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servicpop · 8 months ago

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kinktober extra — gun play leon s. kennedy x bttm male reader

ⓘ neighbour (slight ooc) leon ! clothed leon naked reader ! he puts the gun up your ass

The outbreak was doing you no good, and the fact that you were all alone when all went to hell wasn't helping much either. However, being locked in the safety of your home gave you time to hideout while the worst washed over. Though eventually, you were forced outside to scavenge for food. Unlocking your front door as delicate as tip toeing around a sleeping lion, you quietly stepped outside the comfort of your home.

You were fortunate enough to be greeted with desolate streets; only the occasional ripped up paper or trash rolled across the ground. You had almost nothing, not even a gun, just a baseball bat you bought awhile ago to play with your friends once, only to never touch it again until now. At least you took the time to impale nails to add a little more offense to your weapon.

After some soft crunching of gravel under your feet and walking through eerily quiet roads, you were met with a convenience store. The neon signs were busted and didn't glow anymore but you were able to make out some un-raided shelves behind the shattered windows.

You pushed on the front door, the quiet jingle of the door opening made you jump out your skin for a second, why'd the bell still work despite everything else being broken? You tried to keep your footsteps light, navigating around the fallen shelves and racks on the floor. Seeing a few canned foods still untouched and packets of chips as well as some beverages, you felt a twinge of relief wash over you. This was probably enough for you to not go outside for a few weeks.

You decided to walk behind the register, searching for some candy or others that would be stocked there. With no luck your eyes met the employees only door, slightly ajar. Clutching your bat in your right hand, you slowly opened the door before you were met with a light tap on your forehead. A gun, held by a blonde man who seemed to have seen it all.

“A survivor? I feel like its been ages since I've seen another living human being,” He sighed, lowering his weapon and pulling you into the room by your arm. You felt him pause abruptly once getting a good look at your face and you blinked away your initial fear upon having a gun pointed to your head.

“Oh, you're my neighbour aren't you?” The corners of Leon's lips twitched into a slight curve but not enough to be counted as a wholehearted smile.

“Leon? I thought everyone in the neighbourhood turned,” You on the other hand couldn't help but smile seeing a familiar face after fully believing you were the only human left on earth. You take a small glance around the room, noting the equipment stuffed into one corner and a makeshift sleeping bag as well as a first aid kit that had been visibly used.

You knew he was an agent from having small chats over the fence, and from the looks of things, even those who undergo arduous training suffered — even if it was a little bit more bearable for them than others.

Leon's grip eventually loosens and he turns his back to you as he walks to the far wall, sliding down against it into a seated position. From here, the bandaged up gash on his side peeks out from the rips of his shirt. That's why the glass was as broken as it was, it was a sign of Leon's fight with the undead.

Following in his footsteps you go to sit down beside him, pulling your knees to your chest as you turn to look at him. His eyebags have never been darker and there's a frown that stains his face. Leon breaks the silence while pulling his knee up to rest his arm on it, his gun clacking as he moved.

“So, it's just you?” He questions, and you can hear the awkwardness in his voice. He's never been a good talker, everytime you met him while on a walk thr conversations usually ended with a quick excuse to pull away from it. You blame it on him having to see more horrors than the average person.

“Is that a bad thing?” You mean it in a playful way, placing your hands over your knees as a cushion for your cheek to rest on. You almost burst out laughing when you see Leon tense and you can practically see the panic that he's offended you in his eyes.

“No— No, not at all,” he tries to defend himself.

“Would you rather that flower girl who lives down the street?” It's a running joke that the neighbourhood shares of Leon that the big, cold agent is in love with the soft, florist girl.

He shoots you a glare, one that shows just how many times he's heard it over and over again. Instead of replying, he turns his head with a scoff like a bunny stomping its foot angrily. You brush it off as well after seeing his lack of a response and your eyes draw to the gun that's still held firmly in Leon's hand. It would be handy for you to learn how to use one since the bat won't always be useful.

“Do you think you could maybe teach me how to use that?” You ask almost hesitantly, fiddling with your fingers in a nervous habit.

“The gun?” Leon questions, tilting the gun so he could look at it properly. One part of him doesn't want you to use it, it creates an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach seeing a guy like you hold such a murderous weapon. The other part knows it's for the best, for your own protection when he has to part ways with you. After a minute of just staring at the gun, he finalises his decision.

“Sure, I guess you'll need it in the future,” he groans as he stands back up, hand on his thigh like he was an old man getting up from his rocking chair. He tousels his wispy blonde hair, combing it back with his fingers before focusing his attention on you.

His thick black eyelashes flutter as he stares at your face for a second, walking up to you and caging your hands in his. He guides your hands to the pistol, letting you feel the cold metal to familiarise yourself. He doesn't say a thing while he lets you feel the barrel and the grip. The grip feels almost scratchy which he lightly scoffs at your expression when your fingers ghosted over the texture.

“That's why my hands are all calloused,” he faces his palm up, showing you his toughened palm while he flexes his fingers.

“You have to hold it like this, firm grip, two hands.” Leon helps to guide your hands in place, adjusting your fingers and your wrist.

He whispers under his breath “Just like that,” watching as you hold the gun straight, aiming at the blank wall. You know it's best not to fire, though, that would attract whatever monster lays outside. The gun trembles, shaking like a stripped leaf, and you realise that your hands are quivering. You're not cut out for this. You feel the weight of Leon's hand lower the gun and he gently slips the weapon away from your hands and into his.

“You have to get desensitised to it, who knows what might happen without me,” Leon's eyebrows furrow and his nose creases from the pure thought of you getting captured and held at gun-point. It wasn't far from what could actually happen either considering the law was disregarded the moment people started eating eachothers brains.

Leon raises the pistol and presses the muzzle to your adams apple, feeling it bob from your swallows.

