#zombies Bucky | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

Text

Whumpcember (day 12)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Zombie apocalypse au)

Prompt: I have nowhere else to go

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; zombies; mentions of murder; blood; death

Author’s note: This got a little too long for a fic that was initially meant to be a Drabble but I couldn’t bring myself to let it end earlier. And this was quite fun, since I’ve never written something like this before.

[Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics ]

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

Your side is stinging terribly, pulsing with every unsteady step.

Your legs fail at mimicking a normal stride, falling back into a limp.

Your hands tremble, defying every command to just stay still.

Your lungs sear with every breath, dragging air like fire down a raw throat.

Your head swims in chaotic loops, spinning with images and echoes you can’t escape.

Your shoulder and back throb from an impact you took earlier, sharp pain shooting up your spine with every jolt of your uneven stride.

The enormity of what just happened refuses to fit neatly into thought.

The sun is not even all up in the sky and your day already took a turn so cruel, you are teetering on the edge of collapse.

You stopped keeping track of time since this whole apocalyptic shit began but it's safe to say that you just lost everything you had in the span of maybe three hours.

You are exhausted. You are tired. You are in fear. You are in shock.

Acknowledging all of that is dangerous right now.

The world feels off-kilter.

Nausea rises again. Though there is nothing left in your stomach. You already emptied it on the forest floor before you stumbled into the trees, desperate to escape.

The acrid taste still lingers at the back of your throat.

The trees around you sway in your periphery, tall shadows painted in moonlight. It’s not the wind that makes them sway. It’s your vision. Branches claw at the sky like the dread claws at your resolve.

Your body is screaming at you to stop and collapse into the dirt, but you know if you let it, you won’t ever stand back up again.

You have to keep going.

You have to press on.

Your world has crumbled into rot and hunger, and all you have left is the instinct to run.

Run and survive.

Whatever that means now.

You have no sense of the distance you’ve put between you and the nightmarish scene you had to leave behind, no measure of the miles your aching legs already crossed.

You don’t know if they are right behind you. If they’re even coming for you.

It was barely dawn when they came.

It wasn’t a warning shot or a distant sound that reached the camp first. No, it was the impact.

The sound of boots trampling through the undergrowth, bodies charging through the trees, wild shapes silhouetted against the rising sun. Barked commands that carried no meaning, only menace.

You had barely time to register what was happening when they were already in the heart of the camp.

They scattered supplies, spilled meager rations into the dirt, kicked apart the fire pit still faintly glowing from the night before when your small group all sat in a circle around it.

With the first scream, violence erupted.

Blades flashed and mocking laughter rang out from all sides as you heard your companions cry out in terror and pain.

They scrambled from their makeshift shelters, some clutching weapons, others still groggy, confused, unarmed. There was no time to gather thoughts, no time to plan. The raiders were already upon you, tearing through tents and slaughtering everyone in their way.

You watched as Caleb lunged for them, but they cut him down before he even reached anybody.

You tried to get little Benjamin to safety but he got ripped away from you in a matter of seconds and you only felt the slash of a knife against your side.

You heard the guttural sobs of Jonna and her wide eyes as she couldn’t tear them off the lifeless body of her husband. You tried to reach her, grabbing her and getting her away but before you could, she got hit and fell. Just like her husband had moments earlier.

The thud of bodies hitting the ground, the clash of metal, the desperate screams of the people you knew and trusted, cutting off as quickly as they began, the splattered blood everywhere across the ground, slick on leaves, staining clothes of people who’d been alive only seconds earlier. Blood that is all over you, painted in your hair, in your face, on your hands-

You heave the bile against a nearby tree.

Your throat burns. The images burn. The memories burn.

The world is already torn apart as it is but they ripped at everything you had fought for.

You were pinned on the ground at one point. Brutally shoved down and the impact took your breath away. However, you were able to move out of the way of the knife that was meant for your face and instead buried into the ground. The surprise of your attacker weakened his hold on you and you were able to flee, but not without taking a few more hits.

Your friends were dead. Everything was destroyed.

So you ran.

You ran, stumbled, fell, scrambled up, and ran again.

You wondered if the raiders stayed to strip your makeshift camp bare or if they followed you. The last one alive. The one that slipped through their grasp.

Or maybe they’ve decided you’re not worth the effort, and your life hangs by nothing but chance.

After all, you feel death knocking on your door. And it will kick it in, hinges breaking and wood splintering if you don’t open it yourself.

But you won’t.

You push on. You will push your body to its breaking point.

Even if your mind shatters way before your body does.

Because you know you will crumble if you allow your thoughts to win over your body.

You just lost everything you had.

Your group was only on the move.

The camp was supposed to be a fleeting thing. A place to catch your breath from traveling. This morning you were all supposed to pack what little you had and keep moving and get closer to the sanctuary you had spoken of. A place you were going to build. A place where no raid, no nightmare, no lifeless beast could touch you.

So, if you had risen earlier, broken down the camp faster, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps your friends - the few people who so graciously took you in almost two years ago - would still be alive.

You don’t even know who the marauders were. They came out of nowhere.

A realization makes your blood run cold.

Something you remembered only now.

The sounds.

You heard it between the screams of your friends at one point. Low, throaty, and too familiar. The kind of sound that makes your pulse rise and pricks the back of your neck.

It was the sound you learned to fear. The sound your world had been drowning in for years now.

The sound of the dead - those shambling remnants of humanity, curses to wander the earth as mindless husks.

You remember the way they started moving so differently than when they came into your camp - some of them sluggish, others unnervingly erratic.

And you begin to wonder. Perhaps they had been bitten before raiding your camp.

And perhaps that’s the reason they came. They knew their time was up. They probably felt the infection eating at them, death clawing closer. Maybe attacking your group was their last violent eruption of humanity, the last thing they did with a conscious mind before they fell to the disease that had already claimed their souls.

They didn’t have anything left to lose. No loved ones to mourn. No future to fight for. Just an empty void ahead. A transformation into something even crueler than the monsters they already were. Perhaps they wanted this last conscious act to mean something. To carve their names into the memory of the world before they became nothing more than rotting corpses, stumbling through the dirt without a single thought in mind.

It makes you sick.

If they wanted to be remembered, they succeeded. You will remember. You will remember the massacre, the destruction, the screams, the wicked laughter that curdled your blood.

You will remember them because the screams of the people you came to love and trust have planted themselves into your chest and they won’t ever leave.

Maybe that’s what they wanted. To leave a mark, no matter how meaningless, no matter how vile. Or maybe they simply wanted to take something beautiful and shred it before they joined the walking rot.

Either way, they are gone now and you are left.

Alone.

You are left alone.

On the way to the one place you never thought your feet would lead you to again.

The one you meant to leave behind. To forget. To never return to. To move on.

Though you have to admit to yourself it never worked as well as you had hoped.

It has been two years since you left.

Two years of telling you to lock those doors with memories you tried to forget for so long.

