covers himself, but you can still see him. There's a man under there, not a reaper.

Just a man.

I hate men.

You shake off the rest of the restraints, turning your wrists and ankles and flexing your muscles for good measure. When you realize you are nothing but a little shaken up, you look back up. He's still staring at you, hard eyes lowered in a glare as he looks you over. He's sizing you up, maybe, deciding what to do with you. You meet his eyes one more time before gathering the saliva into your mouth and spitting onto the floor. It's a garbled mess of blood, from the flesh you had severed from that man.

He blinks slowly at that, makes some decision that he doesn’t voice out loud, and then he starts to walk away.

You stand on shaky legs, taking it as your cue. You watch as he rips open the flimsy tents that those men had left behind, and he's already grabbing backpacks and rifling through them for goods. He already starts filling his own vest and backpack with the things he finds; some flashlights, fishing line, more food and ammunition. You follow him, moving to the other tent beside it and starting to grab their things and toss them outside. You get to your knees and open the packs, laying out what you find carefully. They have interesting materials in here, ones you associate with explosives. C4. Lighters. Batteries. Wiring. You clench your jaw when you pull out the last box in the bag.

Condoms.

Bunch of pricks.

He finds your discoveries useful. He opens up an empty pack he found and fills it to the brim with supplies. When he zips it up, your stomach drops when you think he might toss it over his shoulder and leave. It only sinks for a moment before he turns the backpack around, holding it up for you.

You pause for a little and think. It only takes a few seconds for you to decide to stand up and slip your arms through the straps.

When he walks again, you follow.

The sun is setting by the time you find somewhere to sleep, but it looks like luxury to you. A quaint little brick house tucked between the hills, a ways from the road and positively hidden. He spotted it through his scope a few hours ago, and he made a beeline for it. It's difficult to keep up with him; he has incredible stamina and the longest legs. He moves like a ghost, too quiet for his own good. You would never know from looking at him how stealthy he could be. For such a huge man, you would never notice him before he could get the drop on you. It makes you conscious of your own steps and how loud they are, and you try to mimic the way he moves as you keep walking.

You don't know why, but you think he must be very pleased with how quiet you've gotten. You don't know why that fact pleases you, too.

He makes you stay outside when you arrive. He pulls a small handgun out of his backpack, and he checks the chamber before handing it to you. He clicks his tongue, forcing your eyes on his, and he puts a finger to his mask-covered lips, telling you to keep quiet. You take the gun from him, pointing it at the ground and holding it at your side, and he touches a knuckle under your chin before he twists a silencer onto his own gun.

You watch with rapt attention as he clears the house. His movements are quick and calculated, and he keeps low to the ground. It's mesmerizing. Big and capable, one with the shadows. The only thing you see in the dark is the white of the skull over his face, and if you didn't know it was him, you would think that you have just seen God.

But God isn't real. Apparently ghosts are.

He is back outside in less than ten minutes, nodding his head at you. You take it as your cue to come towards him, and you hand him the gun back when you pass him. You go into the house and immediately start to light some of the candles scattered around. You set your backpack down, rubbing your shoulders out, and you take a seat on the couch.

It hits you then, the gravity of it all. Men are your captors, and then they are your savior. They'll never leave you alone. They'll never let you go. You were ruled by their iron fist in a previous life, and you will endure their wrath in this new one.

You start to cry. It's the first sound you've made since screaming. You cover your face with your hands, and you don't know why you feel safe enough to cry, but you do, and it comes out of you fast.

He tilts his head to the side as he watches you. It's a strange thing to see something so...alive. He's used to only seeing things moving that can't speak back to him. If he does see things alive, he puts them down as if they are rabid dogs.

He can't find it in himself to kill you. Something is so odd about it. About you.

Everything about today seems more than coincidence. He won the game today. And then he found you.

When he tries the sink in the bathroom, he's surprised to find it working. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water, and when he comes back into the living room, you are staring at one of the flickering candles blankly, shivering. You have stopped crying, but your face is still wet with fat, lingering tears.

It looks like you've been hit by a brick wall. Your hair is matted in places, in tangles. It’s in desperate need of a cut. It's stuck to your face around the perimeter, caked by sweat and mud and dried blood. Your clothes are in ruins; you wear a ripped jumper, thin jeans, and the soles of your boots are starting to fray and come off, and he can see where you've tried to mend them unsuccessfully with duct tape. You wear no jewelry, and your fingernails need to be cut. Those men have left marks on you, but those will fade.

He kneels in front of where you sit on the couch. Using a threadbare cloth, he dips it into the water and raises it to your face. You show no resistance. You let him wipe your face off, the tears, the dirt, the blood. It stains the cloth ugly, but you can't look at anything else except for his eyes.

They're so dark. Brown, like bark, like honey. You haven't spoken a word to him yet, but the silence is sort of bliss. All you can hear is the drip of the water when he rings out the cloth.

He helped you. He didn't have to. He could've kept walking, but he stayed with you. He didn't leave you. He could've walked away again, but he let you follow.

He isn't a good man. You know that. Anyone who has lasted this long isn't a good person. You've done the same. You've let it take you, once or twice, let the snarl in the back of your throat guide your hand. You've let the voices fester, let them eat at the acid in your stomach until they begged for more, and you won't admit it, but it felt good. Felt good to protect yourself. To rid the earth of something terrible. To say no.

He must understand that. He's decorated in its essence, the one of understanding, the one that says I know what it's like to take matters into your own hands, and he did it with you, too.

He's doing it now, cleaning you up, and you don't know him, or his face, or his name, but you'll try hard to give it back. To give him something. To tell him you are worthy and not useless. It doesn't show today, how far you've come, but you'll try.

"Thank you," you finally whisper. He's dragging the cloth over your bottom lip, and he blinks rapidly, as if a bit startled by hearing your voice. When you speak again, it's to tell him your name, and he thinks for a few moments before continuing, wiping under your jaw.

He doesn't sleep that night. He stares out the window, like a guard dog, and he lets the soft breaths of your sleep keep him awake.

The gas lighter on the stove still works. It takes a match to light it properly, but when the fire starts, you take some of the soup cans from your pack and make breakfast.

Your smile when he comes into the kitchen nearly blinds him. You look more rested than yesterday, and you ladle some soup into a bowl for him, setting it down at the table. He notices the two bowls, his and yours, and he notices that his bowl has more food.

It is then that he decides to keep you.

What he doesn't know is that you've decided the same. The world has thrown you the way out. A man, built like a bear, happy finger on the trigger and capable of getting you out of harm's way. You need to convince him that you are worthy. You need to convince him that you are valuable. A keepsake.

Men are what start wars, not what end them. Men are the cause of chaos and destruction, it is prevalent throughout history, and it is why you are here now, in a place that doesn’t exist, where people don’t breathe the same air anymore. A man thought himself correct, but he was wrong, and he didn’t listen when someone told him otherwise. They are the ones that take advantage of your vulnerability, and instead of trying to understand it, they use it to get what they want.

You can do the same.

You start by mending his clothes. He's laid some out to dry after washing, and you notice the tears in his shirts. When he comes back a little while later, with dinner hanging off his shoulder, you are seated on the couch, feet tucked under you, with a needle in your hand as you sew up one of his shirts.

You've bathed, found new clothes, warmer ones, and your hair is braided and off your face. He hates to say he prefers you a little dirty, but he likes this, too. A natural beauty. A soft face.

You make a real dinner that night. There's canned vegetables that you try to spruce up with the spices you find in the cupboards, but the real meal is the venison you're served. He butchers it outside like a professional, and he sears it on the stove with a perfect touch. When he feeds you that first bite, your mouth explodes with flavor. Your belly is full that evening, and when he blows out the candles for bed, he eats you out in the dark of the corner bedroom.

He's not sloppy like you thought he might be. Not overeager. He's easy with it, casual. Big hunk of a man smothered between your thighs, and he laves his tongue through your folds like his very own personal dessert. He drinks straight from the source, holy water spilling sweet between his teeth, and when he gets his tongue inside of you and holds it there, you nearly leave earth for somewhere else. You come like that, too, his filthy mouth sucking on your clit before he's slipping that tongue in you again, and you mewl against the bed as he tucks his hand under your ass and spreads you wider.

He tells you his name a few nights later. He doesn't speak, not ever, but when you're crying around his thick fingers, he whispers it against your ear.

"'s Simon," he growls, and you know what he means by that. He wants you to say it while you bounce on his fingers, when you rut against his thigh. He wants you to say his name when you're coming undone riding his face, when you're wetting his mask with your pussy and making him choke on your cum. Such a wet, sweet girl you are, and sometimes he skips wash day for his mask so he can shove it into his mouth and pant around it and taste you while he fucks his own fist.

It's insanity, he thinks, as he's cleaning his rifle. The idea of traditional. But it's what befallen him, what he sees all around him, and he tucks his index finger into a hole too small to pinch himself just to make sure he isn't living a dream. You're in the kitchen, mending more clothes, something warm boiling on the stove. There were seeds in the greenhouse, and you're saving them to plant in the spring, so for now, you make do with canned goods and whatever Simon hunts for during the day. You found books in the attic, and you read them at night, head in Simon's lap as he plays with your hair or rubs your sore ankles or cuts your nails. You're the only one that ever speaks; he hasn't said a word to you except for telling you his name, and you're content to be the only one that uses their voice.

He always listens. You told him one time that you loved the shade of green that the trees wore, and he came back one day with a sweatshirt of the same color for you. He noticed you trying to mend those terrible boots, and he found a new pair for you, your size this time, barely worn and fit for winter. He brings lots of things for you; books, clothes, even rocks sometimes, when he just thinks he found one that you might like.

You do like them. You have started filling a small bowl with the ones he brings, and he notices you rifling through it sometimes, just looking at them, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Like giving a treat to a dog. Like giving him a fucking bone.

He teaches you how to shoot. You know how to pull a trigger, but that’s the extent of your expertise. He teaches you how to stand, how to turn the safety on and off, how to hold the gun between two hands so not even his own can take it away from you. He makes sounds when you please him. Hums low, lets out a soft breath, sucks in the air through his teeth. You can’t see his face, but the way he looks at you when you fire a bullet and knock bottles off their ledges, it warms you, all the way down your spine, reaching your toes. You want him to keep looking at you this way, so you try hard, and he notices.

You’ll never be what he is, but the small victories are what have him chubbing up in his cargos and falling asleep between your thighs. You give, and he takes, and he keeps coming back for more.

He teaches you that distance is your strength. You aren’t like him; you aren’t built like a brick house, you won’t be bigger than a lot of your opponents. You need to keep them away from you, however you can. He makes you good with that gun because it’s your best chance, but in the even that you lose it or you run out of bullets, he shows you how to aim a hatchet so that the blade always lines up between someone’s shoulders.

The way you listen makes him salivate. The way you blink up at him and say yes, Simon and take his orders, it makes it difficult to keep away from you. 

Today marks two months in the house tucked on the hill. Simon hunts, and you cook, and you live in some sick, twisted housewife fantasy at the end of the fucking world. Simon provides, and you keep, and when the box of condoms falls out of your backpack one day, you glance at Simon for just a moment before he's on you.

It's animal, that first time. He tackles you practically onto the carpet of the living room, and he props you up onto your elbows and only pulls down your jeans enough that he can fit his cock between your thighs. You hear the tear of the condom wrapping, and then he's laying over your back, sinking to the base, cock nestled inside of you as he grips your throat gently and fucks you into the carpet. Poor beast, he's definitely going to need his knees massaged after this, but you can't think about that much when you're taking the fattest cock of your entire life and trying to survive underneath him. It's that fine line between pleasure and pain that you're desperate for, and you pull threads out of the carpet as you try to hang on and take it like a good girl.

You can hear his voice. It's low, and subtle, but he grunts with each agonizing thrust, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you back onto him over and over and over again.

It's primal. Nasty. You wish he wasn't wearing a condom, you want him to be in your skin, you want him to fill you until you're full, let it spill over, and then do it all over again. You want him to bite into your throat and tear, and you want him to eat you and then put you back together, and then do it again and again and again.

"So big," you gasp, and he falters at that. You recognize it, the need for praise, and you latch onto it with claws and stay there. I need him to stay here with me. "So good...so good t-to me, Simon–"

He groans. It's music.

Keep me. Keep me. Keep me.

"Simon, please–" You scratch at his arm, not satisfied until you feel blood. When you break the skin, he laughs, a breathless laugh that has your eyes rolling back in your head as he shoves your face into the carpet and mounts you like a fucking horse. The deep slap, slap, slap of skin is enough to send you away, send you home, your mind foggy as your pussy squeezes him for all he's worth. The slick of the condom is pleasant, but you want it raw. You want every part of him carved into you, and you arch your back, suck him in, whine and cry and beg for him to just, "please, Simon, I need it, I need it."

"Need wot?"

The sound of his voice is whiplash. He hisses when he sinks deep, staying there, holding you at a sharp angle so he can knead your ass and watch it bounce back on him. He sucks on his teeth, and there's drool slipping out of your mouth. That accent, his voice, like velvet, from deep within his chest. You want to hear more of it.

"Be a man," you gasp. "Be a man, and fuck me."

He doesn't see the desperate look on your face when he slips out of you. He doesn't see the relief that washes over you when you hear the condom come off, latex crumbling as he tosses it, but he feels the warmth of your pretty pussy when he sinks back in, skin to skin, and feels you clench for dear fucking life.

"Fuckin' Christ," Simon groans, and you reach back for him, gripping his arms, forcing him to fall over on top of you. He settles with his elbows on either side of your head, and you bow your back and grip the carpet again as he fucks into you nice and slow, deep, fat head leaking precum and making you cry because finally, yes, please, this is it, what I want, I'll have you forever.

You're so pretty. Even in his past life, Simon never got to have anything pretty. He was too ugly, too big, too awkward. Any woman of good faith stayed 100 yards away, as if his mere presence was a warning alarm, some invisible radius that kept them away from him. He always thought it was for the better. He always thought good riddance, they shouldn't have me, I shouldn't have anyone. Not when only days before, he had tortured a Russian militant until he had no teeth and hung his severed fingers on twine around his own neck.

But you won't run away. He's given you opportunity. He's left the cottage and staked out the outside just to watch you, and all he sees is you moving between windows, shaking out the dust from old blankets and washing the dishes. All he sees is you sewing his clothes and cooking his food, and when he comes back inside, all he sees is your smile and your face and your pretty mouth that falls open when he makes you come all over his hand.

Now it's the end of the world, and he lets a coin flip decide whether or not he lives or dies. And even when he flips it now, it never agrees. When he asks to die, the coin tells him no. When he asks to live, it’s always interrupted by you.

Yes, it tells him. Yes, yes, yes, because it's been keeping him here, because it knows, because it saw, because he couldn't see both sides of the coin, but he can see it now, plain as day, and she's underneath him now, letting him inside, and she's begging him to come and to fill her up, and she's crying because he's such a big man, and she wants him everywhere and always and all at once, and Simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable bastard that can finally be fucking selfish.

The way you say his name could make him move mountains. That soft breath you take. The falter of your voice. The whine. The world has gone quiet, but he'll make a new one, and he will leave it at your feet for you to step on or pick up.

Whichever you choose. You can do no wrong.

When he comes, he moans. Into your ear, he lets you hear him, lets you bask in his pleasure as he spurts hot inside of you, hauling you a little higher on your knees so he can make sure you come, too. He gives you the palm of his hand to grind on, fucking into you at the same time, humming deep when he feels you squeeze around him and shatter like glass.

He takes his mask off for the first time that night. You see his face, all of it, not just glimpses when he lifts it to eat or to drink, you see the whole thing. He has a terrible looking face. Something only a mother could love. Too old of scars to be from this new life. They slash across his brow, across his cheeks. He has a jagged nose, and the skin around his lips had been reconstructed poorly from however they had been slit.

He's a terrifying piece of flesh. He is surprised when you lean in and kiss him. He's even more surprised when you kick off your jeans, turn over, and fuck him again.

The mantra that sounds like mine repeats in his head over and over. He feels it, deep, warm and beating under his ribs alongside his heart that hasn't moved in a long while.

He found you in those woods, kicking amongst predators, and he took you home with him. Picked you up like a stray, fed you, clothed you, and now you've stayed. For a moment, he thought it wasn't real. Thought your full belly is what kept you here, the warm house. He didn't mind pretending, but he figured it wouldn't last.

He doesn't think that anymore. Not with the way you kiss his severed face. You nuzzle into it, cup his cheeks, and he finds it agony when you pull away.

He hovers now. In whatever room you are in, Simon must also be in it. If he leaves, he makes you board the doors, and you are only allowed to open them if he knocks in his special way. He tested you once, came back earlier than expected, and he was so pleased you did not open the door to his casual knock and only the special one that he made you come one, two, three times with your thighs locked around his face.

A terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

You're searching the greenhouse. Hoping to find some flower pots for the herb seeds you found, you're rummaging through the cabinets beside it. Your gun is sitting away from you, and although Simon would chastise you for this, you feel safe here, and it doesn't bother you.