“Does it scare you?” It's not a threatening statement, it's him asking how you really feel having the gun pressed up against your skin. The hitch of your breath goes unnoticed as Leon drags the pistol lower to your chest. With the way he's looking down, you can see his dark eyelashes, a sliver of his muted blue iris' peeked through. He really was handsome.

“Or is it because you trust me that much?” The question jolts you out of your little trance, he was only your neighbour yet you didn't seem to react in fear when he held the gun to you.

“Maybe,” you breath out, letting your gaze flutter to the pistol dragging down your chest. Leon pulls it away before bringing it up and tapping the flat side of the barrel against your cheek. There's a certain look in his eyes, its almost pitiful like a hunter watching the deer caught in the net lay completely still, unfazed.

Leon leans closer to your face, his nose practically brushing against yours. You could almost make out the faint breaths if you listened close enough and you see his tongue dart out to wet his lips before he swallowed thickly.

“I think you're liking this a little too much,” he mutters, tilting his head slightly to the right as he looks down at you, his hair falling to the direction he moves his head at. The way Leon speaks now is hushed, sultry even. He's only half joking, he sees the way your eyelids flicker a little too rapidly when he glides the muzzle over your clothes.

Your face flushes, realising that he's caught on your little inner turmoil.

“It's just the adrenaline.” You swallow your lie like it's medication; it's hard to go unnoticed when you so obviously gulp. It's not fully a lie though — you've read in a previous article things like erections can happen due to adrenaline. You squeeze your eyes shut, almost like you're preparing to be scolded by Leon.

But all you're met with is a small sigh and a shake of his head.

“If you want it, do it quickly, we won't have time to indulge in distractions in the heat of things.” Your eyes fling open, caught off guard by the fact that the Leon, your neighbour, just gave you the greenlight. You look up at him through your lashes and he returns your gaze with a small glint of reciprocating desire. The absence of an opportunity for sex really catches up when you're surrounded by infected and never in a safe position.

Before you can even say anything, Leon is already slipping off your shirt; your jacket had already been discarded when you entered the employee's only room. He takes a moment to skim over your naked body, observing all the dips and curves, and the fact that your blush reaches all the way down to your shoulders. He brushes the muzzle over your chest, and upon seeing you shiver at the coolness, a smirk quirks on his lips.

“Cold?”

“Yeah,”

You whine, gripping his forearm in a lousy attempt to stop him from rubbing the metal on your nipple. It doesn't stop him though, he gently grazes your perky buds, chuckling softly as he watches your eyebrows knit from the feeling.

“Sorry then,” he hums with amusement coloring his tone. Leon's breath becomes shallower as he trails the gun down along the line in the middle of your abdomen, all the way down to your pants.

“You're going to be the death of me,” He grunts out, delicately guiding you to lean against the wall. His arm is wrapped so securely around your back like a warm embrace. The warmth of his arm around your bare back shields you from the frigid material of the wall but the second he slips it away from you your back arches off uncomfortably.

“Bare it,” Leon pushes you back against the wall and you whimper at the cold. Its somewhat cruel how he's doing this but you understand its to get your body used to the harsh changes in environments. He mumbled small praises that are inaudible to your ears but you can barely make out the words 'good boy.'

His fingers tug at your zipper, pulling it down but you reach out to stop him, noticing how he's not taking any of his clothes off. Like he was reading your mind, Leon scoffs with a small smirk.

“I can't, it's too risky to have to put anything on if we get ambushed,” He links his fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your boxers, stretching it out a bit before pulling them down to rest at your mid thigh.

“But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy yourself,” He places one arm at the side of your head, caging it in, and his other weilds the pistol. He can't take off his clothes so he can't fuck you properly but he resorts to using his gun instead. It's shameless with the way he's spreading the soft flesh of your thighs apart with a gun like he was slotting his dick between them.

His eyes aren't on you, they're on your body, carefully sliding the hunk of metal against your hole. It almost hurts with how dry and cold the metal feels against your skin but you don't complain. Leon muses when he sees your cock twitch when he slides the muzzle up from the base to your pink tip. He quirks an eyebrow at you, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Feels weird doesn't it? Promise once we're out of this shithole I'll give you everything you want,” Again, Leon goes off about something in the future. He's thinking of a future with you after things smooth over, you can't help but bite back the small moan you were going to let out. His bangs are now covering his eyes when he returns his gaze to your lower half.

Your hips instinctively move against the barrel of the gun, sliding yourself against it. Its like the pleasure is almost there but not really, its left you struggling to find good friction. Leon notices your strangled whines and contorted face and he feels slightly guilty for not being able to give you the relief you definitely need.

He spits on the gun, lubing it up and taking a mental note to polish and clean it afterwards. Leon tilts the muzzle up, wriggling it past your tight rim. When the tip of gun enters you, you gasp, straightening your body from the foreign object being stuffed in your ass.

“Leon—” your voice cracks.

“Trust me.”

He can hear the slight panic in your voice and his palm moves to cover your eyes. You're squirming, unsure of whether to lean in or pull away from the sensation. He pushes himself up against you to keep you still since his hands are already full. Leon groans gently at how much warmth he can feel seeping into his clothes from your body heat.

He slowly pushes the gun further, tuning into the soft squelching sounds of the metal making its way through your walls. Leon couldn't deny that he was a bit jealous of how his pistol was able to feel your wet walls clenching around it rather than himself.

“Shit, you're taking it better than I thought,” He grumbled under his breath, thrusting the metal into you, attempting to push it even deeper to find your sweet spot. Leon finally moved his hands from your eyes and placed his hand on your waist, extending his thumb to rub circles over your stomach. He twists the gun inside you, flushing against your prostate. The sudden jolt of pleasure caused you to cry out and reach to grab his shoulders.

He pushed against your prostate a few times, observing how your eyes would water with each thrust and how your teeth would bite down even harder on your bottom lip the more he hit that specific spot. He slowly pulled the gun fully out with a small pop.