And now, the thought of going back lets dread curl around your chest. It’s the dread of walking into a place you don’t know if you’re welcome anymore. The dread of facing what you left behind - facing who you left behind.

But there is also a flicker of something else. Something that feels too fragile, too dangerous to name. You tell yourself it’s nothing - just a memory, nostalgia - but you can’t quite smother it.

Because those people were your family once. Before you left, before you found the group you traveled with these last two years, they were your everything. Your friends, your loved ones, your sanctuary.

They were the ones that held you together when the world fell apart, the ones who gave you a purpose in this now purposeless society.

You left them behind to find something that you lost again just earlier.

The new group you had come to call your own, the people you fought beside, laughed with, dreamed with. All gone. Taken from you in a single, brutal morning. By people you couldn’t even take revenge on anymore. By people who aren’t even people anymore.

And you know your new companions never replaced your first family but they were home nonetheless.

But now, you have nowhere else to go but the place you called home first.

Though, would you really be welcome after all this time?

Would they let you in? Would they open their gates and arms for you?

Would he let you in?

Because truly, that is the only question that matters. You know the hearts of the others, know that they would be happy to see you again.

Sam, with his wide toothy grin. He’d throw his arms around you and clap you on the back and tell you something that would make you laugh despite everything.

Steve, with that glint in his eyes. Because he never truly believed you wouldn’t return.

Wanda, with the tears in her gaze. She’d pull you into her embrace, whispering how she’d prayed for this and never given up hope.

Natasha, with her amused smirk. She’d stand a step behind with her arms crossed and tease you that it only took two years for you to miss them enough to lose all the dignity you could hold onto and came back.

And all the others who would greet you with happy smiles and tears and hugs. Because that’s who they are. Who they’ve always been. They are pure love for those they call their own.

And you have been one of them.

Of course, your sight would first be met with concern at your condition, but the joyful reunion would eventually happen. Banner would fuss over you but keep the worry out of his calm hands and voice like the professional he is. Tony would bark orders, his mind already working ten steps ahead. Peter would hover nearby, ready to help, ready to do whatever was needed to put you back together.

You imagine how they would patch you up, make sure you didn’t collapse right there at their feet. They’d press water into your hands, bandage the gashes, stitch the torn skin. They would give you time to breathe, to settle.

A smile almost manages to spread over your lips but the exhaustion in your bones tugs the corners of your mouth back down.

And there is this one person you’re not sure about. What will he do when he sees you? What will he say? Will he say anything at all?

There is a reason you left, after all.

The community you all lived in was a big one with men and women and children and elders all sharing a beautiful and vast space.

You had all agreed on not having a single leader to rule but rather having the few most trusted people who started this whole thing to do councils every so often.

Once, you were one of them.

You would meet up, usually when the night had already started, discussing and making decisions - everything involving supply runs, how to keep the walls protected, how to celebrate a birth or mourn a loss, and so on.

Bucky was a part of that as well.

And that’s where the trouble lay.

You two never really seemed to see each other eye to eye. You would fight and banter - him calling you stubborn and reckless, you calling him pragmatic and intolerant. The disagreements were constant, heated, and sometimes public enough to turn heads and the other council members to end up disappointed and helpless.

It went on like that for years. Though the day it all fell apart will forever live in the cracks of your mind. Guilt never dulls no matter how much distance you put between them and yourself.

It was a supply run. Something that’s been routine by now. A scavenging mission into hostile territory, dangerous but necessary. Food was running low, medicine almost gone.

You were walking through the woods - a sector closer to dead zone, but Bucky and you were both fueled by anger at the other’s stubbornness to pay attention to the little group of people you took with you. They were good at ignoring your bickering.

“We do it my way. Slow, methodical. We’re not losing anyone because of some reckless stunt.” His tone was flat. Final.

“I’ve never put anyone in danger, Bucky,” you defended with fire in your voice.

Bucky’s voice was hard. “You charge in without thinking, every single time-”

“Yes, and I always do that alone, Barnes. Don’t you think I know the risks? I wouldn’t ask anyone to-”

“Damn it, Y/n,” he cut off, voice sharp. “It’s bad enough that you do it-”

“If we only ever go slow, people will starve. We can’t afford to waste time, Barnes. You want to lose them sitting on your hands instead of taking a risk? That’s on you, not on me.”

Bucky talked lower then, harshly.“That’s not taking a risk, Y/n! That’s fucking suicide.”

The actual mistake was in the silence that followed. No compromise, no meeting of minds. Just the brittle quiet that stretched between you both and the tension that lingered even over the other group members walking with you.

Bucky’s jaw was tight, his steps heavy. Yours were no lighter.

It happened fast. As it always did. One moment, the woods were still, only the crunch of the leaves underfoot and a few insects in bushes and trees surrounding you.

The next, groans split the air, coming from every direction - shadows lurking between trees, their figures misshapen, their eyes empty.

There were too many of them. That was clear from the first breath, but you didn’t have time to process it, to count.

You shouted for the group to move, to break toward the clearing just ahead and they started rushing away until Bucky’s voice rose behind you. His commanding tone seethed in your veins.

“No! Fall back - circle to the ridge!”

But the clearing was closer. The clearing was safer.

So you said as much.

But that’s all the hesitation it took for the dead to gather closer. Close enough.

You lost precious time, precious ground. The damage had already been done.

Two people didn’t make it. Two lives, lost in the spaces between your choices.

The argument that followed was like nothing before. No banter. Not bickering. It was an unfiltered and ugly thing, charged by your guilt and his. Words were thrown, accusations hurled. It was awful.

And when the shouting stopped, there was nothing but silence. Thick. Unbearable.

Neither of you could let go of your anger, your grief, your pride long enough to see that you’d both failed them.

That day something shattered in your connection. Whatever that had been. The tension that always accompanied your relationship. It felt corrosive. Wrong.

And that’s when you made the decision. The decision to leave, that now led you to come back again.

Will he resent you? That thought is a blade that has turned itself dull from too much use, yet it still cuts at you in ways you can’t dodge.

You imagine him standing there, arms crossed, his face as unreadable as it would be stoic, staring at you with the fire that always burned behind his eyes.

Will he even let you step inside? Or will his anger boil over and turn you away, pushing you back into the wilderness you barely even escaped from?

Will he relish in your brokenness, in the way life has stripped you down to your very bones? Will he find satisfaction in seeing you this fragile, this vulnerable, clinging to scraps of pride as your body barely holds itself together? The image of his piercing gaze, not softened by time or mercy, sends a shiver down your spine.

But it also just might be your body starting to give out, you realize when more shivers whack your form.

You push on.

And you wonder. Could there maybe also be relief in those eyes, hidden behind the mask he always wears so well. Relief that you’re still alive, that whatever dark roads you’ve walked since haven’t claimed you completely.

Or would that relief be poisoned by something bitter - the satisfaction not of your survival, but of seeing you humbled, seeing you brought low enough to crawl back to him, back to the home you lied to yourself you were fine living without.