It flings itself at you. It cries, what used to be a teenage girl, reaching for you because it wants a chunk of your softness, of the life you pump into the muscles that keep you running. You're protected by all the clothes you wear for the weather, and it is slow because of the cold freezing their rigid, dead bones, but it does not lessen the hunger, the fight, the determination to eat and spread.

Before it can bite, the back of its head explodes. You close your mouth and shut your eyes as rancid brain matter splatters the white snow and you, and it is wrenched off of you immediately. Simon stands there, his pistol in hand, and you have never seen him quite so angry as he is right now.

His eyes are wild. He heaves under that tact vest, breathing hard, and his grip on the handgun shakes, so much that he has to shove it back into the holster at his thigh and lean over to pick you up off the ground.

He jostles you. Growls. Is nearly an animal himself as he shoves you up against the glass of the greenhouse and snarls.

"Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?!" Simon snaps. "Is y'r fuckin' head on?!"

It's so quiet in your head even as he yells. Your eyes tear, but not because you're upset. You reach out and cup his face gently, and he stops. Stops talking, just watches, just looks at you as he bends and leans his forehead against yours and squeezes you to his chest.

What is this thing you have? What have you become? What innate thing has festered between you? He’s gripping the edge of the glass so hard, you hear it crack under his hand. There is some kind of sick sense of devotion among you. Some kind of responsibility. He’s angry because something under his tongue tasted bitter when he saw you struggling. It won’t be this easy. He won’t make it this easy. If he doesn’t get to die, then neither do you, and he will make sure of that, because that is the only way this game can remain fair.

You never wander to the greenhouse again. He makes you promise (lest he wastes his cum between your thighs instead of inside you, that's it, promise me).

Another terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

They're wanderers. When they knock at the door, they don't use Simon's special knock, so you don't open it. Instead, you blow out the candles and hide, peeking at them from the fogged window in the attic.

They are men (you aren't surprised, they seem to be the only thing that survives nature's heavy hand). Cold. Shivering. One of them is bleeding, you can see it from the blood trail he leaves in the snow that seeps from somewhere under the hem of his jeans. The one uninjured tries to force his way through the door, but Simon added more deadbolts to it, and it doesn't give under his weak attempts. You trade your handgun for the rifle, aiming it at them. If they get through the door, maybe you can draw them back out, keep them away from the house.

You try to stay quiet, but the healthier one uses his body and a log of wood to get through. They're desperate, desperate enough to not care that breaking through the door cuts him severely, splits through his jacket. The second man limps behind him, getting inside, and you decide to put the rifle back.

You will stay quiet until Simon gets back. Your strength is not being a bulldozer, so you'll hide until he can be that for you. You steady your breathing; even if they make it to the attic, you won't go quietly. You tried that last time, and if it wasn't for Simon, you'd surely be naked and dead in that clearing that you were dragged to.

This time, if you go, you will take someone with you at least. Severed ears are not enough. You will not make them artists, you will make them forgettable and unrecognizable, and you will give back what they give you tenfold. Even if it kills you.

It takes them all night before they finally make it to the attic. They eat your food and take showers in your bathroom and stink up the living room, you can hear them. And when their bellies are full and their minds wander, you dread the pull of the attic door as he wrenches it open and the ladder falls.

You manage to kill one as he drags you out from the corner. He latches onto your ankle, and as he pulls, you put your finger on the trigger of your handgun, and you put one right between his eyes. The other takes advantage of your moment of pause, turning you over onto your stomach so hard the gun flies across the attic from your hand. He tosses you down from the attic, and you land on your side in the hallway, and you cry as you get to your elbows and crawl, trying to get to your feet, but he's larger than you.

He catches you in the kitchen. Slams you over the kitchen counter, using his weight to pin you down, but Simon taught you better than that. He taught you not to give in. He taught you not to give up. You think about him when your fingers find the discarded fork on the counter and you drive it right through his fucking eye.

You don't stop. You don't let his cries keep you from bringing your arm down again. And again. And again. You make his face your blank canvas, and you paint it with your anger. For every man that ever touched you. For every man that ever thought himself worthy to have you. For every man that tried to make your body his prize, you poke a thousand holes in him, and you scream with him as you do it until he can't scream anymore.

You're holding the fork and standing over him when Simon comes home. His handgun drawn, silent as he makes his way in, his body visibly relaxing when he sees you. He glances at the man at your feet, still alive, gurgling there, choking on his own blood as he tries to breathe through the holes that are scattered across his face and neck. You meet his eyes, and you smile. It's uncanny to do it now, but you are happy to see him.

"There's..." You sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve. "There's another i-in the attic."

You don’t get to see him smile under the mask. You don’t hear the near purr that leaves him as he climbs the ladder and sees the perfect place you’ve left your mark. He’d frame it if it wouldn’t rot.

You twirl the fork in your hand before going to the sink, dropping it in there, and you close your eyes as you listen to Simon's footsteps as he goes into the attic. It takes him a little less than an hour to get the bodies out the back door, and when he comes back inside, you're already wiping up the floor in the kitchen.

There's nothing to talk about. This is normal. This is just another day. Tomorrow, you might have to do it again, and you'll still cook dinner after sunset and clean the kitchen like you're doing now and sit Simon on the edge of the bathtub and cut his hair.

Simon found chocolate on his trip today, and you make cake with it. You sit in his lap under the candlelight, and you feed each other, bite by bite, and you giggle when Simon gets it all over his lips.

You kiss him to clean it off, and then you reach for another bite of cake. There's some measure of satisfaction you feel when your tongue finds the dent in the fork prongs from when you used it earlier. The chocolate tastes better somehow. Sweeter.

You catch him in the morning, limbs tangled with yours under the sheets, flipping a coin. You smooth a hand over his thick chest, along his pudgy stomach, and you watch with him as the coin lands on the bedside table, falling flat.

It comes up tails.

He decides then that he doesn't have to flip it anymore. It's pointless. He asked for answers, and he got one.

You were not luck. You were fate. And because of it, the coin will always land the same way.

His thoughts are interrupted when you reach for the coin. You twirl it between your fingers, thinking. He doesn't see what you see, but that's okay. Maybe he'll let you play now. Some other game, a better one.

Heads or tails, win or lose, alive or dead. Either way, you are attached. Woven together, thread by thread. There are no vows to say in this new place, but you aren't tested by the same kinds of things. There is no law to keep two people together, no governing power of men that say if left is truly left and that right is really right.

You are drawn together by shared experiences. The same trauma. You won't leave each other not because you said you wouldn't leave, but because there is no one else in the world that has seen the same things you have seen and has done the same things you have done. There is no one else in the world that will forgive you for what you had to do to survive. That will love you not just in spite of it, but because of it, because you did what was necessary, and you are here now to learn a lesson and not suffer its consequences.

It's just a game. If you win, he wins. If you lose, he loses. If you're alive, he's alive.

And if you're dead, then he must be, too.

[snoozingbear]

trying to find reference pictures for the haircut that exists in my head: IMPOSSIBLE!

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

My Friend, the Zombie

Summary: Leon is a zombie and reader finds him slumped in a dark alleyway. But unbeknownst to reader… he’s a needy zombie?

Warning: smut. mentions of blood and periods. cunnilingis.

A/N: sorry I haven’t posted any ff but I’ve been fighting my university nonstop😒 anyways, I didn’t know whether to turn this into a smut or a fluff but I ended up going with smut because I’m horny.

Leon S. Kennedy. A well known agent in the DSO, former rookie cop turned into a government weapon. He’s built this reputation around him that made him become respectable around his colleagues. No one would’ve guess that the Leon Kennedy would soon come to an end.

-

Months passed after the outbreak happening in the city. You were out with your friends hanging out at some Target parking lot when all of a sudden, a group of undead rose from the nearby forest just on the other side of the road.

Sometimes you wondered how you ended up in this mess. Now you were roaming the streets with your backpack full of looted items and your combat knife that you stole from the body of a military soldier you stumbled upon. Why was this happening to you? You wondered and wondered but you never came to an answer.

The town was dead. A literal ghost town—well—zombie town to be exact. Somehow, you’ve managed to survive this long. Of course life wasn’t simple. You ate less to conserve as much food as possible for the next day. You haven’t taken a shower since the power had gone out. But that was the least of your concerns. It wasn’t like you were going to bump into someone at this point in life.

You almost believed you were the only human left on earth.

Dumpster diving became a hobby for you. The amount of things people used to throw away were too precious to leave in the dumpsters.

“Jackpot,” you muttered under your breath when you stumbled upon a dark alleyway with three dumpsters. It wasn’t New York but you almost convinced yourself it was.

Your footsteps were quiet against the wet concrete under your boots. It had been raining nonstop the past following days, storms were rampant and almost everything was destroyed.

As you rummaged through the dumpster, there was groaning from the corner of the alley. Your movements still as you looked up from the trash and towards the direction where the sound came from.

You weren’t a rookie when it came to killing zombies. Surviving meant killing so it was natural that you unsheathed your combat knife and held it at the ready firmly in your hand as you took cautious steps.

It was dark, maybe a little too dark for your liking but it wasn’t like anything you haven’t experienced before.

“Hungry…” you heard someone say. It was the voice of a man, deep and guttural. At first, you thought it might’ve been a human so you quickly put your knife away and ran towards the person.

But as you got closer, you saw you were completely wrong. There against the wall sat a man who had been bitten and infected. Your heart hammered inside your chest as you looked down at him slumped figure.

His skin was pale and his veins were dark blue and black. His eyes were bloodshot red but you can still see the blue in them. His blonde hair was disbelieved, it seemed as if he had been fighting. His clothes were bloodied and there was blood around the walls and floor.

Questions and concerns circled around your mind as you looked around him. He looked weak but he also looked like he was ready to pounce on you at any minute.

“Hungry…” he said again, this time his voice becoming raspier and hoarser than before. It amazed you how this infected man still had the ability to communicate with words. Most zombies you’ve encountered were mindless monsters ready to eat humans as if it was their last dinner.

“You can talk?” You asked the man, looking down at him with an analytical eye. The man looked up at you and a groaned scoff escaped from his bloodied lips.

He cocked his head to the side, his direction being pointed towards the body of a zombie whose legs had been cut off. It didn’t worry you though. That zombie couldn’t even move, it just snarled at you both.

“Here,” you fished into your pockets and retrieved a granola bar. Great, dinner for you was gone now. The man eyed you for a minute longer before he slowly brought his hand out and took the bar from you.

He unwrapped it and almost immediately munched on the snack. He hummed and closed his eyes as he felt some food finally enter his system, he finished the bar rather quickly. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy his hunger.

You, as unimpressed as you were, couldn’t help but notice his attire. He looked like some kind of character that was like an agent or something. His black shirt had rips and it was stained with blood. His cargo pants contained holsters for what you assumed were guns and knives but he didn’t have them.

“What happened to you?” You asked as you sat in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at you, almost perplexed at why you even sat in front of him while he was still very clearly infected.

He didn’t answer to your question, he was still wary of you but there was a certain gaze in his eyes.

Hunger.

His eyes remained on your neck but then he stood up and took slow and staggering steps towards you.

“You smell…” he started. So he can talk. He just chooses not to. He narrowed his eyes at you as he tried to put your scent into words.

And then, without warning, he quickly pulled your wrists and pressed your body against his. He stuffed his face on your neck and took a heavy sniff on your skin, he groaned as the scent infiltrated his nose.

“Smells good,” he whispered. He dragged his tongue around the pulse point of your neck. You tried to fight him but something told you that he wasn’t all that dangerous. He seemed human. A little too human.

He pulled back and gave your body a once over, something else caught his nose. His nose flared as his eyes narrowed at you.

“Blood,” he whispered as he eyes you suspiciously, “you’re bleeding…” I croaked out in a raspy voice. You looked at him confused.

Bleeding? You clearly weren’t injured so what—oh.

He could smell that you were bleeding from your period. You mentally cursed yourself, is that why that hoard of zombies were following you earlier today? No wonder.

He took a step towards you, almost as if wanted to smell you again. But this time, you didn’t fight it. You were almost amused as to see what he was going to do.

At first, you thought he was going to lunge at you and bite you. But it took you by surprise when all of a sudden, he leaned down and grabbed your ankles. He then pulled on them, causing you to fall on your back. You looked at him perplexed, was this a new of attacking someone?

“I want to taste,” he voiced in a hoarse tone. His voice was deeper and almost needy. He wanted—no, he needed to taste you.

He was a starved man and you were the perfect oasis he could feast on. He got on his knees and settled between your legs but he didn’t do anything yet.

He may be infected but he was still a gentleman.

“Please,” he begged as he looked at you with pleading eyes. His mouth was watering, he could practically taste the metallic blood on his tongue and it was driving his primal instincts crazy.

“Please let me taste you,” he whispered again as his hands traveled along your thighs. You were almost tempted to say no and kill him on the spot. But he was handsome and he seemed smart. Maybe you’d keep him for your journeys.

With a slight nod of your head, he didn’t waste time on taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion.

His tongue darted out and he licked his lips upon seeing the sight of your bloody cunt in front of him. It was like a buffet for him. He slowly eased himself further on the floor as his face neared your entrance. The strong coppery smell of your blood made him act like a whole different man.

He went from needy and pleading to one that wasted no time in ravaging you. He traced his tongue along the slit of your entrance, tasting your blood that had caused his body to shiver. He groaned a guttural groan and waiting no time in darting his tongue inside your cunt to lap at the blood, making sure to suck and clean you off.

You were shocked but when you felt his tongue, the sensation made you throw your head back and grip his hair tightly in your hand. You pulled his head closer as he continued his ministrations with his tongue. He flicked and licked everywhere he could.

His hands gripped at your hips as your moans filled the air and it was enough for him to just keep going. For a moment, all he could think about was quenching his devilish hunger. To finally be able to feast on such sweet and addictive blood was like a miracle.

He knew you were getting aroused and although this was something new for you, you couldn’t help but feel attracted to it. To this.

You’ve only ever heard of men eating women out on their period but to actually experience it made you feel blessed. Maybe not all men were bad. But was he even considered a human? You didn’t know and you didn’t care. His mouth on your cunt felt good.

Slick and blood dripped down his face and for a moment you wondered if he could breathe. He hasn’t pulled back at all to catch his breath, he was a possessed man. Starved and munching on you.

The coil in your stomach started to stretch as he kept eating you as if you were a five star restaurant. He didn’t stop, he only went faster. His lips were firmly pressed against your cunt as his tongue swirled inside you, licking and tasting each ounce of blood that came from within you.

“I’m gonna—“ you said as you gripped his hair tightly. He only grunted in response and dragged his tongue along your slit until he found your clit, he flicked it with his tongue before he sucked on it. But the smell of blood was intoxicating and he couldn’t help but dive back into your bloody pussy.

He felt your walls pulsate and around him as you grinded your hips along his face. He didn’t fight against you, in fact, he encouraged you.

Your body arched as you came around his face and he licked off any remnant of blood and cum that came out of you.

He looked up at you as he watched your chest heave up and down from coming down from your high. His lips pressed one final kiss on your cunt before he pulled back and wiped the juices off his face with the back of his hand—before he licked the back of his hand.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he whispered and stood up. He took your clothes from the floor and held them to you.

He watched as you got dressed but he didn’t attack. For a zombie, he seemed rather nice and friendly. For now at least.

“Let’s make a deal,” you said after you caught your breath, “You help me and in return I’ll let you do this again.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicious. It seemed like a good deal. Almost too good, “How do I know you won’t lie?”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” you said as you smirked at him and patted his cheek, “Come now. We’ve got places to explore and loot.”

As you began to walk ahead, he couldn’t help but scoff at your assertive nature. He thought you were crazy for wanting him to join you but he also couldn’t pass the chance of eating out your blood again. So, he followed behind you.

“By the way,” you started as he walked next to you, “You didn’t answer my question. What happened to you and how can you talk?”

He looked at you with a raised brow and a smirk, “I got the vaccine years ago but I still got ambushed.”

“Okay… but how do I also know you won’t do that to me?” You asked with skepticism.

He maintained that smug smirk on his and he stopped walking as he stared down at you, “You’ll just have to trust me.”

He began to walk ahead as you remained shocked, he just gave you your own words. A dry scoff escaped your lips and you quickly ran behind him.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[narklos]

Half-Lore #3: 66 HL Facts!

Make your 'counting to three' jokes in the tags please. Back with another instalment, this is one I've been looking forward to! 66 random facts spanning the entire Half-Life franchise (bc I couldn't fit 100 in one post due to numbered list character limits...) If you have any suggestions for other instalments of Half-Lore, please let me know.

Have a peep under the cut, and enjoy!

Gordon can speak, as confirmed in a series of letters that were included in HL1's box. They mention that L.M and him had a telephone call prior to Gordon's arrival.

Speaking of L.M, he was the original administrator for Black Mesa. L.M was the G-Man, though his full name is never revealed.