“Didn't know that would work,” He joked lightly, slotting the gun between your legs once more and squeezing your thighs together. He threw the gun from one hand into the other, gripping the pistol in his left hand. Leon slid his ring and middle finger alongside your ass, dipping down the curve to meet your already stretched hole. He dipped his fingers inside, already burying his fingers up to his knuckles.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you, curling his fingers up to press against the deepest parts of you. Leon dragged the gun back and forth between your thighs, letting you hump the metal like a dog.

“Attaboy,” he chuckled darkly, moving his fingers faster, practically slapping his palm against your tail bone as he fingered you from behind. Pre-cum started to bead off your slit and smeared all over Leon's gun.

“You're already getting so wet,” he shook his head, feigning disappointment as he moved the gun to trace your tip, ghosting over your skin.

You whined and thrashed from the ticklish sensation, but when you tried to lean away from it, you ended up pushing up against Leon's fingers, letting them reach even deeper.

“Leon,” you mewl, gripping his shoulders desperately as your dick twitches feverishly. “'M gonna cum.”

Your soft whimpers undoubtedly got his dick hard and he swore if you kept up with the whining he'd really just take off his pants and fuck the life out of you. Leon didn't respond, he just swallowed a groan and curled his fingers to your prostate.

Feeling that familiar spark in your veins, your body convulsed and you let out a high-pitched moan, blanking out as you shot ropes of cum out, dirtying Leon's gun with white.

“I got you, I got you, don't worry,” He felt your legs give out and quickly caught you, letting you lean on him while you came down from your high. Leon pulled the gun from your legs, turning it side to side and watching as your semen dripped down the sides.

Would it even work anymore?

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #bottom male reader #male reader #amab reader #leon x male reader #leon kennedy x male reader #resident evil x male reader #mlm nsft #x bottom male reader #kinktober 2024 #gun play

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midniqhtt · 1 month ago

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𝑳𝑬𝑾𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑼𝑳𝑳𝑴𝑨𝑵 𝑭𝑰𝑪 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑺

masterlist • 06/19/25

ROBERT ‘BOB’ REYNOLDS TWO

ROBERT ‘BOB’ FLOYD

RHETT ABBOTT

MILES MILLER

⭑.ᐟ druxy I @noncrush

when you get hired at the el royale, you don’t imagine you’ll be staying there long. you don’t imagine you’ll find the love of your life, either. as it turns out, you’re wrong two for two.

⭑.ᐟ hotel el royale I @astraldelights

After a long journey, you only had one place to rest between borders

⭑.ᐟ i only have eyes for you I @/lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ some nights I @/lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ nurse!reader I @girlcowboy

a salesman, a singer, a priest, a hippie, and a war nurse walk into a hotel

CALVIN EVANS

⭑.ᐟ a fraction of a second I @voidsxntry

one morning walk. one wrong step

⭑.ᐟ please please me I @gothicgaycowboy

you persuade Calvin to spend a little less time at the lab and a lot more time with you.

⭑.ᐟ request I @moon-fics

BEN MEARS

⭑.ᐟ request I @lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ change I @/lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ the whole of your heart I @/lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ whistle in the dark I @versipelleshhh

nature always has a way seeking to balance herself out, when a vampiric outbreak clouds a small town she sends a fur covered blessing

⭑.ᐟ till the end of the world pt2 pt3 pt4 I @voidsgf

an old flame is rekindled when you find yourself back in Salem's Lot alongside your ex-boyfriend, turned New York Times' (almost) bestselling author, Ben Mears. The only thing that stands in your guys' way is, well, a few undead vampires, and possibly worst of all, time.

⭑.ᐟ blood and ashes I @houseofaegon

Jesuralem's Lot is dead. But something still breathes in the bones of the Marsten House. Ben returns not to save, but to submit—to her. She is the last vampire left—and she’s starving. What she wants isn’t a meal. It’s him. Mind, body, soul. Forever.

⭑.ᐟ blurb I @callsign-swan

MULTIPLE

⭑.ᐟ cumming in their pants I @delopsia

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whereserpentswalk · 2 years ago

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Imagine if a zombie apocalypse happened and nobody cared. It didn't really effect wealthier areas because guards would shoot them down. There's some paranoia that zombies would overrun humans but society never really breaks down.

You'd hear about infested areas out in the rust belt, where entire towns were overtaken by the undead. And mabye you'd see a zombie or two when you're in a really bad neighborhood and you have to cross the street. Most undead are harmless outside of large groups, but it's always good to stay safe.

And if you go to an area that's completely overun things really will look like the apocalypse. And there's something exciting about that. Society is interested in those ghost towns, not as a tragedy, but as a spectacle. You've seen reality TV where people will head into the worst of the outbreak with nothing more then a knife and a camera, all while the locals look on wishing someone could take them back.

Most people don't think about zombies. They're just another thing in the world that sucks right now. Occasionally there's a reminder of them, but eventually you forget why anyone is even afraid at all. It seems so normal.

One of your coworkers was attacked the other day by a zombie. Nobody really knew her well. The main thing people were talking about at the office when it comes to her is how lucky she is the be in the hospital having her wounds treated and disinfected, instead of stuck at work. Someone as young as her is expected to be able to fight one off, mabye she did it on purpose. Nobody was still making jokes when they realized she died, people aren't supposed to die that way if they're rich enough to work in an office.

The apocalypse isn't enough to end society. Society is meant to be more resilient then reality, that's the point.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #fantasy #urban fantasy #writing #my worldbuilding #my writing #leftism #leftist #zombie #undead #post apocalypse #post apocalyptic #dystopia #hell world

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arxiwon · 4 months ago

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Survival Instinct

Genre: Dark, Smut, Angst, Apocalypse, Horror Warnings: Graphic Violence, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Trauma, Gore, Psychological Manipulation

Synopsis: The world is in ruins—corpses rot in the streets, and the air reeks of decay. Seoul is no longer a city but a graveyard, overrun by the undead and worse—humans who have lost their morality in the name of survival. Leading a small group of survivors, Jungwon carries a weight heavier than most. But survival means making choices, some darker than others. When desperation turns to desire, and lust becomes a means of control, the line between protector and predator blurs.