You picture his face shifting. A flicker of something softer crossing his features before he buries it deep. Will it pain him to see the bruises painted across your skin, the blood that’s long since dried on your hands and clothes, the tremble in your limbs while you stand before him like a ghost returned from the grave?

Will he turn you away, disgusted not by your injuries but by the weakness they represent?

You wonder if he’d speak at all. Silence, from him, could be worse than anger. After all, anger means caring. You don’t get angry if you don’t care.

So, perhaps you will be left to fill the empty space with your many regrets and guilty feelings.

Maybe he won’t even look at you. Don’t throw you a single glance, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.

But your conscience can’t help but imagine things.

Because what if he’d feel something he wouldn’t dare admit, not even to himself. That the faintest pull of relief isn’t for the pain you’re in, not for the way life has broken you, but that it is for the simple fact that you’re here, alive, breathing. Maybe that relief would be buried under layers of what he’d felt for you all those years. But it would be there.

Honestly, you don’t think you will ever get an answer to any of those questions. Because you feel your mind start to drift too much. As if the images in your head start to turn into dreams and your body is luring you into sleep to live them out.

You’re giving up.

And you are still not close enough to your old and now only sanctuary despite walking and dragging your frail form for hours and miles on end.

Your head is spinning, images and voices now blurred and upside down and all wrong.

Not even noticing you stopped dragging yourself forward, you start to lean the whole weight of your body against a nearby tree.

The bark is rough against your skin, scraping through fabric, digging into bruises, and tearing them raw. It should hurt. You know it should hurt, but it barely even registers anymore. It’s just another sensation - one more thing slipping away.

Your eyelids droop. They feel so heavy. The forest is shapeless around you, just a mess of color and shadow.

Your breaths come shallow and uneven, lungs forgetting to do their job. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know this is it. This is where you’ll stop, where you’ll finally collapse and leave it all behind.

And the thought somehow isn’t as terrifying anymore. There’s a strange, unfamiliar peace blooming in your chest. You think about how your body would lie here, half-curled in the dirt, skin pale and bloodied, eyes forever closed.

Bucky might find you.

One day he might stumble upon your corpse on the ground. Maybe he’ll kneel beside your lifeless form, the frown on his face deepening, lips pressing into a grim line. Maybe he’ll tell you that he was right. That you were reckless and should have listened. Maybe his voice will tremble just a little.

The bickering you shared will follow you even into death.

The thought makes you want to laugh, but your body is too far gone for that. It’s barely your body anymore. It’s a shell of nothing. The world tilts, spins, then tilts again. You feel yourself begin to let go.

You won’t wake up. Not this time. And somehow, that’s okay. The peace blossoms brighter in your chest, warm and soft, as if the weight of the world is finally lifting.

You lost everything you had. And not even just today. You lost it two years ago when you decided it was the best to leave your home.

Your eyes slip shut and you don’t try to press them back open again. Your body is slumping to the ground, bark scraping against you, the ground rushing closer. The cold earth is pressed against your face. Your breath falters and slows.

Your body feels dead by now but your mind still blinks with awareness. And funnily enough, it can’t seem to let go of Bucky. His sharp face. His strong voice, the cadence of it so deeply carved into your memory that it echoes so clearly as if he were sitting right beside you.

“Y/n!”

“Shit, Y/n!”

It calls your name. The sound so urgent and frantic, it pulls you back for a fleeting second, though you are sure none of your muscles even twitch.

You are actually impressed with yourself. His voice sounds so real, so vivid. How is your mind able to conjure something so precise on the verge of unraveling completely? It’s him, down to the inflection, the roughness, the bite.

But you know it isn’t really him. That wouldn’t make any sense. Your mind is exaggerating. You’ve blown the image of him out of proportion, dressed him in a panic he wouldn’t wear for you, not for this.

If he found you like this - broken, slumped, slipping away - perhaps his voice wouldn’t even crack.

The day you said your goodbyes, Bucky wasn’t even there with the others. He wasn’t there when you hugged Sam, his arms lingering around you. Not when Steve couldn’t evoke a smile that wasn’t tight or sad. Not when Wanda touched your cheek with shaking fingers, her tearful eyes searching you for a reason to make you stay and telling you you’d always be welcome to come back home. Not when Natasha ordered you, not to get yourself killed out there, what was a little too late now.

You didn’t really expect him to come. Actually, it was better this way, you had thought. Cleaner. No last harsh words, no heated standoff, no last-minute chance for him to dig deep again.

Some stubborn, foolish part of you had hoped of course.

But that was when you saw him as you made your way to the gates.

He stood at the edge of the grounds you were about to leave behind, hidden in the shadows of bushes and trees. His arms were crossed over his chest, his figure rigid, his face set in stone.

You willed not to let your heart clench, but it did. You told yourself he was just there for a final gloat, some grim satisfaction in watching you go. In seeing you lose.

But his eyes held yours. So unwavering and intense. It burned through you. His features were dark, but also, he did stand covered in shadows. However, there was no smirk, no triumph, no venomous parting shot.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t step forward, didn’t say a single thing. He didn’t do anything but hold your gaze as if daring you to be the one to break it.

And you did.

You had a new life to attend to.

And you didn’t look back when leaving.

Still, you felt the burn of his eyes on you, so much more intense than ever before.

You guessed he dropped that stoic, seemingly unhappy mask the moment you were out of sight. Maybe he even threw a silent celebration, relieved to finally be free of you, of the friction you brought into his life.

But the small annoying voice in the back of your mind whispered something else. Something that actually made you consider turning back around before you got ahold of yourself again.

It told you that maybe his expression had stayed dark long after you were gone. That maybe his gaze lingered on the empty path where you’d disappeared. That maybe his arms stayed crossed, not to shield himself from the cold but to stop himself from reaching out.

And your brain now doesn’t seem to have any doubts either because you might actually feel hands shaking you, gripping your face. There weren’t many times when you came in contact with Bucky’s hands, and only fleeting and unintentional, so you don’t know if your conscience got the feeling of his hands on you right but you relish it anyway.

You hope he’d worry. You hope so much. Why, you don’t even know. It’s not like it matters anymore. But you need him to worry.

You need him to feel something sharp, something visceral. You need the cracks in his stoic armor to show and your name on his lips to sound like a prayer instead of a reprimand.

“Stay with me, Y/n! Come on!” It’s a snarl and a plea at the same time.

His voice is pulling you back - or maybe it’s pulling you under. You can’t really tell the difference. It is the kind of sound that is too rough to be tender, too desperate to be cruel.

His voice gnaws at something in your awareness, steering something deep in your bones.

Hell, your dying brain is doing a hella good job.

The world shifts again. Or maybe it’s you who shifts. The sharp bark of the tree is gone suddenly, as though the earth has abandoned you. Or perhaps your body just lost any kind of sensation, because there is nothing solid beneath you anymore. The ground is gone.

Free fall grips your stomach for a second, and panic sparks weakly in the recesses of your mind. But before the fear can take root, you feel something else. Something warm.