Barney and Breen were both meant to appear in Half-Life: Alyx, but were cut due to a hard reset on the game's development.

Gordon is apparently very clumsy. Eli jokes about it in a series of cut voicelines.

Prior to his appointment at Black Mesa, Gordon was stationed at the University of Innsbruck in Austria.

Russell's complaint about being told to apply a year later after his interview at Black Mesa is a real-life hiring process that Valve uses.

Marc Laidlaw mentioned that the baby photo in Gordon's locker is probably a nephew, making Gordon an uncle!

Bullsquids have a 'hungry' mode. If they find a dead headcrab, and they're in hungry mode, they'll eat it. Otherwise, they'll play a sniffing animation and walk away.

In HL2, you can bonk NPCs on the head during a cutscene to make them teleport. This is because the game thinks that the character is trapped by a physics prop, and will teleport them to the next segment in the cutscene to free them.

On Kleiner's clipboard during his first cutscene, what he's saying about the HEV suit is actually written on the paper word-for-word.

Barney has a girlfriend called Lauren, and a picture of her in his locker. The woman in question was a real-life girlfriend of one of the devs.

In one of the OP4 skyboxes, a dev has written the note "Hack hack hack all day long. Hack hack hack while I sing this song."

The mysterious artefact Alyx brings back to Black Mesa East is the head of a Cremator, which was a cut enemy.

HL2 was originally meant to take place in New York.

Headcrabs don't turn Gordon into a zombie because he apparently never lets them get close to his face.

Colette gets a kick out of violence.

Gordon was employee of the month when the Resonance Cascade happened.

A special rebel outpost along Route Kanal will start playing ambient windchimes if you hang around long enough.

Breen was meant to wear a pair of glasses, but Marc Laidlaw went against it, citing that they made Breen look 'vaguely homosexual'.

Russell was originally meant to be Laszlo, the finest mind of his generation. His computer's password is actually 'Laszlo' too!

There are props clipping through Russell's ceiling intentionally- objects will phase through each other during portal storms, the likes of which ravage City 17.

The Citadel wasn't built on Earth, per se- it was teleported in chunk by chunk like the world's biggest IKEA assembly.

G-Man cannot understand the Vort's language, and the Vorts use by-words when discussing him and the Advisors to avoid detection.

Combine Advisors cannot breathe Earth's atmosphere, hence the breathing apparatus they wear.

There was meant to be a fourth day of HL2's plot, but it was shortened to three. Players would have fought through a museum.

Eli lost his leg to a bullsquid when he was helping Kleiner into City 17.

Kleiner and Barney were meant to die in a bus crash in HL2's opening sequence. Marc Laidlaw wrote a short story discussing their deaths in rather graphic detail.

In Decay, there was a cut sequence where players witnessed Gordon getting killed if they didn't scare away the soldiers in time.

Despite 20 years having passed in reality, only around two weeks have passed for Gordon due to being in stasis.

For HLA, developers scanned in a $10,000 Nordstrom suit to use for G-Man's textures.

Level designer David Casali, who has worked on every single mainline HL game, was too tall for a lot of the levels in HLA's Vault sequence. This lead to a lot of upside-down sections being cut for accessibility.

G-Man was meant to be an unwilling prisoner in the Vault, as revealed in a storyboard in The Final Hours.

The Nihilanth is inspired by Gabe Newell's fears of fatherhood, as he'd just had his son at the time.

Nothing is native to Xen. Every alien animal present on Xen is running away from The Combine's invasion of their homeworlds.

During Opposing Force, players can find a gear and a valve inside of a cardboard box- a very clear nod to Gearbox and Valve!

Barney's model changes subtly from HL2 to Episode 1- he's shown more dishevelled, with his hair unkempt and a series of cuts on his cheeks.

G-Man's face is hidden in the Xenian crystal at Black Mesa East.

Alyx was found by the G-Man, sitting beside her dead mother and clutching her mother's wedding ring.

Child labour was meant to appear, with models and animations of the children working in Cremator factories made. This, understandably, were cut, and the lack of children explained away with the suppression field.

G-Man's crow friend is nicknamed 'Crowley'.

During the tactical map section of Surface Tension, you don't have to use the drone strike to destroy the doors leading to the next level- you can actually break it with a fully-charged Tau Cannon shot.

Typing 'haiku' in the game's console will generate a random haiku for you.

Imprisoning the G-Man in HLA was referred to as putting 'God in a Box' by developers.

HL2 on PC and HL2 on Xbox 360 sound wildly different! Due to advanced sound chips, developers were able to push the audio of HL2 to be more immersive and sound more realistic than on PC.

Grigori's shotgun is called Annabelle.

A model of Eli naked exists. This was meant to be used in the section we see him in the Combine pods.

An illustration of G-Man holding a gun to his head can be found on the back of a sign in HLA.

Similarly, in the Index HLA home environment, his eyes are used as part of an advertisement for 'vision enhancement'.

You can find a minifigure of the Scout in HLA.

The textures for some of HLA's cans actually use a recoloured metal effect from HL1's orange poster.

Grigori has cut crosses into the backs of his hands.

Inside G-Man's briefcase is pencils, ID, paper, and a gun.

The shadowy woman in HLA is called Hahn/The Contractor, and according to Erik Wolpaw, they 'have plans' for her.

A cut enemy called Mr. Friendly was meant to literally SA the player and knock Gordon's glasses off, blurring the screen. Apparently, the idea was to play on a gamer's subconscious (or conscious...) homophobia and make them freak out. This enemy was actually designed by a teenager, and was predictably scrapped.

Early advertisements for HL1 featured babies and children with lambdas replacing their eyes.

HL1 is intended to be an allegory for fighting your own inner hopelessness.

Valve's offices have a wall built to resemble the moving walls of the Citadel.

G-Man has had a total of 11 different models throughout HL's history.

Breaking the army crates in the Dreamcast port of HL1 will reveal copies of Sonic Adventure inside.

Gordon is from Seattle, Washington.

HL2 was delayed a lot during its development. At the time, many swore never to buy from Valve again due to their broken promises.

HL2's E3 demonstrations were staged.

Colette was employed by G-Man, but Gina died.

During a Reddit AMA, a dev responded that we shouldn't keep making Gordon feel bad about his outdated hairstyle choices, when asked about where his ponytail went.

A metrocop's hideaway can be found in the level after the zoo in HLA. Due to the amount of conspiracy theory paraphanelia, the room is theorised to be Barney's.

The act of covering your mouth to stop the fumes of Xenian flora from affecting you in HLA was implemented after playtesters instictively covered their mouths when sprayed.

Thanks for reading to the bottom! Here's some top notch BREENWAVE for you.

[nessinborderland]

Hungry for You

Pairing: Yoon Gwinam x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Dark fic

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You want to stay alive.

In your school, zombies roam the halls and death is certain. Unknown to you, a bigger threat lingers nearby, and he's hungry. Lucky for you, he doesn't want you dead either. He just wants you as dead as he is.

Warnings⚠️ Extremely Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Character Death, Blood and Violence, Blood and Gore

Notes: This work was inspired by a request that was sent via my google forms. Thank you to the anon that requested it, this was a fun one to write ;)

If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a heart and reblogging <3

AO3 | Masterlist

Plunk! Tink! Bum! Bang!

You can’t listen to that fucking piano anymore. Your head hurts for a multitude of reasons, and the goddamn piano noise just outside is going to make you lose your mind, you’re sure of it.

Who are you kidding? You feel like you have lost it already. The last thirty-something hours have been nothing but a hell straight out of your foulest nightmares, and you can’t wait for it to end so you can go home and sleep the headache away. But that seems something further and further from happening with every passing hour.

A zombie apocalypse. A fucking zombie apocalypse. You can’t believe that something as unbelievable as the dead rising is fucking real. You refuse to believe it.

All you want is to sleep – beyond tired from all the running, the crying, and the fear that still makes your heartbeat race – but that seems to be impossible. Your back and neck hurt from your half-sitting, half-lying position against the wooden closet behind you, and your eyes sting from hours of crying and lack of sleep. You sigh; what you wouldn’t give right now to be safe and sound in your bed.

Tink! Bang! Plunk!

You cover your ears with a grunt and change positions on the bench you’re in, stretching your legs that are starting to tingle from being bent for so long. Your feet collide with your companion’s thigh, and you mumble a quick apology before bending your legs again with a sigh.

“It’s okay,” comes the weak reply.

You glance at the girl in front of you, eyebrows furrowing as you take in her almost catatonic state. Lee Nayeon; that’s her name.

She saved your life.

You had been so close to being a zombie meal, your legs almost giving up on you as you tried to find someone or something, or somewhere that would help you stay alive. You got inside that classroom by sheer luck, and it was by Nayeon’s grace alone that you didn’t die outside that room. If she had never opened the door for you, you would be growling with the other monsters in the corridor, waiting for the chance to sink your teeth into the flesh of the living.

So here you are, you and your companion, seemingly alone in a school that quickly became a death trap, with zombies growling in the halls and a piano grinding on your nerves.

“That’s it, I’m stopping that thing,” you proclaim as you rush to get up, limping on prickly legs as you make your way to the door.

You hesitate, your hand on the handle; is it safe? You know the answer to that: a big, fat, NO.

“What’re you doing?” Nayeon questions, her tone hesitant as she glances at your hand before looking at your face. “It’s not safe.”

“I know,” you say with a nod, followed by a gulp as you take up the courage to unlock the door. The sound of it unlocking makes you slightly jump, and your shoulders tighten as you slowly open the door just a crack. “I wanna stop the noise, that’s all.”

The adjacent room is messy, with broken furniture and musical instruments painting a chaotic scene together with the blood on the floor, but at least it appears to be empty. You are aware of the couple of zombies trapped in the room, their growls making it easier to pinpoint where they are in the dark room. You open the door a little more before remembering that the sliding doors that access the corridor are wide open.

“Nope,” you say to yourself as you close the door again, cringing as it makes a loud noise. You let out a small whimper as the zombies in the room start a wave of agitating noises, no doubt alerted by the sound of you carelessly closing the door.

You hold your breath as you wait for them to calm down, hoping that no zombies were alerted by their ruckus. The last thing you need right now is even more zombies in the area.

“Do you think that the piano will attract others here?” Nayeon’s voice right beside you startles you, and you turn to face her.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m trying to make it stop,” you answer in a whisper, “but I’m scared more will come. The sliding door is open.”

“I’ll help.”

You nod, taking a deep breath before forcing yourself to open the door a second time. Everything seems as calm as before, the growls of the trapped zombies now back to normal. You glance at the lit hallway, relieved at seeing it empty.

“Okay so,” you start, “I’m going to stop the piano while you close the door and keep watch, okay?” Nayeon nods and you give her a brief smile. “Cool, let’s do this then.”

~+

“You were supposed to keep watch!” you loudly whisper, trying your best not to shout your words. You shoot a fearful glance at the door, where new zombies bang against it with all their might, and you feel like sobbing. Fresh blood slides down your arm and drops to the floor, and your whole body shakes as you try not to panic from the burning scratch on your forearm. You see red from how furious you are. “I was almost bitten back there because of you!”

“I’m sorry!” Nayeon pleads with tears in her eyes. “I got distracted and–”

“And I almost died!” You push her then, unable to control your rage as your voice raises in tone. She falls back against the bench, eyes on the video camera in her hands. You feel your anger grow. “And all for a goddamn camera?”

“I said I was sorry, okay?” she snaps, sending you a look that reminds you a lot of the Nayeon you are more familiar with. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it, it’s not like they bit you!” You were never friends, or even in the same class, but you always knew her as the preppy rich girl with a superiority complex. And here she is, proving herself as exactly that.

“Fuck you,” is all you say as you remove yourself to a corner of the room, grabbing a roll of toilet paper with shaky hands from a nearby box before sitting back on the floor against the shelves.

You do your best to clean up your wound as you try your hardest not to panic. Is a scratch enough for you to get infected? Is this how you will die? By turning into those awful monsters?

At least I’ll eat her as revenge, you think to yourself before shaking those thoughts away. You don’t want that to happen, doesn’t matter that you almost died because of her recklessness. You want both of you to live. That’s all you want right now.

A sound from across the room makes you look at Nayeon, that is focused on the video on the camcorder like nothing else matters. Some voices and names sound familiar, but you’re too tired and dizzy to focus exactly on what they’re saying. Still, hearing other people brings you some comfort, and you’re dozing off to sleep before you realize it.

~+

A sudden noise startles you awake, and you open your eyes wide to search the dark room, fearing the worst. Nayeon is standing across from you, filling her bag with the food and drinks from the shelves with a vigor you can only describe as desperate. You can still hear someone talking from the video camera.

How long have I been asleep? you ask yourself as you feel your injury burn. A look at it tells you that at least it has stopped bleeding.

“What’re you doing?” you ask her, hating the way your voice sounds. Your head hurts now more than ever, and you consider going back to sleep.

“I’m just–”

She interrupts herself before finishing her words, and you look up at her with a raised brow, sensing that something is wrong but unable to realize what.

“It’s my fault he died,” says someone in the video, grief clear in the boy’s tone. “Please let his grandma know.”

Your eyes widen at the words, and you think you just realized why Nayeon is staring at the camcorder with such intensity, a tremble to her lower lip.

“You know them?” you ask. She nods, and that’s all the answer you need. “I’m sorry.”

You stay quiet, deep in your thoughts as the words in the background go by you. You don’t know these people personally, but their faces are familiar. They are students, just like you. Teenagers with dreams and hopes that suddenly don’t matter anymore. All that matters now is surviving; at least to you. Still, most die, as shown by the dead walking just outside this door you’re hiding behind. Kids are dying in here. Outside the school grounds too, for all you know.

Maybe that’s why no one has come to our rescue after almost three days, you think to yourself, quickly shaking those thoughts away; losing hope won’t help you stay alive.

A beep snaps you out of your thoughts, and you look back at Nayeon to see that the camera has seemingly run out of battery. She’s looking in your direction; but not at you. At something beside you.

You glance in the direction of her stare, relieved and confused by seeing nothing but a wall and more furniture. There’s no one there, but the look on her face makes you believe she’s seeing a ghost.

Nayeon suddenly drops the bag in her hands, and you watch as the look on her face deepens into something you can’t quite comprehend, but looks a lot like grief and regret. She hugs her knees to her chest and buries her face against them. Her shoulders start to shake.

“I killed them,” you hear her whisper in a tone so low you have to force yourself to comprehend her words.

“W-What?”

“I killed them,” she repeats in a shaky voice. “They’re dead because of me.”

Before you can process her words, she stands up and reaches for the bag on the floor, refilling it with food and beverages with newfound vigor before heading for the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” you ask with wide eyes, forcing yourself to get up and follow her. Your scratch still hurts like hell, but at least it has stopped bleeding. That – and the fact that you’re yet to crave the flesh of the living – brings you some relief.

“Got to go back to them,” is all she says as she opens the door and walks out.

You follow, hesitating by the door as you see her peek into the corridor. You quietly walk towards her and pull her by the hand, hoping that the zombies lurking in the hallway aren’t attracted by your presence.

“What’re you doing?” you whisper, trying to pull her with you back inside the room. She shakes her arm off your grip. “This is dangerous!”

“They’re on the roof,” she explains, eyes wide as they lock on yours. They look desperate as she passes by you to search for something near the wall. “They don’t have any food or water, so I’m bringing them some. I have to help–”

Bang!

The sound of a door shutting roughly behind you makes you both jump, and you turn around to look at the source of the noise. Relief floods through you as you see who it is, the sight of seeing someone else alive – even if it’s him – filling you with hope. You had avoided thinking about him at all since this all started, but part of you was sure he was dead. You should’ve known better.

“Gwinam!” you exclaim at seeing the tall boy, a smile gracing your lips as you take a step closer. Your smile quickly drops as you take in his appearance.

Something isn’t right.

He’s covered in blood, white jacket stained red. But that is not what worries you.

“W-What happened to your eye?” you ask, gulping at the expression on his face. You reflexively take a step back as he takes a step forward, the way he looks at you sending a chill down your spine. Something is very very wrong. “Gwinam?”

“What’s that?” he asks instead with a nod in Nayeon’s direction, ignoring your questions.

“It’s… nothing.”

“Well…” he says, passing by you, his eyes locked on Nayeon. “I have to go to the roof. But the door’s locked. So, I’m going that way,” he says while pointing at the window.

You stare at him in surprise; what is going on?

“You’re not a zombie, are you?” Nayeon asks in a hesitant tone, her eyes jumping to you before she focuses back on him. You can see the growing fear in her eyes.

Something is very very wrong.

“Zombie? Fuck that!” You can’t help but flinch at Gwinam’s tone. He might not be a zombie, but he is starting to scare you almost as much as one. He was never kind, but this is not normal – even for him. “So, is that food?”

“Yes, we–”

He interrupts your attempt at claiming his attention. “Are you hungry?”

“Gwinam, what’s–”

“I’m not talking to you, am I?” he snaps at you, turning his bad eye in your direction before focusing back on Nayeon. “Are you, huh? Are you hungry?