Chapter 1: Jungwon - The Reluctant Leader

The world had long since collapsed into chaos. Streets once bustling with life were now littered with corpses, the scent of death thick in the air. Seoul had become an endless labyrinth of crumbling buildings and bloodstained alleys, where the dead roamed hungrily, seeking flesh. Amidst the decay, a small group fought to survive, led by none other than Yang Jungwon.

He hadn’t asked to be a leader. It just happened. When the outbreak started, when society fell apart, people naturally gravitated toward those who could keep them alive. Jungwon was sharp, quick on his feet, and had an innate ability to strategize under pressure. But the weight of responsibility pressed heavy on his shoulders. He had already lost too many.

Tonight, the air was colder than usual. The group had found temporary shelter inside an abandoned convenience store, its glass windows smeared with dried blood, shelves ransacked. Jungwon stood by the entrance, gripping the metal baseball bat that had saved his life countless times. His dark eyes scanned the darkness beyond, ears tuned for the groans of the undead.

“Jungwon, you should rest,” your voice broke through the silence.

You had been with him since the beginning. A survivor in your own right, hardened by loss and desperation. You stepped closer, your presence a temporary relief to his ever-growing burden.

“I can’t,” he murmured, not looking at you. “Someone has to keep watch.”

“We have shifts for a reason,” you countered, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched at first but didn’t pull away. “You’re exhausted. Let me take over.”

Jungwon exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s not just the zombies. It’s the people, too. The ones who’ve lost their humanity. We can’t afford to let our guard down.”

You nodded, understanding all too well. The undead were predictable in their hunger, but humans? Humans had become the real monsters.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. When he finally turned to you, something in his expression had shifted. The tension wasn’t just from survival; it was something else, something primal. His fingers brushed over yours, a hesitant yet deliberate touch.

Your breath hitched. The weight of fear, of exhaustion, of needing to feel alive in a world that was crumbling—it all combusted in that single moment. Without another word, Jungwon pulled you close, his grip firm, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss. The cold, the hunger, the world outside ceased to exist as you both surrendered to something forbidden, something that reminded you that you were still human.

For tonight, survival meant more than just breathing—it meant feeling, burning, losing yourselves in the fleeting moments before the sun rose on another fight for your lives.

Chapter 2: Jungwon - The Breaking Point

The sun had barely risen when the sound of distant gunfire shattered the fragile peace. You jolted awake, body sore from the night before, memories of tangled limbs and whispered moans still fresh in your mind. But there was no time to dwell—Jungwon was already up, his expression cold, calculating.

“Pack up. We leave in five minutes,” he ordered, strapping his bat to his back.

You didn’t argue. In this world, hesitation meant death.

The group moved silently through the ruins of Seoul, every step calculated, every breath measured. The streets were empty, but that meant nothing. The danger was always there, lurking beneath the surface.

Jungwon led the way, his grip tightening around his weapon. His mind was elsewhere—you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his shoulders tensed. Last night had been a moment of weakness, a fleeting lapse in control. And Jungwon did not like losing control.

“We need to find more supplies,” he said, scanning the buildings. “Food, weapons, anything we can use.”

You nodded, following as he moved toward an old pharmacy. The door was half-open, the inside ransacked, shelves overturned. It looked empty—but looks were deceiving.

“Stay close,” he muttered, stepping inside.

The moment you did, the door slammed shut behind you.

A blade pressed against your throat, and a rough voice whispered in your ear, “Drop your weapons.”

Your heart pounded. Jungwon had already turned, his eyes dark with rage. He didn’t hesitate.

A gunshot rang out. The man behind you staggered back, blood spurting from his skull. Jungwon lunged, his bat connecting with another attacker’s ribs, the sickening crunch echoing through the store.

It was over in seconds. The bodies lay motionless, blood pooling on the cracked tiles.

Jungwon turned to you, chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands were slick with blood, his face unreadable. And then—

He grabbed you.

Pinned you against the counter, his breath hot against your skin. His hands were rough, urgent, teeth grazing your neck.

“This world is hell,” he whispered, voice raw. “And I won’t lose you to it.”

His lips crushed against yours, the taste of blood and desperation searing into your senses. The danger, the adrenaline, the need—it consumed you both.

There was no morality left, no line between right and wrong. Only survival. And this—this was survival.

Outside, the dead groaned, the sun climbing higher in the sky. But inside, nothing else existed but him, and the way he made you feel alive in a world of death.

Chapter 3: Jungwon - Blood and Ruin

The night was cold, the wind carrying the distant screams of the dying. Jungwon sat in silence, his hands wrapped around a knife, its blade still wet with fresh blood. His body was tense, every muscle coiled, his mind trapped between what he had done and what needed to be done next.

You watched him from across the room, the shadows casting eerie patterns over his face. He hadn’t spoken since the ambush. He hadn’t even looked at you.

“Jungwon,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

He exhaled, finally turning toward you. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “I killed them,” he muttered. “Without hesitation.”

You reached out, fingers brushing his wrist. “You saved me.”

His jaw tightened. “And I’ll do it again.”

Then, he was on you, hands gripping your waist, dragging you into his lap. His lips crashed against yours, rough and unrelenting. There was no softness left in either of you, only desperation, only the knowledge that at any moment, the world could take this away.

His hands explored, claimed, possessed—because in this hell, you were the only thing he had left to hold onto.

Outside, the dead waited.

Inside, Jungwon burned.