Not the feverish heat that’s been chewing at your skin for hours. Not the sticky warmth of blood still drying against your ribs.

No, this is something different. Hard, but not unkind. Solid, but not unforgiving. It presses against your body, and for the first time in what feels like days, it doesn’t hurt.

You don’t know what is happening. You only know you want more of it. Tilting your head as best as it would go, you lean into it as much as your useless limbs allow, seeking that warmth like it’s the only thing keeping you from succumbing to nothingness.

And then the pieces click together.

You’re being carried.

There is an arm under your legs, another braced firmly around your back. The grip is strong but it is trembling faintly against you.

You are cradled against something warm, something alive. And there is a pounding against your ear that is way too rapid to seem healthy.

None of this makes sense, not really, but the sensation of movement - the sway and jolt of steps, hurried but careful - tells you that you’re not imagining this.

Someone has you. Someone’s carrying you.

Your battered mind, of course, latches onto Bucky again.

Your brain shapes the thought of him so effortlessly. Some part of you knew it could only ever be him. You picture his face, sharp and shadowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and heavy with something you don’t dare name.

“Damn it, stay with me! Stay awake!”

Is this him saying that? Or is this your mind still indulging in the vivid fantasies from before? Perhaps this wasn’t your mind all along. Perhaps all of this wasn’t a fantasy of your brain. This was him.

You feel the tight hold with which he is gripping you, how it feels less like he is carrying you and more like he’s keeping you from slipping away entirely.

It doesn’t seem like the Bucky you knew. The one who looked at you with barely concealed irritation, who argued with you until you were both red-faced and seething.

But then again, maybe it does. Maybe this is the same man, stripped bare of all his armor, his stoic resolve fractured like you had imagined. Maybe this is what he looks like when he doesn’t have time to mask the cracks.

The thought makes your chest ache. Or maybe that’s just your ribs - stabbed, bruised, barely functional. You can’t tell anymore.

You want to open your eyes, to confirm what you already know, but your eyelids are heavy, unwilling.

You want to reach for him, to feel with your hands that his worry really is your reality and not all in your head, but your arms hang limply at your sides. Useless.

But your face is pressed against his shoulder. The speeding throbbing of what you assume to be his heart is still in your ear and it makes this so much more real.

“Don’t you dare die on me now, Y/n! Not after this.” His ragged words send swaying currents through the still waters of your fading consciousness. “Not like that! Not after I’ve been looking for you for two damn years!”

Wait.

What?

The words ring like a bell, too loud, too pronounced. You feel yourself struggling with comprehending the meaning of this but the shock still rushes up your spine.

Bucky was looking for you. He didn’t celebrate your departure. He came after you.

You left two years ago. Bucky started searching for you two years ago.

“I should’ve stopped you. Fuck, I should have stopped you. I never should’ve let you leave.” His voice is a single crack. So much remorse seeping into his tone, it even latches onto your chest.

“God I’m so sorry I let you leave. I’m so sorry for everything, Y/n! There’s so much I gotta tell you. So much I gotta make right. So you don’t get to do this, alright? You don’t get to die on me!”

His voice doesn’t sound like him at all. The Bucky you remember used measured words, calculated, controlled. Doubt again creeps in that this really is real and not just your mind all up in shambles. Because there is so much pain in his voice. Pain you never saw inflicted in anything he did. Or said. Not to you at least.

Your body jolts in his grip, caused by his hands. He might have tried to shake some life back into you but his hands don’t stop shaking. They are trembling so heavily, as if he’s terrified you’re going to slip through his grasp at any second. As if you’re going to die in his arms. Maybe you will.

“You’re staying with me, you hear me?” he continues, low voice filled with gravel, so wild and anguished. “There’s so much I need to tell you. So much I need to say. But I can’t-” his voice gives out and you basically hear him trying to hold himself together. His breaths are uneven and broken. “I can’t do it like this. No, not like that. So you gotta pull through. You can’t leave me before I get the chance to tell you. Can’t die on me now that I’ve finally fucking found you. You can’t, Y/n! Please! Stay with me. Just stay.”

You try to open your eyes. Try to let your fingers twitch. Try to open your mouth. But there’s nothing.

You can’t tell him that you’re trying. You can’t tell him that you want to hear what he has to say. Can’t tell him that you’re clinging to his every word. Can’t tell him that you’re fading away.

Only a broken exhale slips through.

His arms tighten, pulling you impossibly closer.

He’s pushing himself. His muscles strain and coil, his body still trembles against you. His voice is breathless and full of despair..

“Stay awake! Look at me. Just- please open your eyes. Just for a second. I need to see them. Need to know you’re still in there, okay?” His words are torn, pulled apart, and put together in a desperate attempt. Tears fill his voice. “You always had to prove me wrong, so do it again. Fight. Fight, Y/n! Please!”

Bucky makes it sound like it could actually be easy. But unfortunately, it’s not. His voice is more distant now. Perhaps it’s giving out. Perhaps it’s the hope that leaves him, taking his voice.

Yet, you’re trying to hold onto it. You’re trying so much.

If he says more, you don’t catch it. You don’t catch anything anymore. You think you might be okay with that. Because even if this isn’t real - even if this is all just a fever dream conjured by a dying mind - you think it’s a good way to go.

Sheltered in warmth. In motion. In the arms of the one person you never thought would come for you.

217 notes · View notes

komotionlessqueenmm · 4 months ago

Text

Loyal Protector

(1-1)

Short story # 23

Gifs NOT mine.

Summary - After the whole world has died, you find yourself wandering the wastes with your loyal Captain at your side. And even in death Captain Steve Rogers swears to protect you at all costs.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW

Reading time (roughly) - 10 minutes

Sunlight glimmered off the iconic shield of Captain America, which hung from the dead man's arm like it was an extension of himself. Granted in many ways it was an extension of himself, in life and now even in death it would seem. (Y/n) looked at the reanimated corpse of her husband Captain Steve Rogers. Her heart ached painfully knowing she would never hear his voice again, be held in his strong sturdy arms, or share passionate kisses. Her Steve was gone, he died to buy her time to get away from the hord that had cornered them. Then three nights later she found herself face to face with his reanimated corpse. She'd held her pistol up with shaky hands, knowing she had to protect herself for his sake, or else his death would have been for nothing. Tears streamed down her face, unable to pull the trigger. A sob escaping her as he limped closer towards her, the hiss of his voice clutching at her broken heart, her lungs burning with every gasping breath she took.

Then he did something she never dreamed was possible. His hand pushed away her gun with purpose, placing himself before her, he rest his decaying forehead against her temple. They stayed that way for a short while, each of the growls and grunts escaping him made her jump. But she was to afraid to move away from him, afraid he would tear her apart the way the dead usually did with the living. They stood there like that for what felt like hours to (Y/n), but in reality it had only been a few minutes at best. The sound of shuffling footsteps made (Y/n) tense up, her spine going stiff and her heart hammering as adrenaline started pumping through her veins. The corpse of her late husband growled in dissatisfaction, and he whipped around faster than any reanimated corpse should, roaring in rage at the sight of another of the dead stumbling towards them. The Captain turned with a swiftness, throwing his shield at the intruding dead, the sheer force splitting the corpse in half at the waist. The shield ricochet off of a tree, and he caught it in a single smooth motion, as he did when he was alive. (Y/n) felt her bottom lip tremble, tears threatening to spill once more. He steps in front of her again, horse breath rattling in his failing repertory system. His head tilts a little to the left, and his free hand reaches out for her.