Nayeon nods.

“Me too.”

You hear it more than you see it. The scream; the gurgling sounds; the blood spraying the room – spraying you – and dripping onto the floor.

The look on Nayeon’s face as Gwinam buries his face in her neck and starts to feed.

It all happens so fast that you have no reaction but to freeze for the first few seconds. Your heartbeat quickens and your knees tremble, and you do anything but stare as Gwinam pulls Nayeon to him before biting into her neck with a disgusting, wet sound. Blood spatters and dribbles onto the floor as you watch him feed on the girl like she’s nothing but a bag of blood, the slurping sounds coming from his feeding making you retch as you double over and fall to your knees, eyes unable to leave the carnage in front of you.

You see the moment life vanishes out of Nayeon’s eyes, her body going limp before falling to the ground. Then slowly, he turns to you, and your eyes lock.

“What about you,” he takes a step forward, a gory smirk on his bloodied face. “Are you hungry?”

You have to run, or he will eat you too, screams the voice in your head.

He’s so much faster than you. Or maybe your eyes give it away. Either way, he’s grabbing you before you can even attempt to escape.

His strong hands squeeze your wrists in a tight grip, and you gasp as he forces you to stand up and shoves you against the wall with so much force it pushes the air out of your lungs. The look in his eyes is predatory. Hungry.

“Do you have any idea how good you smell?” he asks, leaning towards you to run his nose against your pulse. You jump at his touch, whimpering as his tongue licks your skin. “I bet you taste fucking amazing.”

You’re about to die; you’re sure of it. He’s going to eat you alive, just like he did with Nayeon.

“Please,” you beg, shaking your head in supplication. “Please don’t.”

He laughs. Like you said something funny. Nothing about the last three days has been funny.

“Lucky for you, I’m not hungry anymore,” he says, and you almost relax in his grip. But the look of bloodthirst in his good eye doesn’t let you.

Gwinam was always… complicated, to put it simply. You’ve known him for as long as you’ve attended Hyosan High School. In the beginning, he was just another classmate. Yes, he was cute, but he was also mean most of the time and liked to hang out with the wrong crowd, so you avoided him as much as possible.

Until you couldn’t.

When he asked you on a date – all red ears and avoiding eye contact – you had half a brain to say ‘no’. In retrospect, that’s exactly what you should’ve done, but the younger you was beyond happy to have a boy like you enough to ask you out.

So, you said ‘yes’, a shy smile on your face and the fantasies of a naive girl running through your head as you accepted his request.

Your relationship evolved naturally from there, and before you knew it he was stealing kisses when no one was around and touching your hand when you passed by each other in the hallways. It quickly became something more, with heated make-out sessions that ended with both of you naked and panting.

It was good; until it wasn’t. It broke your heart to end it, but you couldn’t ignore what he did anymore. How his group – him – treated others so badly that they dropped out or hurt themselves. Even to you, he was toxic; jealous, possessive, pushy… It took you some time to realize, but you knew he wasn’t good for you.

That was almost a year ago. You’ve barely said a word to each other since then, but – to your surprise and relief – he never tried to seek revenge after your breakup.

You hope that part of him still likes you enough to keep you alive.

“Are you going to- to eat me?” you can barely choke out your question amidst your sobbing. Funny; you were sure your tear ducts had run out of tears. Apparently not.

“No.” His answer makes you relax just a bit; you know he’s not lying. He’s not going to eat you. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to hurt you.

“T-Then are you–”

“I’m not letting you go either,” he says in a decisive tone. That’s when he leans his head to the side, observing you like he’s seeing your face for the first time. One of his hands releases your wrist to catch a falling tear, following its path up your face until his palm is cradling your cheek. It’s surprisingly gentle. “Why are you crying? You never cried before.”

“You’re scaring me,” you whimper, not able to control the tremor in your voice. “Please let me go.”

He scoffs, thumb wiping away your tears.

“Remember when we used to fuck after school? I swear I can still smell you on my sheets. Fuck,” he swears, pressing his forehead against yours. A sob escapes your lips at the proximity, and he chuckles. “You used to make the prettiest noises. I wanna hear you moan like that again. It’s been way too long.”

His body presses against yours at the same time he forces you into a kiss.

“No!” You cry out at the feeling of blood on your mouth and face, gagging when he deepens the kiss. You push him away with all your strength, but he barely budges. “Stop!”

A loud crash from behind you is what finally has him release you. You scream as a hoard of zombies barges into the room, you the clear target of their hunt. Gwinam barely reacts to the intrusion, grunting in frustration as he throws you into the other room before any of the dead can get you.

You fall to your knees as he closes the door behind him, and you do nothing but stare as you hear what goes on outside, the swears of Gwinam indicating that he’s fighting them off in some way. How he’s doing that, you can’t even begin to imagine.

Whatever he is, you’re sure of one thing: he’s not human anymore. Not completely.

The commotion outside lasts a few minutes, and you hold your breath as the last growl gives place to an eerie silence. Then, the doorknob turns, and in comes Gwinam, alive and well despite the blood on his clothes, skin, and hair. You can’t believe he’s alive. A small part of you wonders if he is alive.

You say nothing and stay on the floor, waiting for him to do or say something. But Gwinam barely sends you a glance before walking to the couch and sitting down with a sigh, his good eye closing as he leans his head against the wall.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask after your sobs have subsided. You can’t take the silence anymore.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he scoffs with a shrug, opening his eye to finally look at you. A chill runs down your back at the intensity of his gaze. You want him to look away.

“You ate her.”

“Be glad I didn’t eat you.”

That makes you shut up. You could be like Nayeon right now, body rigid and growing cold as your own blood sticks to your skin. Dead. But you’re not. That’s when you remember the blood in your mouth. Her blood. You rush to clean your bloodied face, gagging at the taste of it on your tongue.

“Are you going to kill me?” You rasp out after a moment of dry heaving.

“Not thinking about it, no. Why? Feel like dying?”

You shake your head, new tears falling down your cheeks. You want to live. You really do.

And that’s why you stand up, eyes not daring to meet his as you straddle his lap, hands hesitantly going on his shoulders as you try not to gag from all the blood on his face. The same blood that is also on your face, even though you did your best to clean it off. The blood that belongs to neither of you.

Without a word, you use the sleeve of your shirt to wipe off the blood on the bottom half of his face. If you’re going to do this, you’re not doing it with Nayeon’s blood on his skin.

He watches you in silence, a light smirk on his lips that only widens when you start to unbutton your shirt, button by button. You can feel his heated gaze on you, burning you in a way that makes you want to press your thighs together. You know what he wants, and you don’t think you have any good options but to give it to him. It’s not like it’s your first time, anyway. Sex with him, if anything, is familiar.

Gwinam’s impatience gets to him, and he’s soon ripping your shirt open, buttons popping to the ground. You yelp as he roughly palms your breasts, ripping your bra apart before pulling them into his mouth. You close your eyes at the sensation of his warm tongue on your nipples, trying not to think about how he was eating someone not even twenty minutes ago.

This all feels like a nightmare, and you want it to end. But fuck, does he know how to touch you.

His mouth trails its path up your chest to the curve of your neck, marking your skin in ways that make you shiver and wonder when he’ll break your skin and turn you into a monster. Just like him.

You shiver at the thought, and he must take it as a sign of enjoyment because he’s pulling you down for another kiss before you can stop him, soft lips roughly forcing yours to respond to him as he tastes your mouth. A whimper escapes you as his teeth graze your bottom lip, his smirk clear as he stops you from pulling away.

So, you quickly give in.

When he breaks the kiss to pull your body under him, you let him. When he lifts your skirt and rips off your panties, you open your legs wider, ashamed of the wetness that shows him just how ready you are to get him inside you. His fingers are rough and fast as he touches you, thumb pressing on your clit as two of his fingers stretch you for him, making you arch your back and sway your hips as you chase more of that shameful pleasure.

“I’ve missed this pretty pussy of yours,” he groans against your ear as you hear him pull himself out of his pants. You gasp as he starts sliding his dick up and down your folds, making you moan every time his shaft bumps against your clit. “Always so wet for me.”

When he finally slides into you, it’s agony; the good and the bad kind, all mixed into one delightful experience. The head of his cock inside you makes you shake and moan in pleasure as he fills you up to the brim, your legs trembling as he lifts them over his shoulders before starting to thrust into you so roughly you have to cover your mouth to muffle your screams.

He doesn’t slow down as he fucks you, hands squeezing your tits as he leans over again to suck at your nipples, your legs still bent over his shoulders just making him fuck you even deeper as the angle shifts. You lay there as you let him use you, eyes closed tight as tears slide down your temples and your palm stops your moans of pleasure from escaping.

This shouldn’t feel this good. But it does. Fuck, it does.

If you try hard enough, you can imagine you’re still dating, and this is just another normal school day where he fucks your brains out after school. He wasn’t always the most giving lover, but he knew how to make your legs cramp from pleasure and make you moan the loudest.

And it seems he hasn’t forgotten how your body works.

“Look at me,” he orders with a thrust so deep it makes you whimper in pain. “Open those pretty eyes and look at me while I’m fucking you.”

You do what he says; that’s when the illusion is shattered. He’s not your boyfriend anymore and you’re not in his room, having sex just like normal teenagers. No.

Gwinam is a monster who just ate another human being and forced you into having sex with him. What choice did you have anyway; dying, just like everyone else? No, that’s not a choice. Not to you.

So, you endure it, all the long minutes it takes him to fuck you to completion, his gaze never leaving yours till the moment he comes with a groan and a shudder, burying his face in your neck. His thrusts get shallow as he comes in you, the feeling of it overwhelming as the weight of this whole situation throws you back into reality.

You just lay there as he comes, wincing at the burning feeling in your core that only grows when he pulls out of you, his cum seeping out of you to stick at your inner thighs. You stay still as he rests on you, your heart beating like a galloping horse as you catch your breath. You’re surprised to feel his fluttering heartbeat against your breast, fast and shallow, but there.

For whatever is worth, he’s alive, somewhat.

You lock eyes again when he finally pulls himself up from your body, a satisfied glint in his eye that shows you how satisfied he is. His features are relaxed and there’s a light smile on his lips, an expression that reminds you so much of the boy you used to date. It brings you some comfort; he won’t hurt you now, will he? You want to believe he won’t.

No words are shared between you as he stands up in all his naked glory, and that’s when you see it; the very gruesome, very recent marks that scar his body. You hadn’t noticed these before, but now they’re very clear in the contrast they make against his pale skin.

He shouldn’t be alive.

“What happened?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You slowly rise to a sitting position, leaning over to grab your mangled shirt off the floor. “What is wrong with you? Your body…”

He halts his movements and his eye narrows.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” He looks almost offended, like you’re the weird one. “I’m better now than ever before,” he continues as he finishes dressing. “You’re the one that should ask herself what is wrong with you.”

The look he gives you is enough to make you recoil, and you flinch as he kneels before you, grabbing you by the arms with so much force you cry out.

“Please,” you beg, in a shaky tone. “I gave you what you wanted, now let me go.”

He shakes his head as he cradles your cheeks, pulling your face to his.

“You could be like me,” he starts, growing excitement in his voice as he pulls you in for a short kiss that you don’t return. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs, followed by a low laugh. “It would be a waste to watch you die. I can do you one better.” The grip on your face tightens slightly, and you tense under his touch.

“Gwinam–”

The feeling of his teeth on your neck feels like blinding pain. He moans as you scream, trying to push him away, but he acts like you’re not even trying. You can feel it in his grip, the moment he tastes your blood. You’re going to die; you can feel it.

“No!” you cry out, thrashing against his hold.

He stops then, pulling away from your neck with a groan, mouth covered with your blood. You shakily cover the wound, eyes wide as you take him in, breathing deeply with a satisfied smirk on his lips. You shake as the feeling of pain intensifies, the blood running down your still naked chest warm against your cooling skin. You’re terrified, and you know he can see it in your eyes.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he says as he forces you to lean back, long fingers brushing your hair from your face. “You’re gonna thank me for this later, I promise.”

“Am I-am I going to die?”

“Nah,” he laughs, kissing your trembling lips. “You will live forever. We will. Together.”

[darling-i-read-it]

Hi how are you? 😃 May I request some headcanons of RE characters (you choose, i can't choose because I like most of them 😅 ) with a reader who worked 13 days straight and has insomnia so they're pretty much in autopilot or zombie mode at the end of that but are more polite then usual? I hope I don't have to work that many days in a row again 😩

HI yes i can relate as someone who doesn't know how to say no to picking up shifts. my record is only ten days thought, rest in peace my love that sounds HORRIFIC. i chose some guys at random (along with chris and leon, my favorites lol) i hope you enjoy!

Chris Redfield

literally him too

this man has never known a good nights sleep since he was like 21 and even then it was kind of rocky

he has less sympathy because of it. to him it's kind of normal

he works like no one else has ever worked because he cares about his cause. it's a bit hard for him to understand that not everyone does in the case of work

he feels bad seeing you this way though and he knows it

he may have done it before but seeing you go through the zombie nature was affecting him now. you were his person, his safe spot, and you weren't safe

once the sympathy comes it doesn't leave

calls your boss!!!!

on your phone!!!

he's so scary. he's a scary big man. tall. big. large. so large.

they gave you three days off in a row actually

they also mentioned to not have your boyfriend call on your phone again because of professional reasons and it wasn't until then that you knew he even called

you were so out of it you hadn't checked your outgoing calls (and why would you?)

anything he can do to help, he will. just ask it of him.

The two of you sat in front of the TV. His arm was over your shoulder as you leaned against him, more comfortable now than you had been in weeks.

"You hungry?" he questioned, glancing down at you.

"I could eat."

"Anything specific?" You glanced up at him, meeting your eyes. He could read your look. You wanted him to go and get food. He narrowed his eyes, playfully. "It's late."

"I know. I'm being silly."

"Well I didn't say no."

Leon Kennedy

Leon is the most likely on this list to also have some sort of insomnia. He can't even talk against you either because he has the same exact issues

working too much, not sleeping enough

he drinks sometimes till he can't feel the effects of either

so who is he to say that you should go to bed or that working so much was destructive?

despite it being hypocritical, he sees the overall exhaustion within you

you're suddenly quietly polite, you have nothing in you to fight against him, even when he makes his normal banter and you don't return it

that's what really affected him. until you got rest, you could never really be back to him. your polite tired nature made him want to protect you. you were his, he couldn't let you go on like this

he showed up at your work

he didn't chew out your boss, no, he just 'brought you lunch' and then politely demanded that you be given two days off

he may have brought a weapon. it wasn't very good of him but then again, neither was having someone work 13 days straight

you promised him that you would do it for him next time

"What about when you go off to Japan for a month and I know you aren't sleeping?" you questioned. You sat in bed together, eyes heavy, no work in the morning.

"If you were in Japan I couldn't know if you were sleeping either," he pointed out.

"I feel like you would find a way." He smiled, that charming gentle smile. Comforting, homey.

"You're right. I would." You rolled your eyes.

Carlos Oliveira

was a fierce advocate for you taking a day off and is mid contact with your boss

he doesn't care if it was your choice. he really doesn't. he loves but you but damn if he won't let you go through that again

you're so quiet that it scares him sometimes. the life in your eyes is just barely there

he is a bit of a workaholic himself sometimes but he knows how to take breaks. he prides himself in being able to separate himself from that when he can

he tries to lull you to sleep (like you don't know what he's trying to do)

you're stubborn and he knows this and you're also far too tired to admit how tired you actually are

the kind of boyfriend to give you tea and hope it does the trick. to give you massages, make you listen to him talk so much that hopefully you'll fall asleep in his lap

he adores you to pieces. he really does. how can he bear to see you like this?

it's like you're a zombie and not the bad kind. he wanted you to spend the whole day in bed and again, he will call your boss on your behalf, he'll pay for the rent if he can, he doesn't care

he'll do whatever he can to save you from the fate of another awful night like that

His hand massaged your shoulders as you sat together on the couch. You had been silent for a while and although it used to worry him, he was just happy to have you beside him.

"No work tomorrow," he mentioned quietly.

"Don't talk about work," you whispered. He nodded, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

"Sorry." You looked at him at your side. "I think I might lock you in the bedroom so you can get some sleep."

"You know that's not how that works," you whispered, though you smiled at the gesture anyway.

"It's how it should work."

Ethan Winters

Ethan understands better than most how hard it can be to let things slide

he knows that working sometimes helps. it helps the silence in his head when all he can focus on is that he's so tired and the has to work

because he understands, he also has a certain degree of protection he has over you

he knows what it feels like to be unable to feel his eyelids anymore because they're so heavy

the very second you have off he demands that you stay inside

he would rather you be laying down and not moving for a while if he could stand it, allowing you to bask in the quietness

he would make you promise him that you would try your hardest to sleep because he thought that once exhaustion came over you it would be too hard not to

he wanted to tell you about how hard it was for him after the Baker house to sleep because he had so many bad memories that he didn't want to relive

he tries to relate to you about that. he wants you to know that sometimes his bed is a demon in and of itself

insists you take time off afterwards. he doesn't care how it happens but you need a day of rest and that's final

"They'll probably need me in sooner," you admitted, quietly. He shook his head over dinner. He had made it for you that night, happily, some of your favorite foods.