Chapter 4: Jungwon - Possession

The fire inside Jungwon had been burning for days. He felt it every time another man looked at you, every time you spoke too softly to one of the survivors, every time you smiled in a way that wasn’t meant for him. And tonight, after witnessing one of them—a man from another group—get too close, touch your wrist like he had the right, Jungwon had reached his limit.

You were his.

The tension between you had been thick since returning to camp, the makeshift shelter barely holding the illusion of safety. You knew something had shifted in him the moment you stepped inside the dimly lit room you shared. His eyes were dark, his jaw locked tight. He hadn’t said a word since he killed the man who thought he could take what belonged to him.

You stood near the cot, peeling off your jacket, feeling the weight of his stare. “Jungwon—”

“Shut up.” His voice was low, dangerous.

You turned to face him fully, but before you could speak again, he was on you. His hand wrapped around your throat, backing you against the cold wall. His body pressed hard against yours, heat radiating from him.

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch. “The way he touched you?”

“He didn’t—”

“He did,” Jungwon growled, his other hand sliding up your waist, pushing your shirt up roughly. His fingers dug into your skin, claiming, branding. “And I let it happen. I let him think he had a chance.”

You gasped as his lips crashed against yours—raw, bruising, filled with an unrelenting need to consume you. His tongue forced its way inside, taking, dominating. His teeth scraped against your lower lip before he bit down, making you whimper.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his hands tearing at your clothes, impatient, desperate. “Say it.”

You panted, fingers clawing at his back as he pressed his knee between your legs. “I’m yours, Jungwon.”

He let out a sound—part relief, part possession—before yanking your pants down, your underwear following in one swift move. The cool air hit your exposed skin for only a moment before his fingers replaced it, slipping between your thighs, stroking, teasing.

“You’re already wet,” he smirked, voice dripping with arrogance. “You like it when I get like this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t deny it. The way he took control, the way he burned for you—it ignited something deep inside you, something primal.

Jungwon didn’t wait. He didn’t give you time to think. He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the cot. He dropped you onto the mattress, his body covering yours in an instant. His clothes came off in a blur, revealing toned muscles, a body hardened by survival and war.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, leaning back to watch.

Your breath hitched at the command, but you obeyed, sliding your fingers down your stomach, parting your thighs for him. His eyes darkened as he watched you, hunger written all over his face.

“Enough,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, pinning it above your head. “That’s mine to touch.”

Without warning, he thrust inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. A cry left your lips, back arching at the overwhelming sensation. He didn’t start slow. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pounded into you, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had you seeing stars.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, marking you.

“Jungwon,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

He groaned, moving harder, deeper. “Louder.”

“Jungwon!”

His pace grew punishing, his grip on you unrelenting. He wanted to own you, to make sure everyone in the camp knew who you belonged to. He wanted you wrecked, ruined, unable to think of anyone but him.

“You take me so well,” he murmured, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. He rubbed circles, his movements precise, calculated, designed to drive you over the edge. “Cum for me.”

You couldn’t fight it. The pleasure built, your body tensing, your cries echoing through the room as you shattered beneath him. The world blurred, the only thing anchoring you was Jungwon—his touch, his voice, the way he kept thrusting, chasing his own release.

“Fuck,” he cursed, burying himself deep inside you as he reached his peak, filling you with his warmth. His body trembled against yours, his breath ragged.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours, his fingers lacing with yours. The possessiveness in his touch softened, turning into something tender, something real.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, but this time, it wasn’t a demand. It was a promise.

And in this cruel, broken world, he was yours too.

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starshipsofstarlord · 1 month ago

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lap girl (8) | daryl dixon

summary. daryl is frustrated, forced to rest in his and y/n’s tent on the greene farm after not finding sophia and andrea shooting him. his partner is also feeling his frustrations, and so they relieve them together (2.4k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, protected sex, fingering, teasing, swearing, mention of having children and pregnancy (they don’t though, and is no pregnancy), mentions of death, petnames, established relationship, angst and fluff, 3rd person

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Y/N was obscenely furious, she could easily beat the living shit out of Andrea for her impulsive need to prove herself and kill walkers. For a shot had broke through the air, scathing the side of her target’s head, and rather than a single undead, her aim had been poised upon Daryl. Albeit he had been covered in blood and dirt, and anyone would have been fooled into thinking he was one of the undead from afar, but if she had just left well enough alone as she had been advised to, he never would have endured an injury.

She sat in the tent she shared with Daryl that they had upholstered on the Greene’s farmland, her eyes scanning her partner with worry. Hershel said he was going to be okay, which was an immediate relief, but Y/N could not help but be berated by a wave of rage, though she kept quiet about it, choosing instead to sit on Daryl’s lap as he lay resting. He was awake, blue eyes barely open as the sunlight cast shadows from outside on the inner walls of the tent.

His side was staked with an ache from where his own arrow had inserted itself into his flesh, but he had demanded that his girl take a seat atop of him. The bowman played with the belt loops of her jeans as he gazed mindlessly up at her, she was careful not to move, knowing just an inch in the wrong direction could provoke his injury to feel even worse. Daryl was patched up, and he was supposed to be resting, but he appeared restless despite his hooded lids.

He gnawed at his own bottom lip, a crease formed between his brows which Y/N was tentative to notice. She brushed her gentle fingertips against it, understanding the frustration that her man felt. Daryl had went out to search for Sophia, Carol’s daughter, and whilst he had not returned empty handed and had found her doll that had been lost from her grasp, the young girl was still missing.

It rattled him, that none of the others had even wanted to seek the whereabouts of the child, considering anything could happen to her out there. Y/N had tried to follow him, wanting to mount the horse and try to help locate the lost girl, however he had refused, wishing for his lover to remain safe, and his turbulent tumble and scrap with walkers had only made him glad he had not allowed her to come with him. The others all judged him, but it didn’t matter, he had been the only one of them with moral enough to act on his concerns.