She flinches a little as his rotten fingers brushed her cheek, the touch gentle and uncertain. A sound bubbled from his torn throat, it sounded as if he were trying to speak, but it only managed to startle her. Again he shuffled closer, resting his forehead against her own, forcing her to look into his milky eyes. She wept at the sight of deep emotion swirling in his dead eyes. Her Captain, her Steve was still in there. "Steve." She whispered his name, her voice raw and broken. He made a sound like a purr, his eyes falling shut while he simply held her. She found herself leaning into his touch, finding comfort in knowing that his love for her eclipsed his now base desire to kill and feed. (Y/n) stumbled on a bit of rubble as they wondered the empty streets, and with reflexes no dead man should have, Steve caught her and stood her upright. "Thank you." She murmured softly, a faint smile ghosting her lips at the grunt of acknowledgement he gave in response. A noise from within a nearby building sprung the Captain into action, pulling (Y/n) to stand behind him, his shield held up in defense. A shot rang out from the building, and a bullet ricochet off of the iconic shield, making Steve roar with rage.

The last thing (Y/n) ever expected to see was her old friend Bucky to emerge from the building. His rifle held up and pointed at the Captain, who shifted to further guard (Y/n). "Bucky." She called out, peaking out from behind her deceased husband. The super soldier seemed to freeze at the sight of her, before his gaze hardened on his old pal. "(Y/n)? What are you?- Get away from him!" He tried to reason, his expression turning to near panic when (Y/n) moved to stand in front of Steve. "It's okay." She tried to tell her friend, who looked ready to bolt any second. "He... He won't hurt me." She explained, looking back at her husband who growled at Bucky, ready to defend (Y/n) at a moments notice. "Are you crazy? That's not Steve, not anymore!" Bucky hollered at her, wanting to protect his old pals wife. "He's still in there Buck, he protects me." (Y/n) told him, turning back to Steve, she touched his decaying face. Bucky wanted to shout to her, convenience her to run, but he was stunned into silence when Steve merely leaned into her touch, his glassy eyes closing and a rumble of a purr emanating from his rotten lungs.

"(Y/n) come with me, I have a small group of survivors, I'll keep you safe." Bucky said as he took a small step towards the two, Steve growled in warning, his attention snapping to Bucky, who froze in his tracks. "I don't think that would be safe." She said with a sad smile. "We should... We should let him rest." Bucky tried, flinching at the look of betrayal that flashed in (Y/n)'s eyes. "I can't do that Buck, he's my husband, and I still love him." She hissed at her friend, appalled that he would suggest that they kill Steve. "He's dead (Y/n)." Bucky reasoned. "Steve is still in there Bucky, why else would he keep protecting me?" She argued. "Please (Y/n) we have a compound, it's safe, secure. Let him rest." The soldier wouldn't give up so easily. "I won't leave him, I refuse to loose him." (Y/n) shot back, her agitation setting Steve on edge. The zombie growled deep and threateningly, a warning to Bucky to back off. "I'm staying out here, I don't care how dangerous it is, I won't leave Steve behind." She told her friend, her hand taking a delicate hold of Steve's arm, the one not holding his shield. "Fine... Bring him with you, but please come to the compound." Bucky said, taking a small step towards her. "I don't think that would be safe, not for the others." (Y/n) looked to her husband, knowing that if he thought anyone would be a threat to her, he'd kill them without a second thought.

"We'll make it safe, we'll set up a place away from the others for you. I can't in good faith just leave you out here." Bucky said again stepping closer, his anxiety easing a little, when Steve seemed to accept the distance closing between them. Steve's head turned to observe his wife, seemingly understanding what was going on. "If he remembers you, maybe he remembers me too." Bucky murmured quietly, holding out his metal hand to his old friend, who peered at him with milky eyes. When Bucky reached the pair, he touched the star on his dead friends uniform. A low rumble of noise rattled in the dead soldiers tattered throat, his grip on his shield tightening, though he didn't intend on striking. "If we can convince him, get him adjusted to being near the others, maybe we can make this work." Bucky said, as he let his hand fall away from the Captain. "I think it would be best if we stayed out here." (Y/n) murmured, not wanting anyone to attack Steve. "Fine... Then I'm staying out here with you, both of you." Bucky concluded, with a look of determination in his eyes. "Bucky you don't have to-" She tried telling him, but he cut her off. "Yes I do. If he could speak, Steve would agree with me." He said and (Y/n) glanced to her husband, who did seem to agree with what Bucky was saying. "Okay." She breathed out with a soft sigh.

141 notes · View notes

imjustavenuxwithaboomerang · 6 months ago

Text

zombies + text posts

(2 3)

281 notes · View notes

thezombieprostitute · 2 days ago

Text

Bucky and Curtis, both working as lieutenants in the mob, under Nick Fowler (because I've already got a Steve Rogers mob boss). They get along pretty well together because they can be so focused on the job and don't try to be funny or friendly.

They destress from the day in different ways, though.

Bucky likes to go to the coffee shop by the bookstore. If you're working that shift, he'll spend his whole time chatting with you, otherwise he'll just read. You're one of the few people that can make him smile.

Curtis likes to go to the animal shelter and take dogs for walks. If you're volunteering when he visits, he'll ask after your favorite animals so he can convince you to walk and talk with him.

One day, Bucky asks you out. You think he's kidding and tell him "thank you, but I'm currently seeing someone."

The next day, Curtis asks you out. You respond the same way.

They're both gutted by your refusal.

I wonder what would happen if they realized they were interested in the same person....

#zombie thoughts #Curtis Everett #Bucky Barnes

72 notes · View notes

naok-iyuu · 3 months ago

Text

Masterlist

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- You will find here my work, if I am not LAZY, which is going to be really difficult.

English is not my native language, and even if I understand A LOT, I may not be abble to write as much as I know. You will maybe find some French work too here and there if I feel that it will be easier for me, stay allert my french people ! Some Spotify playlist here<3!

!REQUEST ARE ALWAYS OPEN!

Zed Necrodopolis relationship Headcanons - ~850 words

When the sun falls - 2.6k words (fluff)

Love is about details - 8.2k words (fluff)

It's beginning to look a lot like... - 2.7k words (fluff/Christmas special)❄️🎄

Coming soon...

- Future writing list : (if you are interested, request for those characters) Peter Parker MCU Bucky Barnes Nico Alexander (Doogie Kamealoha) Cole Walter Alex Walter ...

Future writing fandom ? : (You can request for a character) Harry Potter My babysitter's a vampire ...