"Two days minimum," he said.

"You're not my boss Ethan," you told him honestly but he shook his head. He was having none of it.

"You should quit."

"I know. But I can't."

"I know," he hummed, shaking his head. "Two days. Two. In a row."

[jessybarnes]

Bunker Nights

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Rating: 18+ Only! Minors DNI!

Tags: Angst, mentions of past physical and emotional abuse, nightmares, panic attacks, eventual fluffy smut, and protective!Dean

Betas: @winecatsandpizza

Word Count: 4,667

Fic Aesthetic: Yours Truly

A/N: This is a repost from my old Tumblr account. I am in the process of transferring all of my fics over to this one. I hope you enjoy :)

One year.

It had been exactly one year since you ended it with Tyler and you still suffered from the aftershocks of the abuse. Even though your body and mind weren't subject to his fists or harsh words, you still felt worthless. Every day the memories of the torture you went through filled your mind.

The moment you met Sam and Dean in the shitty hole-in-the-wall bar, your personalities clicked. You needed a distraction and somewhere to live, and they needed help in their line of work. So when they offered to let you stay and help them hunt you agreed without hesitation. 

Finally, things seemed to be looking up for you, or so you thought. Two weeks after moving into the Bunker, the nightmares started.

These weren't just any run-of-the-mill bad dreams either. No, in these dreams, Tyler was torturing and trying to kill you. The vividness left you screaming and crying in your sleep almost nightly. The nightmares plagued your mind every time you went to sleep.

Neither of the brothers said anything to you about it, so you tried to pretend everything was fine. It was one of the hardest things you've had to do if you were being honest with yourself. The physical training alone sometimes brought on a panic attack. Even though you knew Sam and Dean weren't trying to harm you, your mind was starting to become your biggest enemy. 

You could tell they wanted to ask you about it, but they also knew that you weren’t one to talk about your past. The only thing you told them was that you and Tyler had a rough breakup. The thought made you laugh. Calling it a rough breakup was putting it very mildly. 

The day before your first hunt went surprisingly well. You went the entire day without any panic attacks or a questioning glance from either of the Winchesters. Even though you couldn’t remember the last time you slept, it didn’t stop you from humming in the kitchen while you cooked everyone dinner. Not to mention, the copious amounts of makeup you used to make yourself look less like a zombie. You made a mental note to get some more of the coverup you hid your dark circles with. 

Sam rounded the corner as you filled everyone’s plates, one of his eyebrows rising quizzically. 

“You’re extra happy tonight, Y/N.” 

You shrugged and continued to hum as Dean joined you both at the table. 

“Yeah, what’s gotten into you? You win the lotto or somethin’?”

You gave them both your signature eyeroll and took a pull of your beer. 

“What? I can’t be in a good mood now?”

Sam cleared his throat and looked over at his brother before staring back at you, concern evident in his eyes. 

“Of course you can, Y/N. Dean and I …  well, we’ve noticed that you’ve been having nightmares.”

Your eyes narrowed to thin slits. If this was their attempt to keep you from going on tomorrow’s hunt, then they had better think again. 

“I’m. Fine."

You enunciated your words, making sure to look at both of them sternly. Sam scoffed and set his drink down.

“I don’t call it fine when you wake up almost every night screaming, Y/N”

All you wanted was one day, one day where you could just forget about the grim night that awaited you.

“They’re just dreams, and I’m going tomorrow no matter what. I’ve been training for this day for months, and a stupid nightmare isn’t going to bench me.”

The hostility in your voice caught them off guard, and you suddenly weren’t hungry anymore. You pushed the contents of your plate around with your fork, the awkward silence becoming more deafening by the second. Dean was the first to break it, his soothing tone of voice practically making you sick to your stomach. You knew they wanted you to stay home, and it pissed you off even more that your brain somewhat agreed with them. 

“Look, Y/N, we just wa-”

You slammed your fists on the table cutting him off mid-sentence. 

“ENOUGH! I’m not here to be your charity case! I came here to hunt, not for you to feel sorry for me!”

Before either of them could say anything you had stormed down the hallway to your room. Slamming the door for good measure, you finally let yourself unleash the angry tears you’d held back. You knew they were only trying to help, but being pitied didn’t sit with you well. You’d grown accustomed to it after being with Tyler for so many years, and it made you feel like everyone was hypersensitive to your feelings. 

Once the tears stopped, you were left exhausted and feeling numb. Falling asleep right after an outburst would definitely bring on a nightmare, so you opted for a long hot shower instead. The moment the water cascaded over your skin you felt the stiffness in your muscles leave your body. You spent extra time massaging your scalp and even used your lavender soothing body wash to help calm your nerves. 

Finally, in your pajamas, you slid beneath your covers and sighed deeply. Couldn’t you just have one day where you didn’t have someone worrying about you? Deciding not to dwell on it any longer, you turned the bedside light off and let yourself fall asleep. 

Fear, raw fear coursed through your body as you ran. You’d just told Tyler you wanted to see other people and he’d tried to force himself on you so you’d stay. He pinned you against the wall, his breath reeked of stale beer as he kissed down your neck. The feeling of his lips made you shiver with disgust. When he reached for the hem of your shirt, you raised your knee hard and fast hitting him right where it counted. 

Tyler yelled in pain as you broke free, running as fast as you could to the door. 

“Ow, FUCK! God Dammit, Y/N! Come back here you fucking bitch!”

Cold air hit your face as you ran barefoot into the woods behind your home. Branches hit your exposed skin leaving little cuts in their wake. You could hear Tyler shouting after you as you found refuge behind a big tree trunk. Your chest heaved and you shivered as you tried to stay still and quiet. 

Tyler’s footfalls and yelling became louder by the second, and you were sure he could hear the thundering of your heart. Just as you thought you were in the clear, strong arms boxed you in, the bark of the tree cut into your back as Tyler stared menacingly down at you. 

“There you are… you pathetic little slut. You shouldn’t have done this, Y/N. You should have just come home like the good little bitch you are and kept that pretty, little mouth shut.”

His fingers grazed your cheek briefly before his mouth was on your own, the taste of his tongue made you almost vomit. 

“Now, we could have done it back at the house, but seeing as how you made a scene, I think I’ll just take you right here.”

You tried to push, shove, kick, anything to get him off you, but it was of no use. He began to forcefully rid you of your clothes, and all you could do was scream. Scream for anyone to help you.

“Stop! Please, Tyler!”

Sobs racked your body as he pawed roughly at your skin. You could feel him now, shaking you, calling your name.

“No! Just leave me alone!”

You bolted upright in your bed, a cool sheen of sweat covered your skin and the sheets. Dean knelt in front of you, concern etched in his features. 

“Y/N! It’s okay! It’s me… it’s Dean.”

You blinked a few times before covering your face with your hands, tears of relief streaming down your cheeks. 

“D-Dean… I’m… I’m s-sorry for waking you up. I… It was just another d-dream.”

You tried to sound confident between your sobs, but you knew he wouldn’t buy it. Hell, even you knew how pathetic you sounded. Ever so slowly Dean sat on the foot of your bed, his hand coming to rest gently on your knee. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was looking at you with worry in his eyes. 

“C’mon now, Y/N. Don’t bullshit me. You and I both know that this is past the point of being 'just dreams'. I want to help you, but you’re going to have to work with me here.”

Using the back of your hands to wipe the loose tears away, you finally got the courage to look at him. His eyes were soft, kind even. The lopsided smile he gave you was the moment you finally let your walls down. Dean was here to help you, not judge you. 

“O-Okay… so umm… what do we do now? How do I stop dreaming of these… these horrible things?”

Dean started to move his thumb across your kneecap. In any other situation you’d be in a fit of laughter, but at a time like this, it was soothing. 

“Do you trust me?”

Those four words made you swallow thickly. Trust wasn’t something you took lightly, and Dean knew that. Sam understood this too, but Dean was different. He could count on one hand the people he had full trust in.

“Yes, of course, I trust you, Dean. Believe me, I want these nightmares to stop just as much as you do if not more.”

He stood and held his hand out to you. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, but you took it anyway and let him lead you to his room. The Bunker was eerily quiet at night, but you knew you were safe. You stood at the threshold, watching him as he padded across the floor to his bed. Your cheeks flushed as he rid himself of his t-shirt, leaving him only in his low-hanging grey sweats. You never let yourself think about Sam or Dean this way before, but you weren’t a prude. Every woman who came in contact with them knew how attractive they were. 

Dean cleared his throat bringing you back to reality.

“You comin’ sweetheart? I don’t bite...much.”

He winked, and you knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but who were you kidding? You couldn’t share a bed with Dean. That would make things weird, and that’s the last thing you wanted to do. Nightmares or not, you weren’t going to jeopardize your friendship. 

“Dean...I-I don’t think I can do this… I’m pretty worn out from crying so let’s just say we forget about this night and I’ll go back to my own bed… I’m sorry for being a burden. I’ll just.. I’m gonna go…”

You turned to leave, but not before Dean caught your arm. 

“Whoa whoa slow down, Y/N. What’s wrong? Is it because I took my shirt off? ‘Cause I can put it back on. I’m just used to sleeping without it on is all.”

You sighed and shook your head. 

“No, it-It’s not that. I just… I don’t want this to ruin our friendship ya know? I don’t want things to get weird or anything.”

Dean shook his head and chuckled. 

“So, don’t let it get weird.”

His look went back to firm before he continued. 

“Y/N, be honest with me. How long has it been since you slept, and I mean really slept?”

Your eyes went to your feet, your toe rubbing across a rough spot on the old floor. 

“I umm… I haven’t slept in four days…”

A flash of concern laced his features as he pulled you back into his room. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

He pulled back his covers and got under them before patting the other side of the mattress invitingly. 

“Come here, Y/N. You need sleep just as much as I do. I promise I won’t try anything with you. I mean, I’m a cuddler so, I might do that, but nothing else, I swear.”

You lowered your head in defeat and crossed the room before climbing into bed next to him. He carefully wrapped his arm around your waist, feeling you tense a little, before relaxing. Neither of you talked, but there really wasn’t any need to. You already felt more at ease in Dean’s arms. The smell of his shampoo and pheromones calmed you. Mere minutes later, his breathing evened out, and his light snoring filled your ears. Moments later, you were asleep. 

It became a routine that none of you spoke about. Every night, you would get ready for bed in your room and slip into Dean’s, silently climbing into bed beside him. True to his word, he was a cuddler but instead of the apprehension you’d expected at his touch, you only felt warmth and safety.

He was never inappropriate either. His hands stayed firmly in the safe zones, holding you around your middle if you decided that spooning was the position for you; his lower half was always carefully angled away when you woke up. If you slept curled into his side, he kept his hand on your shoulder or waist, never anywhere else.

The nightmares weren’t dispelled so easily. But being with Dean, they were normally stopped before they were over - he was a naturally light sleeper and the slightest twitch in your slumber had him waking you with gentle reassuring murmurs.

It was three weeks before your first night with no memories assaulting you. You woke with your face against Dean’s bare chest - you’d fallen asleep there the night before. His skin was warm under your cheek and you sighed, closing your eyes and allowing the haze of sleep to keep you still for a little longer.

“You slept well,” he muttered without opening his eyes and you smiled.

“No nightmares,” you whispered.

“Good.” Dean yawned, stretching his arms up. “I think I slept pretty well too.”

The covers slipped down with his movement and you couldn’t help it; your eyes went south to the straining erection that was fighting against the elastic of his pajama pants.

His hand wasn’t fast enough to snatch the covers back up and when you raised your head to look at him, his face was beet red.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “s’morning and everything… y’know.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, patting his chest.

“It’s not,” Dean grunted, clutching the covers over his lap, “you didn’t want this to get weird.”

“You having a…” you swallowed, unsure how to phrase it, “an erection, isn’t weird. It’s perfectly natural.” With a shrug, you slid your eyes away from his, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’d say it’s a compliment.”

He blinked, processing what you’d said before his mouth set in a thin smile. “Can’t help what happens when I sleep next to a beautiful woman.”

You were sure your face was about to burst into flames and you giggled. “Now you’re making it weird.”

Dean smirked - not one of those sarcastic expressions, more playful, devilish. The way you expected he’d look at a woman he wanted to -

“Besides,” you added hurriedly, shifting a little way away from him, “I’m not your type.”

“Who says?” he challenged and you pulled back, frowning.

Dean moved, pushing himself up with his arm. “You say you don’t wanna ruin our friendship but I can’t keep spending the night with you warm next to me and pretending I’m not craving you in every way possible.”

His declaration left you speechless - what were you supposed to even say to that?

Thank you?

Dean chuckled, leaning in a little closer. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered and you were struck by the thought that no man should ever look that pretty when asking that question. With scruffy bed hair and sleep lines on his face, Dean managed to look like he’d fallen out of a GQ photoshoot.

Your reply, when you finally forced it out, was barely a squeak.

His lips were soft when they pressed against yours but you couldn’t relax. Your entire body was stiff with trepidation; you felt hot and cold all at once and it took only seconds for Dean to notice your tense posture.

Breaking away, he cupped your cheek, dragging his thumb down to rest on your chin, making your eyes meet his.

“Talk to me,” he urged softly.

The temptation to shut off, to not tell him anything, warred with the need to spill your illogical shame for what had happened. You knew Dean would never blame you but seeing the pity in his eyes would be unbearable.

But he deserved to know what he’d been protecting you from. At least, in part.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve,” you took a shuddering breath, dropping your chin away from his hand, “since I’ve been with anyone. And the last time wasn’t…” Your eyes closed and you tried to forget the rough touch on your skin.

Dean’s hand moved, resting on your hip and the warmth of his touch seeped into you, forcing you to look at him again, letting his gentle touch replace the horror from before.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you,” he coaxed, smiling softly. “I could never hurt you.”

What you feared most was nowhere to be found in his face. His sincere green gaze focused on you, filled with nothing but lust and affection.

You moved closer, startling him with a chaste kiss, your little moan swept away by his hum of appreciation and when he tugged you closer, you moved with him easily, losing yourself in the warmth of his skin.

Dean didn’t push, letting you set the pace and you were content with kissing, feeling his hands roam your body. You licked into his mouth, breaking only for air; you weren’t paying much attention to the way you pinned him back onto the bed, straddling his lap so you could kiss him and run your hands over his solid chest and stomach.

He laughed, arching when your fingers caught a ticklish spot, which only prompted you to do it again.

“Quit it,” he chuckled, grabbing at your hands but keeping his touch light.

Dragging your right hand to his lips, you sucked in a breath as he kissed each fingertip, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

He continued down over the palm of your hand, tracing the throb of your heartbeat to your wrist. By the time his soft lips reached the inside of your elbow, you were practically mush - before he could continue, you used your free hand to cup his face.

“Later,” you promised.

Dean’s eyes sparkled as you rolled your hips, reminding him of the erection straining at his pants. “Fuck,” he groaned, letting his head fall back, “don’t do that.”

“Why?”

The tone of your voice had him narrowing his eyes at you. “Because if you do, I might not be able to help myself.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

Dean pushed himself up onto one hand, abruptly enough that you squeaked and giggled, smiling when he used the other hand to cup the back of your neck and draw you in for a deep kiss.

“Do you want me as much as I want you, princess?”

You nodded, feeling the heat in your cheeks rise, his nose squished against yours.

“You know you can tell me to stop at any time, right?”

“I know,” you whispered, initiating another kiss, dragging your tongue over his.

Shifting his weight so his back was straight, Dean’s hands landed on your hips, grinding you down harder against his cock. His fingers trailed up underneath the thin tank top you’d worn to bed; he groaned when his thumbs brushed the underside of your bare breasts.

You lifted your arms, letting him pull the top up over your head, giving him full access to your breasts and Dean leaned in, brushing his nose across the top of one.

“You’ve got no idea how beautiful you are,” he murmured and you smiled, folding your hands around the back of his head as he started to worship your tits with his tongue.

His cock was twitching against your core and Dean grunted, pushing one hand underneath the covers to shove his pants down.

“Sorry, it’s getting a little uncomfortable down there,” he joked, resuming his attention to your nipples and you gasped when his teeth grazed one solid peak teasingly.

The sudden desire to feel his skin on yours was a full-body craving; you shifted and pushed at your shorts, managing to drag them down without dislodging him.

The sound Dean made when you were finally perched nude in his lap was only amplified when you pushed him back, using your feet to shove the covers down. His cock was warm and throbbing against your bare slit and you whimpered, grinding against him and he broke away from your breast, groaning loudly.

“Fuck, Y/N -”

“Sssh,” you ordered, sliding down his body until you were straddling his thighs, wrapping one hand around his shaft before you could stop and think about it.