A part of him was relieved that he and Y/N had never had children of their own prior to the outbreak, for the same thing could have happened but instead to their offspring. The bowman tried his damn best to protect his partner, although she was able to take care of herself in most situations, knowing that they would have had to tread lighter and more carefully throughout the world to secure the survival and future of their son or daughter.

Sophia could be dead out there, and the more time in being unable to find her, the chances of her being deceased increased. “Stop overthinking honey.” Y/N knew that it wasn’t something that Daryl could control, his mind was wrapped up in doing the right thing under the circumstances that had been dealt. But voicing against the internal feud that made his brain loud would help, it always had. It drew him back to reality, forcing him to slink away from his solitary thought, as though she was trying to exorcise them from haunting him. It was all easier said than done, and they both knew it.

“Jus’ can’t help i’ sunshine. Need somethin’ ta distract me.” Distract him from the pain that throbbed along his temple. Distract him from whatever the hell had happened to his brother. Distract him from the overpowering discrimination that some of their group judged him for. He had not lived in the same way most of them had, he and his girl had scraped by to afford to pay their rent, even helping Merle out with his ‘business’ to be able to do so.

It had never been the perfect lifestyle, but they had each other and that was what had gotten them through it. And it would be the same situation amidst this futile outbreak that was certainly not ending any time soon, or ever. “Yeah?” A smirk quirked at the corner of Y/N’s mouth as her eyes locked onto the way Daryl frustratedly chewed his lip. “What kind of distraction?”

“Ya could always jus’ sit on mah face.” He was drawing her attention away from her prowess that thrived to punish Andrea for her idiocy; it wasn’t that she didn’t like the woman, but the blond did not respect her, so she did not return such fervour. Y/N quirked her brow, cocking her head at her partner, before she leant down, brushing her lips against Daryl’s own, toying with his present lust that was throbbing past his skull like that darn bullet had, her lap pressing harsher against his own, drawing a groan out from the injured man.

“Not with that head injury.” Another groan, this time one of disappointment, but Y/N wasn’t stupid, Daryl needed to heal, and having her thighs wrapped around the sides of his head would not aid in such a predicament he had literally been shot into. “Sorry honey, not gonna hurt you anymore than you already are.” Her hands brushed along the expanse of his flannel covered chest, her eyes drifting to the exposed muscles of his arms. They glistened with a slight sheen of sweat from the heat of being confined within the tent, the sun boiling the material from the outside and cooking their bodies in the mild summer temperature.

“Ya gonna do anythin’ woman?” Daryl scoffed, drained from the pain that throbbed in his left temple, and just as irritated by the untouched throbbing of his cock that rested in his pants. He was wound up from being stuck in the tent, he resented remaining still, especially since Sophia still continued to be lost. With each passing day, hope for finding her dwindled, and Daryl felt responsible that he had failed to uncover her whereabouts. His pupils caressed Y/N’s form, tracing the features of her face and that damned smirk that made his brain dwell profoundly on what her lips could do, until they reached the swell of her chest.

Y/N noticed where his eye-line had drifted to, her cocky smirk only widening upon his gaze, feeling as though she was successful to cease the running of his mind. “Dunno.” Y/N drawled out, amused by the frustration that swindled normally calm demeanour with her. She couldn’t blame him, he had been practically through hell and back, and he was unable to proceed with normal habits of his, such as hunting and keeping a watchful eye out for walkers. “Don’ know if you deserve it…” Daryl’s eyes held a loving spite in them as he bit back, attempting to prompt her into doing something.

If he was forced to remain in the damning tent, then he wanted something out of it, preferably a seance of gratification, though of course he wouldn’t force her, even if it seemed as though she too was walking on the edge of arousal. “I jus’ took a bullet an’ an arrow woman, pretty fuckin’ sure I do.” Daryl retorted, causing a breathy laugh to flail from his lover who thrived off of his desperation to fuck her. “The least ya can do is jus’ slip it in.” This made Y/N laugh harder, and as Daryl had always known, he would never get tired of that sound.

“Wellll…” Y/N speculated the possibility, reaching into the pocket of her pants to pull out a packet that she had stolen from Glenn’s own personal stash, “ya won’t have to pull out this time.” The condom, although Daryl preferred feeling all of her, being inside her with no barrier between, brought him a comfort. There’d be a lesser threat of knocking her up, and they would not be under the same circumstance that had newly revealed itself to Lori. Daryl prized it from her hands, not letting go as he pulled her hand to him, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Others would never speculate the often brooding archer as a romantic, and whilst he wasn’t in the common sense, he did love his girl and had his own way of showing it. Merle had often laughed at how easily his brother would become putty in Y/N’s hands, “pussy whipped’ as he would often referred to him as, but Daryl knew that was not the only reason why he was so contorted into adoration for the woman atop of him. She was a strong character, she never took any shit from anyone including him, and that was exactly what he needed. “Tha’s good.” Daryl murmured, knowing that he would feel immense guilt if he made her vulnerably carry another life in the way the world was now.

Y/N hummed in agreement, leaning down to kiss his lips, there was a hunger within the contact though it was not rushed, it was slow, as though they were feeding from each other’s souls. His free hand that did not hold the condom reached down to caress her ass through the denim, squeezing her flesh to cause her to breathe out a gasp into him, and he swallowed it down as if he were dying of thirst. “You feelin’ well enough to do this?” Her eyes drifted to the bandage over his wound, concerned that it would dissolve the little inkling of energy that he had slowly rebuilt.

“Course I am.” Daryl instantly answered, needing to do something other than just lay down, and that just so happened to be doing his girl. “Ya wanna take these off?” His fingertips traced around the seem of her trousers, and he groaned as she moved herself from atop of him, swiftly discarding both the layers that concealed her legs and flesh, leaving her bottom half bare. Y/N climbed back atop of him, running her hands down his throat until they rested on his chest over his heart, and Daryl smiled up at her, as though she was a goddess blessed upon him. “Tha’s your, ya know tha’ right?” He said in referral to his heart as it beat under her palm.