39 notes · View notes

wildglitch · 8 months ago

Text

Other hero wiz!au

This is a joke (obviously) but this is tottaly them lol

80 notes · View notes

imagine-you · 3 months ago

Text

you and me and all of these living dead [logan/reader; bucky/reader] (1/2)

Summary: You've been running from Logan for years. When the virus struck, you never would have thought that Logan would join the leagues of the living dead. Now, he's following you wherever you go, forcing you to stay at least one step ahead of him to avoid a confrontation. It doesn't help that in the years since Logan turned, you've found peace with Bucky, and Logan is less than pleased at the prospect of losing you. When you're kidnapped and forced to use your power for a rogue group of scavengers, Bucky and Logan will have to learn to put their differences aside in order to save you. Word Count: 4.5k Author's Notes: A Marvel Zombies/What If: Zombies fic. The second fic in a series of spinoffs from my main fic in my Home 'verse that explores different Wolverine variants and their relationships with the reader in their universes. Happy Halloween, y'all!

Read On AO3

You squinted against the morning light drifting into the room past the curtains. It was way too early to wake up and all you wanted to do was roll over, ignore the sun's wake-up call, and go back to sleep.

Logan had other ideas.

"Where you going?" He murmured, wrapping his arm around you to keep you in place. "I like you right here."

"The sun's in my eyes," you groaned, wriggling against him to try to get him to relent.

There was a huff of laughter against the nape of your neck. Logan shifted against you, enough for you to feel his interest against the back of your thigh, before he made a noise of triumph. Suddenly, the blankets were pulled up over your head, shielding the sunlight from view and emphasizing the heat you could feel coming off Logan's body.

"Better?" He grunted, trying to get back into a more comfortable position.

"Better," you agreed, letting yourself press back into him.

You loved mornings with Logan when you didn't have to rush off to play X-Men. You could stay in bed all day, soaking up each other's presence, and forget the rest of the world existed.

"I love you," you whispered, somberness sweeping over you as the sunlight faded from the room. You felt a chill permeate the air and you shivered.

"I love you too," he responded, his voice gruff with sleep.

You were seriously considering trying to turn around to face Logan. You suddenly wanted to see him. You ached for him in a way you didn't understand. He was right there. He had been there all along. It had taken you years of fighting side by side to fall together, but once you had navigated your way around every obstacle, it had been easy to give in to Logan.

You startled at the sound of something scratching at your door. Your brow furrowed and you tried to get up, but Logan wouldn't let you.

"What was that?" You wondered, thinking for a moment that someone on the X-Men had finally managed to bring home a stray dog. But the sound grew louder, persistent, and was followed up by something banging insistently on the door. There was a growl on the other side as someone tried the handle, shaking the door in its frame.

"Logan, I'm scared," you whispered, terror washing over you too quick for you to try to shake off. Your heart was pounding and your hands were shaking and you knew something had gone horribly wrong.

You were half-convinced it was just a prank Remy or someone else might be playing, but another part of you knew that whatever was on the other side of the door was terrifying. It was doom come to wreak havoc on your life and you had no intention of opening the door and letting it in. You weren't sure why you felt such a rise of panic threaten to consume you. You could take care of yourself, your power equal parts defensive and offensive, and Logan would never let anything hurt you.

Logan loved you. Logan would always protect you. As long as you were with him, you would never truly be in danger.

So, why were you so terrified?

Logan's breath had turned raspy and the hand clutching your hip tightened, threatening to leave bruises.

"You're hurting me," you muttered, finally breaking free of his hold enough to turn over and face him.

You felt a scream cut off in your throat, releasing on an agonized whimper. Logan was gone. A monster had replaced him, albeit one that looked remarkably like him. His flesh was decaying, hanging off in shreds, untouched by his regenerative ability. You could see bone and muscle and tendons straining as he forced himself to stay still.

There was a growl building in his throat and all you wanted to do was move. You needed to get off the bed, now, but you couldn't bring yourself to hurt Logan. You loved him. You always would.

Logan snarled before he lunged at you, his teeth bared as he brought them to your neck.

"I'm sorry," he rumbled before his teeth latched on to your throat and sunk into your flesh.

You woke with a scream caught in your throat. Your heart was beating so fast and loud that it was practically all you could hear for a moment. It took you entirely too long to realize there was an arm around your waist and another wave of panic threatened to descend over you. You brought your hand up and you weren't even sure what you were going to do, but then you realized that the arm wrapped around you was metal.

"Bucky," you breathed on a sigh of relief.

"You alright?" He rasped, his voice rough with sleep.

"I'm fine," you lied, your mind on Logan. Your thoughts usually didn't stray too far from him. You missed him, ached for him in a way that was so painful you felt like you couldn't truly breathe half the time, but you also couldn't fathom having to see him again.

Not like that. Not after what the virus did to him.

"Liar," Bucky accused, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

You easily turned in his hold to see he was only half-awake. There was a sleepy softness to him that had fondness, love, and affection swelling within you. You would never be able to show Bucky just how grateful you were for him, but you hoped he understood anyway.

"I think it might be time to move again," you mused, willing the leftover fear from your dream to abate now that you were safe in Bucky's arms. You knew, instinctively, that Logan was close to finding you again. The two of you felt inextricably linked, as if your subconscious just knew at all times when he was nearby.

Bucky's lips ticked up in a smirk before he brought a hand up to tap a finger against your forehead. "Your Logan radar pinging again?"

You rolled your eyes, swatting his hand away, but leaning forward to brush a kiss against his lips. "You know me too well," you muttered against his mouth, letting your lips drag against his for a moment, before pulling away.

Bucky watched you for a moment, fond and loving, before he nodded his head. "We can spend some time at the compound if you want. If you don't mind them all sticking their noses in our business all the time."

You felt a smile tug at your lips, stifling a laugh in Bucky's shoulder when you tipped your head forward. "It'll probably be a hell of a lot more preferable to Logan finding us again."

"Yeah," Bucky sighed, shifting against you for a moment. "I'm just glad he didn't leave teeth marks in the arm. Everyone that could help me fix the damage is either dead or missing."

"I'm just glad he tried to bite the metal one and not the flesh one," you countered, pulling back to meet Bucky's eyes. Losing Logan to the virus had been unbearable, but losing Bucky too? You knew you wouldn't survive. You were half-sure you would just let either one of them bite you and join them in their undead roaming, endlessly searching for ways to sate the hunger inside.

"So, the compound?" Bucky checked, gripping your hip and pulling you closer towards him until you could wrap a leg around his thigh, fully intertwining the both of you.

"The compound," you agreed with a nod. It was as close to safe as you could get these days and relying on Stark's tech to keep Logan out wasn't something you were entirely fond of, but it would have to do for now.

"Be ready in the morning," he told you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling down. His eyes slipped closed, and his breathing began to even out while he started to drift back off to sleep.

You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep again. Not after that dream. So, you sat up, turning away from Bucky in a bid to start packing.