Dean’s chin tilted up and the veins on his neck popped with the strained angle of his neck, a low moan accompanying the bob of his Adam’s apple when you licked the tip of his cock.

He kept his hands at his sides, clenching them in the sheets, giving you all the room you needed. It wasn’t something you had an entirety of experience in but Dean seemed happy enough to let you explore, finding the sensitive spots at the base of his length. When you cupped his balls with your other hand and fondled them gently, Dean emitted a noise of pure lust and warmth swelled in your core in response.

Stroking him slowly, you watched a bead of precum seeping from his slit; the urge to taste it was more than you could ignore. The salty tang was worth the way Dean’s entire body twitched and he looked down at you, tucking his chin into his chest.

“You know there are limits to torture, right?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow and you giggled, continuing to stroke him as he moaned under his breath. “Jeez, Y/N, you’re gonna… fuck…”

“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” you chided, your gaze fixed on the way his cock fit in your hand. Your fingers didn’t quite touch either side, not until you reached the slightly flared head and you suddenly wanted to know what it felt like to have him buried inside you.

The thought was enough to provoke a sudden rush of wetness between your thighs and Dean groaned as you rutted against him, barely acknowledging your own movement. 

A tiny voice in the back of your head stilled your movements, doubt settling in the pit of your belly. Shouldn’t you be frightened of this? After… after him, there hadn’t been anyone and this felt like something that should be shaking you to the core.

But all you could feel was pure adrenaline and desire pumping through your veins; everything was focused on the way Dean felt underneath you, the warm weight of his cock as you stroked him, and the sounds of pleasure he was making.

“Dean,” you whispered, meeting his eyes, “I wanna fuck you.”

He muttered a curse, biting his bottom lip when you released his cock and crawled further up his body. There was no objection - Dean continued to let you set the pace. You lifted yourself, slipping two fingers between your thighs, sinking them into your body.

“Y/N…” Dean muttered, covering your hand with his own, “let me.”

You nodded, letting him take over, whining when he pushed a single digit into you. Just one of his fingers felt bigger than your two, more calloused and filling. He pumped them a few times, smirking when you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, enjoying his slow touch.

All too soon, you grew impatient for more but before Dean could add a second finger, you tugged on his wrist. “Want you,” you pouted, leaning over to kiss away any protest he could make. Lifting your hips, you pinned his hands beside his head, smiling against his lips. “Stay.”

Dean obeyed, groaning when you slipped one hand down to grasp him again, lining his tip up with your soaked entrance. Lowering down onto him, you whined, lifting again when your body struggled to accept the intrusion. With a few more thrusts, you had him halfway inside and his body was shaking with the effort of holding back.

Lifting up once more, you pushed down, taking him to the hilt. The shock of being so full made you yelp and Dean’s hands were on your hips, holding you steady so you could adjust.

“Gah,” you moaned, resting against his chest, “you’re… fuck.”

“Now who has a dirty mouth?” Dean teased and you pulled back, smiling. “Want me to put my hands back?”

You nodded, waiting for him to return his hands to the pillow before sliding your fingers up to lace them with his.

When you started to move, rocking gently on him, Dean closed his eyes, a low rumble in his chest letting you know that it felt good. The way he reacted made you a little bolder and you lifted yourself, letting him withdraw a few inches before taking him to the hilt again. 

“Y/N…”

“What?” you asked, worried you’d done something wrong with the way he moaned your name.

His cheeks were a little red when he answered. “I’m close and you haven’t -”

“Oh,” you blinked, ceasing your movements, unsure what to do, “do you want me to stop?”

“God, no,” Dean chuckled. “I just wanna make sure you cum too.” The way he said it, his low throaty voice almost catching on the words, made you shudder and clench around him. “Sit up straight,” he instructed - you obeyed, a little puzzled until you felt how much deeper it let him be.

You moaned, circling your hips as Dean’s jaw clenched. Your lips parted in a little “o” when he responded with a slight thrust, one hand untangling from yours to hover over your mound, his thumb settling just above where his cock was inside you.

“That okay?” he asked and you nodded, squirming needily. Intense pleasure was on the edge of your senses, teasing you with the promise of climax but you craved more. Dean’s thumb traced your clit and a spark made your hips jerk. “That’s it,” he coaxed, “keep moving for me, baby.”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you started to rock, much like how you had started. The throbbing inside you increased with each glide of his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Electricity ran through your veins prompting your head to fall back as you whimpered into orgasm.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Dean murmured his other hand on your hip now, guiding your rocking motion when you fell over the edge.

It was calmer than any orgasm you’d ever experience but possibly one of the best. Dean’s climax followed yours within seconds and he stopped touching you, letting you fall forward onto his chest, panting heavily.

Although you’d barely moved, you were sweating, exhausted and more sated than you’d ever felt. An overwhelming sense of calm swept through you; even though your legs were shaking with the effort of simply existing, you felt peaceful.

Eventually, Dean had to move, helping you clean up before he slipped back into bed with you. Neither of you spoke as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and drew you back against his chest, letting you curl into his side.

“Get some more sleep,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You nodded, closing your eyes without a reply and letting the last ebbing waves of bliss carry you off.

[spacebarbarianweird]

HC of Astarion x fem Elf Tav who’s a Druid, more specifically of the Circle of The Spores subclass. She wears skirts and dresses of dark teals and blacks with gold embroidery and legs round gold glasses, always travels with herbs and roots in her pockets and pouches, and is never afraid to raise an army of the fungal infested undead for the hell of it. Basically she’s the healer who puts on a neutral front but is begging for the chance to rightfully unleash chaos and destruction

Hi! Oh, this is a nice design of a character! And I am sucker for elf!Tav because they can live for many centuries. And Spore Circle is absolutely badass. It turned out to be weird, creepy and bittersweet and I hope you like it! I also tag @tolkien-fantasy since they love Spore Druids.

Astarion x Spore Circle Druid!Tav

There is a thing about Spore Druids.

Unlike your colleagues, you don't particularly hate the undead.

If anything, your magic is about death, too.

Mold and fungi transform lifeless material into something new and weird.

Death isn't the end, it's just a new stage.

The problem with the undead is that they often wish things would stay the same and never change.

Which is unnatural.

Life is about growth and death is about transformation.

You encourage Astarion to heal and grow.

The worst thing about his past was stability and the belief nothing was going to change.

But somehow he preserved his personality and now he slowly demonstrates his ability to "live" in his undeath.

Though, you scare him a bit.

You can resurrect the dead with spores, turning them into zombies, alive and dead, hungry and terrifying.

You infect the corpses and transform them into your loyal servants.

And you can use the same spores to make your enemies blind, deaf, or paralyzed.

Astarion calls you a walking hotbed of plague.

Though, of course, he is in awe - mostly because everything you do is between life and death, which is the stage he himself is stuck in.

But your magic is beautiful.

Mushrooms growing on dead bodies.

Mold desecrating the food.

Fungi bringing life to the most desolate places.

Post-game, Astarion doubts whether to go with you, but you assure him that the Spore Circle will accept him due to his ability to change.

You study the fungi to find answers to your questions and his problems.

The spores can make him more like a living person.

They can protect him from the sun, and they can let him eat normal food.

The prospect scares Astarion - he's seen the infected corpses. It's creepy.

And what if this magic fungi takes over his mind?

You don't insist. It's his choice, after all.

And you are an elf yourself, you have plenty of time.

But the life in the shadows and hunger take a toll on Astarion.

He doesn't want to be an undead. He wants to be alive.

And if his vampirism can't be cured, why not let nature change him?

At least, if you promise his personality won't be affected.

It won't, you are sure of that.

Astarion lets you infect him with the spores.

This transformation is nothing like becoming a vampire.

It's soft, gentle, warm.

Astarion feels like dreaming, sleeping in a warm bed.

The only thing he acknowledges is your presence. You check on him all the time sometimes meditating close to his "fungi grave".

It take almost a year for spores to finish their job, reconstructing his dead flesh.

A lonely year of being alone in your bed.

When Astarion wakes up, he doesn't feel the hunger anymore.

The sun doesn't burn him and he stays in the sunlight for hours before you come to take him home.

The symbiotic fungi has restored his organs to the point where they functioned as they are supposed to.

Astarion is scared to see himself in the mirror - but when he does he sees himself.

Though, there are some changes.

There are golden spots of spores in is eyes and barely visible cobwebs on his legs and arms.

And he is warm. He is so warm.

With his newfound "life", Astarion gets some new abilities, similar to the ones you have.

He can cast spores and rise up the dead, infecting them.

He can hear the fungi songs, connecting his mind with this ancient entity.

And he can feel you.

You know each other thoughts, each other intentions, and presence.

He always knows where you are. He feels your emotions, your sorrows and happiness and you feel him the same way.

You are more than thiramins, more than lovers.

But the best gift the spores gave to Astarion is mortality.

One day, the fungi will slowly take over his body and mind, transforming the flesh once again, bringing him mor, the final death.

And if you are still alive by this moment, you will let spores take over you so you can be together in this next stage of life and death.

--

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[derangedanomaly]

Camn I get bad sans! X Black! Zombie!Reader? Just how they react to a troublesome,dumb, and slow zombie girl on their hands?

Your wish is my command ;)

BAD SANSES X BLACK!ZOMBIE READER

NIGHTMARE:

The first time y'all met, he was in a 'Zombie apocalypse Au'. He was being cornered by Zombies, which didn't worry him as he could kill them by a blink of an eye. But when he was about to do just that, you appeared and killed them off by yourself.

He was very surprised to see you go against your own kind, and instead save him. After many more of those moments where you 'saved' him, he decided to take you in, see what you can do.

At first, he regrets it, you're slow and...a little dumb.

He's not very patient with you..but he can't kick you out, even though you're slow as hell, you're still an awesome fighter, and get the job done.

He once tried to make you faster, so you're not behind. But it was unsuccessful (shockingly)

When you two hang out, he spends this time with you to read in his library. Look, he just wants you to have some sort of education at least.

Hates...hates, and I mean HATES, how troublesome you are. Tries to keep you away from Killer, as he's sure he will corrupt you more. (This was also unsuccessful 😂)

Doesn't want you to do solo missions because of your speed.

He won't admit it, but he's very worried for your well-being.

After a few months of living with the bad guys, you became Nightmare's favorite. (Again, he won't admit it)

"Boss, we got in trouble on our mission! Me and Killer got very badly injured, and Y/n is-" Dust reported only to be interrupted by Nightmare. "Y/n?! What the fuck happened to Y/n?"

"..." You, Dust and Killer stood there in silence. "....I...got...a...scratch...." You spoke up, showing Nightmare the scratch on your leg. "Oh my god! You fucking idiots! Get the medkit!" Nightmare gasped, 'helping' you sit on a sofa. Dust and Killer stood there with a hole in their chest, trying to heal it themselves. "... What the f-" "Get the medkit." "Yes, boss...."

DUST:

Hates your dumbness. Doesn't mind your speed, or the fact that you're a troublemaker...but hates your dumbness...

He can't help but act soft towards you...maybe it's the way you're a lot like his best friend, Horror..but something in him shakes at the way you always exclaim that you're hungry.

Carries around food for you when on missions.

Dust spends your alone time watching movies with you. (He just likes snuggling against you)

Rolls his eyes whenever you ask a dumb question.

You know how I said that Nightmare tries to keep you away from Killer? Well, Dust is doing the exact opposite. He wants you to engage with Killer on his troublesome ideas, to piss off Nightmare. He thrives in the way Nightmare gets frustrated whenever you and Killer hang out.

Dust makes sure you're safe from any potential harm when at missions.

Dust is always very patient with you. He's used to it because of Horror. You two talk almost the same. Which can be frustrating for anyone else, but not for Dust. He's ok with it.

He's acting almost like a babysitter actually.

"Dust?" You tug his jacket to get his attention. He in turn hums. "Why's...the...sky...blue..?" Dust sighs at your question, and very carefully points at Nightmare. "I think you should ask Nightmare. He is your teacher after all!" You nod, and go towards Nightmare, while Dust quietly snorts and goes his own way.

KILLER:

Doesn't see why Nightmare decided to took you in at first. You're just a dumb...Zombie! What could you possibly do?

These thoughts were immediately gone when he saw you in the heat of a battle. You were... awesome! It's amazing how fast you are in battle, but slow out of battle. Strange..

He desperately wants to talk to you, but Nightmare won't allow him. That's until Dust helps him out!

After he talked to you, you became best buddies when it came to scheming. (A living hell for Nightmare)

Nightmare swears you two must share the same braincell sometimes.

You get along well. Not only are you a troublemaker, but you're dumb as well! The speed is what's bothering him the most... doesn't like slowpokes.

Is jokingly picking at you for being so slow, but stopped when Horror taught him a lesson...

You two play videogames in your free time. Loves to teach you how to play the games he has.

Laughs when you ask a dumb question, but immediately stops when he realizes he also doesn't know the answer to that..

"Is...Pink Panther...pink?" Killer bursts out laughing, followed by a small chuckle from Dust. "Are you kidding??" He asks, snorting. "Yeah, It's quite obvious." Dust nodded along to Killer. "Of course he's blue!" Dust yet again nods at Killer's words, not fully registering them. "Yeah-- wait, what???"

HORROR:

Instant best friends! You're so similar that it's crazy actually! You're both hungry almost all the time, you're both slow and you're both very sweet! The perfect duo.

Horror likes you very much! He finally has someone that understands him.

You two raid the fridge together very often. It's your hang out time ^^

Doesn't like it when Killer picks on you for your slowness. Often stands up for you.

He's always holding your hand whenever you're in the same room, to lead you along. (Since you're not only a slow-talker you're also a slow-walker)

If you're running away from something on your missions, he holds you bridal style and runs away.

You two are actually really cute when together.

Nightmare often pairs you two together for missions, since you have such a great bond.

One time gave up his food for you. That's when you know Horror's in love.

Horror stared at your empty plate with frown. "Yn....why don't...you have...food...?" You looked sadly at your plate, feeling hungry. "Killer...stole...it..." Horror glared at the wall at the thought of Killer running away with your food for shits and giggles. "Idiot...I'll teach him...a lesson..." He grumbled about to go find him, but not before giving you his food and smiling at you warmly. "Here...I already...ate..." You gasped and returned his smile. "Thank...you..." Horror nodded with a red blush.

CROSS:

Cross didn't know what to think of you. You didn't interest him much. You weren't interesting to him even after seeing you in battle! He just wasn't impressed.

What made him impressed though, was when you befriended Nightmare. The Nightmare. No one has been truly able to do that.

Always gets frustrated when waiting for you to finish your sentence. He just has short patience...

Finds your dumb questions...cute.

He plays board games with you when spending time with you.

Tries to help you out with your speed, which is... going well? I mean, you're not walking so slow thanks to him..

Also not a fan of 'troublemaker you'. Doesn't like the stupid pranks.

"oh my god..." Cross slowly tools out his scarf...being drenched in paint. He glared. "This is the fifth time this week! Y/n!! Killer!!" He tried calling out to them...but no one came.

ERROR:

Can't take your seriously. Like, never. He just sees you as a funky little zombie girl.

Gets irritated by your dumb questions.

Sometimes helps you out with your slowness, by dragging you with his strings.

Likes to watch you in battle. You just seem so fascinating to him....

Watches Undernovela with you.

Doesn't mind how slow you are. Just means he doesn't have to rush.

Always has a silly face on when waiting for you to finish a sentence, without knowing.

He's ready to defend you whenever someone interrupts your sentence, or doesn't wait for you to finish what you're saying.

Error was watching you very intently, waiting for you to finish what you're saying. He has a goofy face while doing so. He was enjoying listening to you talk, until Killer interrupted you. "Ok, that's GREAT Y/n! But we really need to get moving-" Error wrapped Killer's soul with his strings and flew him across the room. "DOn'T inTERruPt HeR!" After moments of silence passed, Error turned to you with a smile and nodded for you to continue.

[misguidedasgardian]

Wild cats (Part X)

X. At the brink

MASTERLIST

Summary: You got a breather

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, a bit of domesticity, dirty thoughts, bad thoughts about one-self (don’t know how to explain this, we get into Daryl’s head and he put himself down), descriptive words that are some sort of stereotype: “preppy girl”, “redneck”, “hick”, and some more. 

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: Alright I know you liked to see what was in Daryl’s mind even for a bit… let’s shine a bit more light in it.

You had been at it for days.

Glenn was right, there wasn’t anything left on this world that wasn’t hidden, and that included canned food and supplies

You did not find a working car anywhere, even though you tried to fix some along the way, but still, most of the road, you did on foot, for long seven days you had been walking, north-east or so, going towards Richmond

You were not going to lie, you were hopeful, but some days, especially when the sugar levels were low in which you were impossible to deal with, you were angry, and mean, so those days you preferred to walk back, taking care of the group’s rear. You knew yourself, you knew how to control the demons, but right now… some were escaping you.