“I’ve known it for a long time honey.” Y/N gasped as his fingers traced her slit, feeling the rough pads of his them move through the arousal that had already accumulated on her sex. He watched her with dreary eyes, smitten above all else, still shocked that he was a lucky enough man to be with such a beautiful person. As he touched her, her body leant backwards from where she was seated on him, and she looked visceral, like a damned angel within the world of chaos. “Daryl.” She sharply moaned his name as he slid a digit within her, filling her knuckle deep.

He thrusted his finger nice and slow until he let another join it, his thumb reaching up to roll circles around her clit. “Fuuuck.” He loved it when she cursed, whenever she opened her mouth it was so contradictory to her beauty, though he always fell for her words as though they were a spell. Daryl kept moving his fingers until he was sure she was wet enough to take his length, and as he retracted them, he placed them in his own mouth, tasting them. “Really?” She giggled out as she undid his jeans and released his cock from its confining chamber of material.

“Wha’? Ya wouldn’t sit on ma face, it’s the next best thing.” Daryl allowed her to take the condom from him, ripping open the packet as she rolled it down on his flesh. He was hard and sensitive to her touch, and all of his pain and strife was forgotten as she sank down on him, taking him to the hilt. There was no medicine better than her touch, and whilst it was newly recognised, he was lulled into comfort from feeling her tight walls snuggly wrapped around him. “Shit.” A puff of air left his mouth as his hands wandered around her frame, his dwelling frustration dwindling in the simple act.

Y/N’s hand rested atop of his heart again, feeling it thump in a familiar beat, as she lifted herself, only to grind herself down on him, only to repeat her actions. Daryl moaned, sometimes her name, sometimes swears; they brought each other such pleasure that nothing or nobody else could compete with. It was as though they were soulmates, and whilst neither of them believed in that kind of thing, they felt the connection like a red string that entangled their fates. It was never just sex, even when they had to quickly bring each other to a release, there was always love between them.

“Y/N.” He said her name, as he felt his body rush with swindles of sparks - he was getting close, and so Y/N moved faster, chasing not only her own orgasm but his as well. They plummeted in a river of ecstasy together, Daryl filling up the condom with his liquid bliss. Y/N lifted herself a couple more times until she stayed still, riding them through their highs, Daryl’s hands gravitating to her thighs as he drew small circles upon her flesh with his fingers. “Ya okay sunshine?” She’d moulded him into a soft version of his person, and there was no greater comfort than that.

“Always am when I’m with you.” She pulled his cock out from her, discarding the condom in a corner as he tiresomely tucked his cock back into jeans, dressing her lower half in just her panties before she came to rest upon him, careful of his injured side. He closed his eyes, feeling not only well rested but spoilt with the love that his girl had for him. Y/N never made him feel like a failure even if sometimes he considered himself such, she always brightened his peripheral, even in these dark times that shrouded them with the consistent requirement of having to survive.

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dixons-sunshine · 1 year ago

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The Archer’s Girl | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the world ended, you and Daryl narrowly escaped the clutches of the dead and found yourselves in a quarry camp with Merle and some other people. Unwanted, someone in the camp took a weird liking and disliking to you, and it made you extremely uncomfortable. Luckily, Daryl was there to stand up for you.

Genre: Fluff, some angst.

Era: Outbreak day; The Quarry.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU but can be read as a standalone.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of morning sickness.

Word count: 4.4k.

A/N: Damn, I love when two requests correspond with each other and I can get them both into one fic. It’s my favourite thing in the whole world. I feel like Daryl is kinda ooc in this, but I tried to imagine how he’d be with a woman he just met at the quarry and started forming a relationship with vs how he’d be with someone he’s been with since he was a teenager, and in my mind, he’d totally be softer regarding someone he already knows and loves vs one he’s just started getting to know. So soft!Daryl in this, it is! Anyways, I hope you like this!

“Daryl!” you called out, attempting to push past the stampede of people trying to hurriedly evacuate the store you were in. You were abruptly shoved into one of the shelves, a sharp pain shooting up into your ribs. A loud curse escaped your lips as you clutched your side.

Barely one minute prior, you had strayed from Daryl’s side to go grab some milk. You had told him that you would be right back, but with all the chaos that had suddenly unfolded in front of you, you highly regretted leaving him at all. With everything going to hell, you could be separated from the man you loved. That thought terrified you.

However, as you turned around, nothing terrified you more than the sight that beheld you.

On the floor, a woman was screaming in pure, unadulterated agony. On top of her was a man whose body appeared to be decaying, and he ripped a huge chunk of her flesh from her chest. His grimy hands were clawing at her stomach, and with little to no effort, he tore her stomach open. The sight was truly mortifying, and it would never be erased from your mind.

A hand grabbed your wrist from behind. You flinched and tried to rip your hand from the person’s grip, but the familiar voice of your husband calmed you down. However, when you looked at him, you were surprised to note the splatter of dark blood all over his clothes and face.

“S’me! S’jus’ me!” he hurriedly explained. He cast one glance to the horrific sight in front of you before dragging you along with him, the two of you moving quickly. He stopped momentarily in front of one of the shelves to grab two knives, carefully pushing one of them into your hold. “Ya see one’a these dead motherfuckers, ya stab ‘em in the head, alright? S’the only way they drop dead.”

“What? I don’t—”

“Dun’ think ‘bout it, Peach!” he cut you off, pulling you with him out of the store again. “They ain’t alive. The news weren’t lyin’ to us ‘bout the dead risin’. We got a real fuckin’ problem on our hands now.”

Choosing to trust his judgement, you nodded and hurried next to him. The two of you ran down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of your apartment. As you continued onward, you highly regretted deciding to walk to the store instead of taking Daryl’s truck. It would have been a whole lot easier to escape the mess surrounding you if you had a vehicle.