You heard Bucky sigh and felt the tiniest bit guilty at what all of this was doing to him.

"You think he's coming after you again?" His voice was slow and groggy with sleep, but you knew that if Logan were to burst through the door, Bucky would be fully primed and ready for a fight.

"He always finds me," you pointed out, glancing at Bucky over your shoulder. "You know it's only a matter of time."

Bucky studied you for a moment before he threw the covers back and got out of bed.

"Bucky," you started, not sure what you could ever to say to him to make any of it okay. Logan followed you like a specter yearning to drag you down with him so you could roam together for eternity. Bucky had his own ghost to worry about in the form of his former best friend, but at least Steve wasn't tracking Bucky down every few weeks.

Bucky shook his head, cutting off whatever words you were trying to find. "Better safe than sorry, right?"

That had practically been your whole mantra the past few years and you knew that it was what had helped keep you alive.

"Right," you agreed, trying out a smile for Bucky. When he shot you back one in return, you felt for a moment that maybe everything would be okay.

The drive to the compound took three hours. Natasha greeted the car at the gate. She kept an eye on your surroundings as she waved you through. Her eyes scanned the land all around and you knew she was searching for Clint. Half the time, you weren't even sure if Natasha wanted to see him so she could put him out of his misery or if she was hoping not to see him so she wouldn't have to.

As Bucky pulled the car to a stop, a web shot out and attached to the hood. It was followed by Peter appearing out of nowhere, using the web to anchor himself as he flipped and then crouched in front of the car.

"What'd I tell you about getting your webs on my car?" Bucky called out the open driver's side window, unimpressed with Peter's entrance.

"Not to do it," Peter answered, looking chagrined as he broke the web. He leaned forward and started trying to dust the remnants off the hood.

Bucky got out of the car, watching as Peter tried to hide the evidence. You had to stifle a laugh as you followed suit, knowing that Bucky was only half-serious and just thought it was fun to pick on the kid.

"Then what the hell is that?" Bucky countered, pointing at the remains of the web that had refused to budge under Peter's scrubbing.

"A web," Peter begrudgingly allowed with a grimace. "On your car," he added when Bucky shot him a pointed look. "I'll get the soap and bucket," he groaned before trudging up to the compound.

"You two on the run again?" Natasha asked as she approached the pair of you.

"Yeah," you admitted with a frown. "Got that spidey-sense again," you added, grinning when Peter let out an indignant 'Hey!'

"Well, you'd better get inside, then. Hope's getting restless to see if you've brought anything for her."

"We snagged her a few things, yeah," you told Nat, catching sight of Kate on the rooftop keeping watch. Her bow was ready as she kept her gaze steady on the horizon. You knew that once upon a time, Kate would have had a quip and a salute for you, but after losing her mom and then her mentor, she had grown more quiet and serious.

Natasha led you and Bucky towards the common room once you had grabbed your bags out of the car and entered the compound. Rhodey, Happy, and Sharon were all there, waiting on you.

Happy's eyes lit up when he saw the bag of chips you threw towards him.

"I bet this is the last bag of these in the world," he crowed before hugging them to his chest.

The door behind you slid open and you glanced over your shoulder to see the last members of your group enter. Hope led the trio, with Remy and Charles bringing up the rear. Charles looked worse than the last time you saw him, but you supposed that Erik's death had hit him hardest of all.

"Professor," you greeted, offering him a sad smile.

"It's nice to see you," Charles said, glancing from you to Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes," he added with a brief nod of his head.

"Just Bucky," Bucky reminded Charles, shifting slightly on his feet.

Bucky always got nervous around Charles and you were sure it was why the two of you regularly left the compound in search of supplies. You knew having someone else in his head wasn't exactly Bucky's idea of a good time and he feared whatever Charles might find there.

"Didn't think you'd be back, bonne amie," Remy said as he approached you. He pulled you into a hug, his embrace so tight for a moment you almost couldn't breathe. "Thought maybe you got tired of us."

You knew what Remy wasn't saying. He thought you might have died. It was getting incredibly too risky to leave the compound. Rhodey and Happy were keyed in to all the defenses thanks to a contingency plan that Tony had enacted upon the event of his death, leaving the former Avengers compound one of the only safe havens left in the world. You were grateful they had shared the compound with the rest of you, allowing you the illusion of protection in a world filled with monsters.

"We'd never stray for too long," you assured him, patting him on the back. You, Remy, and Charles were the last of the X-Men. All of you had lost so much together and you didn't think any of you could stand to lose more.

"I'm holding you to that," Remy warned you, giving you one last squeeze before he pulled away. He moved to Bucky, holding out a hand for him to shake. You noticed him grimace as Bucky gripped his hand tight in his metal one.

Bucky wasn't usually the jealous type, but there was something about Remy that just got under his skin.

"Alright, before Barnes decides to try to eviscerate Remy," Rhodey cut in, shooting the pair an unimpressed look, "why don't we get down to business?"

"Speaking of," you said, reaching into the bag you had brought with you. You were careful as you handed over three vials to Hope. "More samples," you told her, watching her nod her head in thanks. "Any closer to a cure?"

Hope frowned, shaking her head. "There's something about this virus I'm missing. But these will help," she told you as she held up the vials, offering you a small smile. "Thanks for taking the risk."

"It's no problem," you assured her, even though it was always difficult trying to get the blood of the undead. Bucky would have to hold them down while you got close enough to draw blood. You knew Bucky would never let anything happen to you, but once you were close enough to a zombie to see the way their teeth snapped at you, wanting nothing more than to tear into your flesh, you couldn't help but worry that one day you would run out of luck.

"We were actually just about to head out before Charles told us you were coming," Sharon informed you. "We got a distress call. Might be nothing or might be something, but it looks like it's from an old friend."

"An old friend?" You wondered, trying to think of anyone else who might be alive.

"Sue Storm," Natasha answered, glancing to the door as Kate trudged inside. She quirked an eyebrow at her in question and Kate shook her head, giving the all-clear.

"Sue? She's been missing for years," Bucky pointed out, turning to give Natasha his full attention.

"Which is why it caught our interest," Natasha said, arching a brow at him.

"Could be risky," you mused, knowing that it was more than likely a trap. Going incommunicado for any period of time longer than a couple weeks usually meant the person was dead. But all of you had already lost so much that the thought of ignoring someone who might need your help didn't bode well with you.

You were all that was left and you couldn't afford to ditch someone in need now. The group you had formed, one hellbent on finding a cure, was all you had left in the world. Both you and Bucky had joined for extremely personal reasons. You wanted to cure Logan and Bucky wanted to cure Steve. But now, you were all a part of the same fucked-up little family. You would fight for each other and you would die for each other.

As more people were lost and hope dwindled more every day, you weren't sure if you would ever get the people you loved back. It didn't help that most of the living dead retained knowledge of their past lives or that they could still talk and perform actions they might have when they were still alive. It wasn’t the same, it would never be the same, but it still served to cause the knife in your gut to twist deeper with each time Logan got close enough to call your name.