You started to question things, to think about how idiots they were being, thinking about that island and how good it must have been for you, so many resources and powdered margaritas you could find to have a drink…

The heat was overwhelming you too, dressed in your thick boots, and the lack of nutrients was taking a toll on you.

You felt terrible

But the mood in general was good, nobody had fought, yet, and they all seemed hopeful, so that was also helping.

You should have gone to that fucking island

You could have been sipping powdered margaritas with lake water on a boat by now…

But you shook your head, you gained nothing by thinking like this.

What was in Richmond anyways?

Nothing, not for you at least

Was it too late? to turn back? alone at least?

You had a bad feeling about this, something in your stomach. But perhaps it was just the hunger talking.

You had always been a person that got very “hangry”, angry when hungry, and today was showing clearly

Judging by the signs, you were about to cross to North Carolina, meaning you were closer to your destination

What if everybody died there?

What if you come across another group like Terminus? What if this time they succeed? 

And for what? 

You felt guilty instantly, Noah was a somewhat sweet kid

You just needed a break

“HEY!”, you all stopped to watch Daryl as he appeared through the woods, waving his arms

“Found somethin”, he said, and you all went with him. “A set of houses”, he told you. 

You all sprinted through the woods.

It wasn’t a big deal, they were similar to the ones you found Carl in, or rather, he found you.

They were miraculously untouched, or looked like it, just like those you found back then.

You divided naturally, you entered the second house there, ax in hand, ready for some walkers… you hit the door with it, and there came the stickers, one dropped from the second floor scandalously, and you killed it right where he dropped

You were going to go for the second one, but in a second a bolt bashed his skull

Daryl had entered the house right behind you

You shared looks, and nodded.

The first place you hit was the kitchen. And to your amazement, it had things, good things. You didn’t even ask, you opened a can of peaches in juice, and you moaned when you just grabbed the first one with a fork and stuffed it almost completely in your mouth 

Daryl watched you, almost entertained

“Fuck this is good, I swear, I’m a monster if I don’t get some sugar”, you said, offering the can to him once you had two

He grabbed it from you, smiled, and ate contently. You kept checking the kitchen, you found some good stuff… you even found some coffee. How long has it been since you drank coffee?

“I might get use to this”, you said, looking at the pantry with an assortment of things

“Ya should”, said Daryl, he stood right by your side, his arm bumping into yours

“Let’s keep checking”, you said with a soft smile

You went room by room, and found batteries, which was always helpful. You had grabbed a small radio from the safehouse in Atlanta, and you sometimes checked it, to see if there was something being said in it. So far, no luck, but still.

You found candles, which were always helpful, and a flashlight. In the bathroom came the real treat, you found toiletries, which were always coveted, and a deodorant.

You turned the water on, and to your amazement, water started pouring from the tap.

“OH!”, you said, almost crying in relief

“That’s somethin”

“We should check where this water is coming from first”, you said softly, “before we even think about drinking it, or washing ourselves with it”

“Fair”, he said

“It might be a contaminated well, a sealed tank, filled by a generator on a nearby river, or a underground water supply, that’s our best bet”

“You got it ma’am”, but he didn’t move, and you didn’t want him to, he had done so much, always taking care of the group, hunting, scavenging, you were convinced that he walked twice as the entire group, always making rounds around you.

“But you should rest first”, you said with a soft smile

“I actually might”, he said, checking the room behind him, he seemed contented

“Do so, and I will cook…”, you were interrupted when a door flung open, and then you heard footsteps going up the stairs, and Carol appeared.

She frowned, -as she used to do-, when she saw you both, just standing in the hallway, you felt as you were two little children and were caught doing something naughty

“Find anything?”, she asked

“Yeah”, muttered Daryl

“You should report it”, she should have left after saying that, but she just stood there, so you cleared your throat

“You should rest”, you said to Daryl, “I will check that thing we discussed”, he nodded, and you walked away from him, passing by Carol who just stood there.

This was awkward and weird

You found Rick, who was just coming out of the first house with Judith in his arms

“We found a bunch of rotten food in the fridge, the smell is vile, but we found some useful things too”, he said

“We found canned goodies and toiletries”, you informed him, “we also have running water, but I wanted to check out the source”

“Good job”, he said

“I’ll help you”, said Magie coming out of the house, “I know I thing or two about wells”

“Great!”, you said happily

It didn’t took you long enough to find it

“It’s filled with an aquifer”, she said with a wide smile, “WE GOT WATER!”, she said excitedly, “the only thing we need to do is to pump this thing a few times”, you were learning, you were actually learning, as Maggie walked you through the entire system that fed the houses with water, and it was incredible. So cool.

“So… what’s goin’ between you and Dixon?”, she asked teasingly 

“What?”, you asked, taken completely by surprise, “Nothin”

“I saw you both sneaking to the house”, she said

“We didn’t do it on purpose, I thought more people were following me”, you explained simply

“Ohh, come on!”, she teased, as she gave the first pumps with that rusty thing, “not a little something something?”, she teased

“I don’t see it”, you said simply, “I mean he is wildly handsome but… I don’t know he barely tolerates me, he thinks I’m some sort of burden”

“No he doesn’t”, you said

“How do you know? he as much as said it to me”, you explained

“If he truly thought you were some sort of baggage, he wouldn’t be so concerned for you all the time”, she said, “I think he really cares for you”

“It's mutual”, you conceded, “but I really think he only hangs around me to prevent myself from getting killed or something…”

“Well, last time i checked… that was caring”, she said, you loved her accent

“How about you and Glenn?”, you asked her, she looked back at you softly, “did you know each other before?”

“No, actually”, she said, “I lived on a farm with my family, and they showed up one day…”

“They?”, you asked

“Rick, Carol, Daryl, Glenn, and Carl”, she said

“Oh”, you said

“The farm get overrun a few months later”, she said sadly, “my dad, Beth and I made it out, we spend an entire winter scavenging, until we found the prison”

So you were right, Daryl went back far with Rick and Carol. All of them had forged a very strong bond, a bond of survival.

“Don’t be that grim”, Maggie teased, “He likes you”

“Yeah, he likes me… far away from him”, you mocked

“I don’t think that’s true”, she teased, you were actually a bit jealous. She and Glenn seemed so happy together, they were such a great, strong couple.

You felt lonely, alright? you were a human being

You started filling the well with underground water, and took turns to pump, at the end became some sort of competition that drew laughs from the both of you, and eventually, some of the group came out of the houses to see what’s going on, as you were on what would be the common yard in the back

The well was about to be overflowed because of your efforts, and Maggie and you ended up sweating, dropping to the grass 

“WE CALL THE FIRST SHOWER!”, you said to Rick, Carol, Glenn, Daryl, Carl, and those who showed up. You stood up so quickly it made you dizzy 

You started running towards the house to prove a point, and Maggie jokingly started trying to catch you and pushed “out of her way”

“Do ya understand what’s going on?”, Daryl asked Glenn, he shook his head, entertained.

The water felt heavenly, dropping on your dirty skin, you couldn’t remember the last time you showered. It was cold, but it was something. 

You felt guilty for that poor towel you used, it ended up very dirty.

But you didn’t care at the end, you were freaking clean, cold as fuck, but clean nonetheless. The apocalypse life was filled with little pleasures, this was one.

You took a second look at your filthy clothes, and almost hit yourself when you thought about the fact that you didn’t even check the house for more…

You came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, you entered the master bedroom, you had seen pictures of the people that lived here, a middle age couple, with teenager kids, so you dove into the closet of the mother, the towel was a bit short, but you didn’t think there was nobody here so…

You heard something behind you, on the bed.

“What’ya doin?, you turned quickly to realize Daryl was looking at you. He had taken your advice, he had tried to sleep and you just sneaked in, almost naked, and he just woken up

“SHIT”, you cursed, trying to hug yourself, “I’M SORRY! didn’t see you there, I was trying to get some clothes”, he only grumbled something and turned around in the bed, to give you privacy, looking towards the wall, you grabbed a henley you found, and some jeans you’d think they fit and you went back to lock yourself in the bathroom on the hallway, completely petrified

. . .

He took deep breaths but nothing was helping him…

Were you trying to kill him?

First you are alone in that house, searching through the kitchen, sharing food, and now you waltz into the room he chose, the master bedroom, almost naked, wrapped in a towel, looking through the closet like it's yours… like it's your room, like you and him….

He groaned, when he felt his pant tighter, was he a fucking teenager?

This wasn’t a fucking fairytale, this isn’t an episode of desperate housewives apocalypse

You would never be interested in playing house, especially not with him. You were way younger than him, from what he knew, you had been here studying here in the states, a freaking master degree, he had barely finished high school. How could you be interested in him? You had a freaking cute accent, you knew more than one language, you…. you… you were not his type, no, he was not your type.

That is what he believed, that is what he knew.

Pretty girls like you don’t go for rednecks like him

If you were still in the old world, and you saw him walking towards you on the street, you would have changed sidewalks, you would have crossed to the other side of the street.

He had to understand that.

He still didn’t understand why he felt… things.. when he saw you. He had never felt anything like this, when he saw you coming his heart jumped on his chest, he felt nervous, and his hands got sweaty, he felt the need to care for you, to protect you, it didn’t help that you were so freakin’ clumsy, almost askin’ to be bitten by walkers… 

And that got him frustrated and being a freaking asshole to you, because he was… frustrated… he didn’t understand why you, of all the women he had ever met, got him feeling like this. 

But at the same time, the way you eliminated the dead was something of beauty, something Daryl had never seen before, you got good moves, and that only made him more of an idiot for you.

He groaned, turning into the pillow when he heard you walking about in the bathroom.

He knew you had come back to the house you both checked, he never imagined you would get out of the bathroom wearing only a little towel, he wasn’t a pervert, he had heard your advice, and he knew since you were in the house he could sleep for a while, relax. 

Now he wasn’t relaxed until he took care of that situation YOU provoked

Well…. rather that you provoked in him

He felt like a teenager, he couldn’t believe he was having this sort of problem in the damn apocalypse.

“I’ll let everybody know what we found so we can cook something”, you said softly, peeking through the open door

He only nodded, looking at you

“You want me to get you after?”, you asked softly

“Yeah, thanks”

Yeah, some privacy is exactly what he needs

Perhaps this… all of this, what exactly he needs

A similar though passed your mind

These little houses in the middle of nowhere, with a working water system… they seemed so heavenly you almost wanted to stay here forever.

@crazyunsexycool

[colibrie]

Mosaic Moments

Prompt 3, Leo: Not made of stone.

Art by @trilobitepunch

3. Not made of stone (Leo, Casey Jr, brief Donnie cameo)

"Woooowe! Now that was a great run!" Leo exclaimed, chest heaving gently as he skidded to a stop. His muscles throbbed with a pleasant burn, chest gently heaving with the welcome effort of exertion. A thin veneer of sweat cleansed his skin, gently pulling at the slight breeze that blew by the roof.

"Hah yeah," Casy huffed as he came up from behind, face flushed and hair stuck to his face. The humans thin shoulders jumped as he folded over, hands braced on his knees as he sucked in deep breaths of air.

"You good bro?" Leo asked, only half teasing as he stretched his arms above his head, casually nudging Casey Jr with the side of his foot. "Way you're sucking wind someone would think you were the one stuck in bed for over a month and a half."

"Hey, not all of us get to be freaky strong mutants," Casey shot back, a broad grin taking any away any heat that may of existed as he pushed himself upright. "You definitely don't run like someone whose been bed ridden. Then again, you always did heal fast. It was useful for the resistance but it drove uncle Tello and Master Michelangelo crazy trying to keep Sensei in bed long enough to meet minimum rest standards."

The shift was barely perceptible. If he hadn't been raised by older versions of the turtle he was sure he would have missed it. The suble tightness that crept into the corners of Leo's smile, forcing them wider in a way that was to plastic to be genuine. The way the light in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly, even as he let out the perfectly light chuckle to cover.

"Yeah, future me is like six kinds of amazing. Must have been a crazy time."

"It was the apocalypse," Casey replied slowly, mentally trying to make sense of these shifts.

Had it been mentioning sensei? In the aftermath of the Krang invasion Leo had initially had a hard time hearing Casey mention his future counterpart. But they had worked through that. They had talked, under the cover of night when the rest of the lair had been at rest. He'd apologised to the younger turtle for putting so much pressure on him. Leo had accepted with apologies of his own, and had eventually coaxed him to give more details about his life with sensei, stories both good and bad. They'd laughed, they'd cried. They were good...weren't they?

"Must all seem pretty tame now in comparison," Leo said casually as he leaned into his stretch.

"Yes and no," Casey responded, watching carefully as he pushed his hair away from his face. "There's certainly less explosions, and the lack of zombie krang chasing us on our morning run is nice. But other things are crazy. Like how rich everyone is. Uncle Tello used to tell me stories about it, and he had a million folders of ideas and inventions that he'd imagined but lacked the materials to make. Seeing how easy it is to get things here, I get it now. He'd be over the moon, and probably lock himself in the lab for a whole year!"

There. A slight flinch, shoulders hiking a few centimeters up towards his tympanum.

"Heh, once an egghead always an egghead I guess. Anyway, we should-"

"Leo, what's wrong?"

"Uh...Nothing?" Leo replied questioningly. "I mean, I'm kinda hungry. Wanna swing by Run of the Mill on the way back? We can-"

"I thought we were past lying to each other," Casey challenged, a tiny bud of frustration building beneath his ribs as he pinned the turtle with a look.

"I'm not lying Cas, everything is fine now, right? Apocalypse averted, city is in repairs, everyone is healing, and Donnie finally paused updating the security system long enough to eat something other than caffeine and applesauce. Everyone is happy."

"You're avoiding my question. Master Michelangelo said you'd..."

He did not even need to look for the flinch this time. Leo turned away.

There was something here he was missing. Something in his words. But what? It wasn't like he'd never told red eared slider about the future. About the family he'd lost.

About Master Michelangelo.

About Uncle Tello.

About how...

"They all die!"

His heart hit the floor, stomach doing flips as he stared at the mosaic of barely healed pain spiderwebbed across Leonardo's shell. They had talked about a lot of things in the aftermath of the apocalypse, but they had never discussed what had happened in the tunnels beneath the tower. About the fate he'd revealed.

"They all die!"

"Every single one of them."

"The world needs Master Leonardo, and all we have is this guy."

"Leo, I... I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what man? Everything is fine." Leo replied, voice smoothly polished. He did not turn around.

"I've been talking about the future this whole time and..and we never really talked about it like that."

"Sure we have. You were telling me about it yesterday."

"I was talking about Sensei yesterday," Casey corrected, "we've only discussed the...others... once."

A falling pin could have sounded like a gun shot in the quiet that followed.

"There's nothing to talk about there," Leo said eventually.

Gone was the polish, the glitz and the glamorous glow of humor. Leo's tone was flat, a blank slate for this single fact to be engraved.

"I think there is," Casey replied carefully, biting his lower lip hard as he sought the for words that would fix the situation. "The way I told you about what happened to them was... not ideal..."

"Hey, you did what you needed to do to get the message through my thick skull. I don't hold it against you Casey. "

"Yeah, that's partially why I did it. But...I think I also did it because I was mad at you."

The atmosphere between them felt tense enough to explode, and Casey found himself tripping over his words in the haste to get them our before the fireworks could begin.

"I was angry at you for not being Sensei, and I was scared that I was going to fail the mission he and Master Michelangelo sacrificed everything to give me. The mission that could make uncle Tello and Raphel's death mean something. I threw their deaths in your face, and it was...I didn't mean to... I didn't think it would still be effecting you this badly..."

"You didn't think learning my whole family died because of my stupidity would effect me? Jeez Casey, I know I'm an self-centered idiot sometimes, but I'm not made of stone either. "

The words were light, but underneath them was brittleness, fine cracks poised to shatter at the next misstep.

"No!" Casey panicked, desperately backpedaling for the a way to sooth the hurts he'd intentionally and unintentionally afflicted. "I just meant that-"

The soft beeping of Leo's com cut him off mid sentance, and the young terrapin answered it before he could regather his scrambled thoughts.

"What's good Dee?"

"I need to go to the junkyard for some parts, but Raph won't let me go alone incase Repomantis "shows up for a showdown". To appease him I volunteered you for the buddy system. Tell Junior to head home and meet me there in ten minutes," Donatello replied, his voice that perfectly painful bend of familiar irritation, excitement, and affected disinterest.

There was something else there too. Something Casey had never had a name for beyond donnieandleo. He'd grown up hearing donnieandleo in good times and in bad. In the early hours when Sensei would grumble and drag the soft shell into his own bed to ensure he got at least four hours of uninterrupted rest. In the curses that had flown from his uncles lips when he'd fought to keep Sensei from bleeding out after amputating his arm. It was like a secrect code that only they could speak, one that remained uncracked up until the day his uncle had died.

Whatever Donnie was saying now, Leo read loud and clear.

"Fine, but you owe me a smoothie after. Extra large."

"Says the guy who still owes me pizza for that bet from last week."

"Uuuugg fine, but I'm gonna need some serious food to make up for this. On my way."

"Leo, we need to-"

"Sorry Case, duty calls," Leo cut in, never looking back as he walked towards the edge of the roof. "You head back and get some lunch. I know Mikey has a new recipe for you."

"Leo stop! Just let me explain."

"No need. Heard it loud and clear, I promise."

[thedovesaredying]

Hi I'm hyperfixated over your zombie! Ghost and I've been reading it every hour since it was up, it's the idea of him only acting upon his own primal urges get me going 🤤 i don't know if your zombie! Ghost is a dead person who became zombie or just an infected living human but either way I'm so down!!

I thought about what if reader leaves the muzzle on him all the time and do the usual stuff, pull him by it when they walk about looking for food and medicine, loosen it a bit when he tries to eat whatever is in his zombies menu and of course tugging it backwards as you ride him 🩵

- 🌋

Anon! Your brain!! 

I’m glad I’m not the only one weak for our Zombie lad. I actually have a bunch more I want to write about him, so feel free to request more for him at any point uwu 

A little snippet for you below the cut <3 

Words: 780

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Teratophilia, PnV, Unprotected Sex, Muzzles.

Reminder, this is an 18+ account!

Ghost has been in quite a huff with you recently or, at least, you think he is. It’s a little difficult to tell given his difficulty stringing full sentences together after the infection ravaged his brain. He’s still cognisant and able to get his thoughts across to you (even if most of those thoughts involve being hungry or wanting to fulfil certain urges).  

However, his attention span isn’t the greatest and he’s constantly getting distracted by things in your surroundings. Wandering off like a toddler at every new sound, checking to see if there’s food or a potential threat hiding around every corner. No matter how many times you ask him to try and focus, he’ll inevitably end up finding trouble.  

The other zombies aren’t much of a problem since he can chase them off with a few well-placed swipes and growls to remind them of their place. It’s the other survivors you’re worried about. It’s a lawless land out here and anyone that’s survived this long knows to shoot first and ask questions later. This doesn’t bode well for your zombified partner. He’s an enemy and when he has his sights on a potential meal there’s little you can do to deter him from attacking.  

Hence, it’s easier to simply keep him at your side. The muzzle works wonders for when you need to gently steer him away from distractions, even if he occasionally gets a little grumpy at having to be pulled around by his face. He can’t nose his face up against you properly when it’s in place which often makes him grumble and sigh a tad overdramatically.  

You take it off when you go to sleep, after all, it wouldn't do you any good to have your guard dog unable to use his best weapons. Ghost doesn’t require sleep anymore, so he makes an excellent protector for when you’re in your most vulnerable state.  

He stays with you all throughout the night, his body pressed up against your back and his arms caging you to his chest. His lips are dry and completely missing in some parts, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to lave every inch of you with kisses. A soft rumbling sound always accompanies his affections, almost a purr.  

But the uses of a muzzle don’t stop at simply helping to direct your companion whenever he starts to drift away. It’s particularly useful for manipulating his face to exactly where you want it, be it away from something he wants or toward the places you require his attention.  

Riding him is only more intense when you’re able to grip at the thick leather straps keeping his muzzle in place. He tries to press his mouth to your throat, but you hold him back, forcing his milky white eyes to stare directly into your own as you slowly sink down on his cock. It’s beautiful, the way his eyelids flutter and a frankly sinful groan escapes him.  

“Good boy,” you coo, earning yourself a rough jerk of Ghost’s hips. He starts rocking his body up and into your warmth, his gloved hands raising to grip at your waist.  

He pulls you down and onto him over and over again in time with his rapid thrusts, snarling and growling all the while. Ghost might not be able to shift his gaze from your blissed out expression, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less in control. The pace he sets is downright brutal, bullying his entire length into your sopping cunt until it nudges at your cervix.  

Even when you gasp at the sensation and one of your hands grips at his hair he doesn’t faulter. Your noises seem only to urge him on, his panting breath heavy as he endeavours to draw out at many sounds from your lips as physically possible. His intense gaze from where you hold his face only heightens the experience, his eyes scrutinising each and every expression you offer.  

You grow close to orgasm almost embarrassingly fast, but all it takes is a raspy, possessive, “mine,” snarled at you to have your pussy clamping down around Ghost’s cock.  

With your body growing weak from coming so hard, Ghost takes full advantage of your distraction, pushing you down and onto your back without missing a single beat in his current rhythm. He keeps going all through your orgasm, the slick from your tender hole only helping to easy his way. He doesn’t let up with his desperate chanting of, “mine, mine, mine,” right up until he spills deep inside you.  

Your attempts to dominate him hadn’t exactly gone to plan. Perhaps next time you should use some handcuffs as well.  

[hvman-scvm]

zombie ghost and vampire gn reader literally eating each other out of love send message

YOUR MIND !!! you are so fucking real 4 this

!! CW ;; cannibalism ? Question mark ?, I am a bit descriptive w this, usual zombie n vamp stuff, zombie ! Ghost is somewhat sentient ig, self mutilation, I am not sure if this counts as deaddove but it cld so beware, this is honestly shitty as hell since it was rushed out of excitement so beware of tht too lmao. Not proofread. !!

You happily watched as ghost attempted gnawing your arm, his broken jaw slack as his top teeth pressed hard against your cold skin. You cooed at him, petting the top of his head as you watched his attempt at eating you. You were feeling a bit hungry yourself, you realized, the lightheadedness that comes with craving blood coming back as you smiled fondly at the sweet sight in front of you.

“Hungry, are we?” You asked him, receiving a nod and groan. Back when your Ghost was alive, you two would discuss this vaguely, talking about the possibility of consuming each other’s flesh. He dearly wanted to; it felt like the only appropriate way to show his love. It never went past discussion, however. Maybe a few deep bites and cutting each other up to lick up the blood, but never anything past that. You knew how badly he wanted to eat you, and you felt similarly. It was this deep ache, this hunger in you that you feel in your chest, to consume the one you love and have them be a part of you forever and vice versa.

The aching consumed you whole, and you decided that there’s no better time than now.

“Hold on, dear.” You spoke softly to him, watching him pull away from your arm and looking at you with his cloudy eyes. You reached for his knife, the one in his belt, and without hesitation, dug it into your stomach after lifting your shirt. You carved in a circular motion, gritting your teeth in pain as you felt the piercing sting of your muscle and nerves being cut up. He watched intently, groaning occasionally as you finished your job. You dug your fingers into the wound and ripped it off the small piece of skin it was hanging off, smiling at him as your bloody hand reached for his jaw, your other one placing the piece of flesh inbetween his teeth and helping him chew. It was a lovely sight, and an even lovelier feeling. Your fingers caressed his bottom jaw as you loved it up and down for him. Hearing him groan in appreciation was music to your ears.

You carelessly threw his knife to the side. Holding his jaw in place, watching him swallow with slight challenge as he went limp against your shoulder, leaning on it and groaning happily. You went back to petting his head, leaning close to his neck where his throat is and taking a deep breath, the smell of dirt and rot strong on him, making you groan. “Ready?” You said, though you weren’t asking; you were going to do it anyways. You sunk your fangs into the side of his neck where his carotid artery was, feeling the blood gush out of it. It was like nothing you’ve ever tasted before, before you ever sunk your teeth into him you’d known that his blood would be special. It tasted strongly metallic, so strong it was almost disgusting. You could feel the maggots getting sucked out of his artery, and you carelessly chewed them up, feeling the squishy creatures almost explode in your mouth was so disgustingly good. Luckily, the strong taste of his blood covered up the taste of the maggots, not that you would’ve minded either way.

As you got bored of sucking, another idea crossed your head; you sunk your fangs deeper into his neck, hearing him let out a groan akin to a quiet scream as you ripped open he side of his throat with your strong teeth. It tasted horrible and dear god did you love it. His whole weight was practically on top of you, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were sitting down you would’ve fell to the floor. Their was more maggots on his skin than his blood, and you were glad as you chewed the soft, rotting flesh. You felt nauseous from the taste, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You felt it go down your throat slowly, struggling to stop yourself from gagging as it went down.

You were shaking; if there was a feeling shove euphoria this was it. He let out another, quieter groan, nuzzling your neck as you pulled away from his. Kissing the top of his head with your bloody lips, you told him how much you loved him. And although all he did was groan back, you knew he meant to say it back to you. You both were more than just happy at fulfilling this fantasy, you were on cloud 9.

[clus444]

Love and Deepspace p2

Sylus x Black!reader (Ofc anyone can read)

I stand by this ending lmao. But i really didn't know how to end it. Anywaysss, enjoy!Slightly edited! ---------------------------------------------------

*NIP NIP NIP*

I groan as I shift my head to my window. I blink a few times to get the blurry spots out of my eyes.

*NIP NIP NIP*

"What the...," I sit up and huff," What," I zombie walk my way to open the window. I feel a light breeze pass through, close my eyes, and breathe in the air. (So dreamyy)

*Cawk Cawk* Mephisto hops up and down to get my attention. It's impatiently waving a paper between his little but sharp beak.

"It's too early for this amount of attitude," I grasp the paper from his beak, a little harsher than intended. The paper is an off-creme color, folded and wax-sealed, red with a crow-shaped pendant in the middle. Mephisto taps his beak on the window cill and turns his face to the side to focus his eye.

I hide the smile threatening to come out at Mephisto's actions. Despite his butt face of an owner, Mephisto can be good company. I stand up with my left knee cracking a little(It's a real problem.)I go to my kitchen, go straight to my drawers, and grab a quarter I had. I return to my bedroom and put the coin on the window sill," Now get off my property."

*CawkCawk*

  I sit on my bed and open the letter.

   -You've had time to calm down. Now, unblock me.

             -Sylus

   P.S. Forgiveness does not change the past, my love, but allow it to enlarge our future.

Rendition of Paul Boese

I scoff at whatever I just read. Space? I have no proof, but over this past week, I have felt someone's eyes on me when I'm walking home from work, or when I'm on a mission with Xavier, don't even remind me of when I had to meet up with the twins to get my stuff.

  I'll drop dead before I admit this to them but I will miss them. They always made me laugh, included me in things so I wouldn't feel left out, and picked up the pieces from some of Sylus and my earlier fights.

  I go through my morning routine, trying to give myself time to feel hungry to eat some breakfast. I'm going to get over Sylus. Whether It's to get under someone else or egg Sylus's house to get some petty revenge for my heart. I finish up in the bathroom and head downstairs for a light breakfast of fruit loops. I decide to be extra, adding strawberries and a little honey on the side.

  When I finish I almost cross the hallway to the living room but stop when a knock sounds. I head for the door and look through the peephole. Annoyance crawled up dug its way into my ass and burrowed in my head. " What do you want," I question Sylus's smug face at my door. He stops leaning on my door and walks me back into my house, closing the door with his foot as a locking sound catches my attention.

   He backs me to a wall," You took too long to unblock me. I wanted to apologize the right way, but you just...," he trails off looking me up and down. I shiver under his gaze but fix him with a glare. He smirks as he leans down and brushes our lips together. I turn my face away from him.

   "Do I look like a pawn shop? You can't just flash me a pretty smile and think I'll give you my jewels," I push on his shoulders to get some distance. He backs up with a puzzled look on his face," Wouldn't I be the pawn dealer since I give you all of my money, or are you the pawn dealer because I want..." He trails off but quickly follows up by moving his hand to cup my heat.

   Now...I never claimed to be the world's strongest soldier. I also value the saying actions speak louder than words. So! Just as anyone else, who could deny being princess carried to my bed, laid on my back, and shorts hastily off. He pushes my legs apart and up. He kisses my thighs before backing up and smacking my cheek. I yelp as I glare at him, a warning on the tip of my tongue.

   He leans down to my pussy and presses a kiss to my folds, where my clit lays. His tongue slides out of his mouth and softly licks my clit. I roll my eyes as I threaten him in my head, to not tease for long. He smirks at my shiver and looks up to connect eyes. He slowly licks up from my hole up to my clit. My hip buck as my breath gets caught in my throat." I'll give you three reasons to forgive me," is all he says as he blows on my clit and starts lightly sucking it. I push my hips down towards his mouth as he hungrily eats me out.

     My legs clench around his head and I hear an annoyed huff before he wraps an arm around my hips to pin me to the bed. He stations his other hand on my thigh and pushes down so, my folds part and show my flowing juices. "Be good for me, kitten." He dives back into my flowing abyss. My back arches as I whimper," Jus'...like tha'," I moan. He feasts with a hunger I hadn't seen in him before. He pulls back and takes his hand on my thigh and uses it to draw quick circles on my clit.

  " I neglected my poor kitten and instead of licking her wounds clean, I poured salt in them," I'm wet enough that he's able to slide two long, thick fingers into me. He pumps slowly before picking up speed and curling his fingers towards my spot. "ahh...ha," my mouth hangs open as I feel my peak coming strong. A pressure building in my lower abdomen. He takes his fingers out before sucking the liquid on his fingers. His eyes close in pleasure and takes them out.

   He starts drinking from my hole like a man that was left in the middle of nowhere. "P-pleasee... D-on't stop," I cry out as he attacks my clit. My body tenses as my peak hits me. My body spasms against him but Sylus just grips tighter and continues to swirl his tongue on my clit. I whine and whimper, "S... stylus." I begin squirming and my hole clenches around nothing. He pauses his minstriations," Color? If you want to stop I will, I can make it up to you in other ways." I suck in deep breaths.

   I blink at him and think about it. While yes, I would like to get head and possibly fucked into the sheets. The problem is still there and the haze of sex is covering it. "Green... But as much as I want to continue. I want us to talk it out," I feel a sense of vulnerability in the air. I shift uncomfortably from it but don't shed away from his eye contact. My heart picks up speed as he lets my legs down. He rubs my thighs and sits beside me on the bed," Let's talk kitten."

[redtsundere-writes]

Imagine:

Heartsteel Members As Iconic BTS Moments

Contents: Funny moments, SFW

Word Count: 569 words.

Author's Note: Hello again! I'm sorry about my absence. This has been a busy week since I just graduated from college! I'm finally a certified translator! So, you'll see me around here more often 0.0

> In an interview, Heartsteel was asked what they like from one another. K’Sante looked at Yone and said: “I like your brain.” Yone felt appreciated and thanked him. After that cute interaction, it was his turn to say something nice to Kayn but he struggled to find a good thing to say about him. “I like your eyebrows” Yone finally said. Kayn flexed his eyebrows on fleek to the camara before turning to Sett. Without a beat he goes: “I like your elbow,” and then giggled. Sett felt offended by the weird compliment tried to elbowed him since he liked it so much. 

> Kayn loves his fans more than any other Heartsteel member, so he screams the fandom name into a mic everytime he can. Kayn will scream “HEARTSBEAAAAAAAATS!” at random times during interviews, podcasts, and concerts.

> In Japan, Yone explained to the interviewer that the other members of Heartsteel arent very good at speaking japanese. Out of nowhere, Aphelios says to the interviewer in fluent japanese: “I like your videos, your videos are so nice.” “Oh, well, he can speak a little” Yone said dumbfounded. 

> In another interview, Sett kept singing Despacito throughout the whole show, embarrassing himself. K’Sante kept repeating that he was a rapper and not a singer, so people wouldn’t think that Heartsteel songs sound like that. 

> The interviewer asked how they deal with girls and fangirls in their dating life. Ezreal simply answered: “I don’t think”

> At the Grammy’s, someone ask who is the bad boy in the group. Everyone quickly looked at Kayn. He just smirked to the camera with confidence. “I’m bad boy,” he said with his ego up his ass. 

> Yone was hosting a Q&A at a fanmeeting. He picked a question about them hanging all the time because of Heartsteel. “Do you ever get tired of eachother since you live together?” he read aloud. Ezreal jumped from his seat and hugged Kayn over his shoulders. “No, you are my bro,” Ezreal said with a big smile while the punk tried to push him away, even if he liked the attention. 

> K’Sante has a tradition with Heartbeats at every concert. He will craft red hearts to incorporate into his outfit on stage or show in creative ways for the audience to show his appreciation for their support throughout his career.

> At a podcast, Aphelios revealed that he likes to draw, he even showed some of his drawings. The host encouraged him to post his drawing to social media. Aphelios said that his drawings were a secret. The host giggled and said: “Not anymore since this will be uploaded to YouTube.” Aphelios stayed quiet after that fuck up. 

> At a radio show, the host asked Heartsteel members to present themselves and say something most people don’t know about them. K’Sante went first and thought about a secret he was willing to share. “I’m hungry. Top Secret,” he said, making everyone laugh at the booth. Sett confessed: “My underwear is black.” Everyone looked at him confused.

> At a Halloween Special, Heartsteel went to a haunted house. Sett tried to square up at every zombie he saw. 

> They were playing air hockey at an arcade once. K’Sante and Sett were playing against eachother. Sett hit the pock so hard that it flew out of the table and landed on Aphelios nuts. Everyone laughed at him while he was holding his balls in pain. 

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