Steve had still hefted the shield, shambling everywhere he went, keeping it clutched tight in his hold. He used it to kill people and then devour them. He used it to protect himself from anyone that might try to put a bullet in him and stop him for good. And the last time he stumbled right into your path, Bucky had finally wrested it free from his hold. Steve had been pissed, but Bucky didn't want Steve to look back once he was cured and realize that he had used the shield for such awful things.

Logan remembered you. He had told you once that as long as he could smell you, he would be able to find you. His senses were all so completely honed in on you that you truly thought there was nowhere you could go now where he wouldn't follow. You had tried, time and again, to get through to him. You begged and pleaded and cried, but none of it really did you any good. Logan still loved you. You knew that much. But the hunger was simply too strong.

So, you and Bucky wandered, and Logan inevitably followed in your wake. Sometimes, Steve showed up and sometimes you went months without seeing him. Both you and Bucky were being haunted by your past and you wanted nothing more than to find a future together free of the dead.

You tried not to let guilt eat away at you, but it was hard when you knew that Logan had taken the bite meant for you. You had been distracted, terrified, and while you had a forcefield up to protect Scott, you hadn't noticed one of the undead until it was almost too late.

Ororo had risen after being struck down and had grabbed onto your leg. Her mouth had been wide, ready to rip into your calf, when you were pushed out of her hold by Logan. Unfortunately, he had taken your place, and Storm sunk her teeth into his ankle.

You had hoped that with his regenerative healing, he wouldn't turn. But as time wore on, both of you realized that he was turning, just at a slower rate than everyone else who had been bitten. You remembered the wild look in his eyes when he realized that he was fighting a losing battle with his new instincts.

He had begged you to run. All you wanted to do was stay.

In the end, you had no other choice.

You didn't know what you were supposed to do without Logan. The X-Men had fallen and you no longer had a home to return to. So, you kept moving. You never stayed in a place for longer than a few days, fearing the dead or humans turned savage by the apocalypse would find you.

It wasn't long before you realized you were being followed. You were curious enough to try to figure out who was staying on your trail. So, you stayed behind just long enough to see who was sticking close to you, always two steps behind and lurking in the shadows.

You shouldn't have been surprised to see Logan lurching forward through the doorway you had deliberately left open. His ribs were exposed and he walked with a limp, his bite from Ororo not fully healed. His hand was outstretched towards you, reaching for you, and you had almost let him close enough to touch. But you saw the way his lips pulled back in a snarl and the hungry gleam in his eyes.

You had thrown up the forcefield, separating the two of you, and ran.

You had been running from him ever since.

Happy drove the van that carried you, Bucky, Natasha, Sharon, and Peter to the location of the distress signal. Hope was staying behind to work on the new samples and Kate, Rhodey, Remy, and Charles were all hanging back to defend the compound in case there was an attack.

The signal came from an abandoned warehouse near the outskirts of the city. You didn't like how eerie and still it seemed. Despite the dead walking around, there was always some sign of movement or noise that would indicate something was still capable of shuffling around. But there was nothing. No sound. No movement. No zombies.

"Almost too good to be true," Bucky muttered, voicing your thoughts.

"Alright, let's fan out. If you run into trouble, sound the alarm," Natasha ordered before breaking away from the group.

"Got it," Peter agreed, shooting out a web and disappearing into the rafters.

Sharon split off in the opposite direction of Natasha, leaving you and Bucky near the main entrance. Happy was staying with the van and he was in charge of honking the horn if he spotted trouble. He had one of Tony’s hand repulsors ready if he needed to defend himself against a threat.

You knew something was wrong. You could feel it in your gut. But you didn’t want to run the risk of Sue needing help after years of being missing and you ignoring her plea.

"You going to be okay?" Bucky checked, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder.

You turned towards him, offering what you hoped was a smile and not a grimace, and nodded your head. You had that feeling like you had to constantly check over your shoulder. It was how you felt when you knew Logan was close, but it felt different. Like danger was looming over you, but you just couldn't see t yet.

"Let's get this over with," you sighed, leaning over to give Bucky a brief kiss before parting from him.

You had a gun held out in front of you, Bucky's idea of extra protection, and readied yourself to use a forcefield or your invisibility. There were so many winding hallways and doors that you knew you could easily get lost in the building. Or easily cornered, you couldn't help but think.

You weren't sure how long you had already been at the warehouse, wandering in search of Sue, when you heard her voice.

"Please," reached your ears first. It was followed by: "Help me."

"Sue?" You called, keeping your voice low enough in case there were any zombies close to you. You hadn't seen one yet, but you had a feeling they were out there, waiting.

"I need help. Please. They're dead. They're all dead. I don't know how much longer I can do this." Sue's voice had turned pleading, desperate, and you knew that feeling all too well.

"Sue," you tried again, beginning to slowly approach the room you were sure her voice was coming from. Her pleas for help grew steadily louder as you got closer and by the time you had your hand on the door handle, you could hear her beginning to sob.

You took a deep breath, not sure what you would find on the other side, and pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

There was only a chair positioned in the middle of the room and a laptop set up on the seat. The screen was cracked, but the speakers worked fine, emitting Sue Storm's voice through them.

"Shit," you hissed, realizing that the foreboding sense of danger you felt had been for a reason.

This was a trap.

You turned, intent on finding the others and getting the fuck out, but you were brought short by two men and a woman standing there. You tried to raise a forcefield, but one of the men pulled a taser from the bag at his side and got you with it. You dropped to the ground, spasming as you felt the taser shock you over and over.

"Grab her," the woman prompted, signaling for the other man to walk forward and pick you up.

He threw you over his shoulder just as the woman tilted your head to the side and injected you with something. You felt something cold begin to creep through your veins, beckoning darkness forward to cover your vision.

"We got what we came here for. Now, let's get the fuck out of here before those dead fucks turn on us," the woman told her cohorts.

"Wait," you mumbled, trying to make sense of what was going on.

You caught flashes of your escape from the warehouse intermingled with bouts of unconsciousness. You could now hear the moan of the undead and the sounds of your friends fighting them off.

"Through here, through here," one of the men urged.

Sunlight flooded through the room as a door was pushed open. You squinted against the light, willing your uncooperative limbs to do something. Anything. Even if you couldn't save yourself, maybe you could at least save your friends.

"Y/N!" You heard Bucky's voice call, urgent and terrified. "Y/N!"

You caught one last glimpse of Bucky, attempting to get to you. He was using the shield to take down zombies left and right, but the swarm between you was too overwhelming.

The man carrying you pushed through the doorway and the woman turned to shut the door, separating you from the others. You tried to raise a hand, wanting to use a forcefield to protect Bucky, but you couldn’t even move your fingers.

The last thing you saw before the door closed was Bucky's wide, fearful eyes locked right on you as zombies converged on him.

All Logan Taglist: @i-left-my-cat-on-the-stove @slightlymediocree @snowyminty @i-wear-wet-socks313

Series Taglist: @ayamenimthiriel @the-gentle-spirit