Just as the two of you arrived at your apartment building, about a dozen of the undead people were stumbling out of the door. Daryl quickly pulled you with him to the parking area instead, making a beeline for his truck. However, more of those things flooded the area and a couple of them were heading straight towards you, and it was clear that the two of you weren’t escaping without a fight.

“Ya got yer knife?” Daryl questioned, shooting a glance at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you told him, gripping the knife so tightly your knuckles started turning white.

“Good,” he replied, stepping forward to plunge his knife into the skull of one of the monsters. He withdrew the knife, holding it ready to use at a moment’s notice. “Ya gotta stab ‘em in the head as hard as ya can, alright? Dun’ think ‘bout ‘em bein’ alive. These assholes ain‘t livin’ no more.”

“Don’t worry about me trying to talk them out of eating me or something,” you scoffed, replicating the way he was holding his knife with your own. “I’m not that stupid. All these fuckers are getting from me is a fatal blow to the head. They’re not touching me.”

“That’s my girl,” he praised you with a small smile. However, his attention soon got diverted back towards the flood of the undead stumbling around in the parking area.

As the two of you continued onwards, Daryl repeatedly stabbed the heads of the monsters. By some miracle, the two of you made it to his truck without you having to do anything. However, just as Daryl was getting into the driver’s seat and you were opening the door to the passenger seat, a slimy, blood-covered hand gripped your arm tightly in its clutches.

You let out a small cry of terror, instantly alerting Daryl to your horrifying predicament. However, as you struggled against the literal death grip of the monster, its teeth trying desperately to take a chunk of your flesh, you realized that you couldn’t wait for Daryl to come to your rescue. By the time he would have managed to make it towards the other side of the truck, you would already be doomed. You had to take matters into your own hands.

Shakily, you drew your hand that held the knife back and plunged it deep into the thing’s skull with a sickening force. The monster miraculously fell limp with the first blow, its hand falling from your arm. However, before you could fully process that you had just killed something that was once human, Daryl took your face in his hands and checked you over, his eyes filled with fear. You had never seen him with as much terror in his eyes ever before.

“Are ya okay?” he asked in a hurried manner, his voice shaky as his blue eyes searched your body for any signs of hurt or discomfort. “Please tell me the prick didn’t get ya. No bites, no scratches, nothin’.”

“I’m okay,” you assured him, watching him calm down somewhat. “But we have to leave. Right now.”

“Yeah, let’s g—”

The deafening sound of a gunshot echoed through the area, followed closely by the rumble of a motorcycle. When the motorcycle came into view, you were both simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see none other than Merle Dixon. He stopped his motorcycle once he saw you, an exasperated look on his face.

“Y’all jus’ gon’ stand there and get eaten or get in the fuckin’ truck? I did not risk my life gettin’ here jus’ to watch y’all become a mid-day snack.”

Daryl opened the door to the passenger side and quickly ushered you in, shouting over his shoulder at Merle. “What the fuck are ya even doin’ here?!”

“Helpin’ yer sorry ass!” Merle exclaimed, shooting at another oncoming monster. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Daryl did not need to be told twice. He rushed to the driver’s side and hurriedly got in, starting up his truck and speeding out of the parking area, following behind Merle’s motorcycle. With all the chaos that had unfolded, the two of you hadn’t even managed to go grab some clothes from your apartment. However, by some stroke of luck, as you glanced towards the back of the truck, you noted that two duffel bags were resting there, as well as a bag with everything needed to construct a tent, as well as Daryl’s crossbow. You thanked your lucky stars that the two of you had gone camping for his hunting trip two days prior, and forgot to remove everything from his truck. The clothes were dirty, sure, but once you found a body of water, you’d be able to wash them. And Daryl’s crossbow would more than likely come in handy.

“Are ya okay?” Daryl asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was nervously chewing on his thumbnail, his eyes darting between you and the road.

You nodded at him, trying to calm your racing thoughts. In a matter of thirty minutes, your life had flipped upside down. You had killed someone, whether they were dead or not. The blood from the kill coated your skin and made you feel sick at your actions, but you tried to remind yourself that the thing you killed was not human anymore. If you didn’t kill it, it would’ve killed you. It would’ve killed—

Gasping, you sat upright and clutched at your stomach. Daryl looked at you worriedly, his eyes trailing to your stomach. His eyes widened in terror, his grip on the steering wheel tightening even more, if that was even possible.

“What’s wrong?” he questioned in alarm. “Oh, god. S’somethin’ wrong with Peanut? Did those pricks—”

“No! No, nothing’s wrong,” you reassured him, your hand resting on your stomach. “It’s just... With everything going on, I forgot about the baby. I forgot about my own child, Daryl. What kind of future mother does that make me?”

Daryl moved one of his hands to rest on your thigh, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the fabric of your jeans. He sent you a small smile, hoping to bring you some comfort.

“S’okay,” he told you. “Yer not gon’ be a bad mom. With everythin’ goin’ on, yer body went into fight or flight mode. S’cause of it that ya managed to keep the baby in yer belly safe. And once they’re here, I know yer gon’ do yer absolute best to protect ‘em. They’ve got the best damn mama ever.”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, resting your hand that wasn’t on your stomach over his hand that rested on your thigh. “I really hope so.”

One month had passed. One month since the dead had started walking. One month since everything you knew had gotten destroyed. One month since you had stumbled upon a quarry camp filled with other survivors with your husband and brother-in-law. One month since your life had been turned upside down.

You sighed as you washed one of Daryl’s jeans, subtly listening to the other women making conversation, the women sitting quite a distance from you. Most of the ladies in the small camp you were in tended to keep their distance from you, deeming you damaged goods due to the people you were with. Well, more so because Merle was your brother in law. You and Daryl tended to keep to yourselves, with Daryl only speaking to others when absolutely necessary, but the same couldn’t be said for his hotheaded older brother. Merle had made quite the first impression on your fellow survivors, and not a good one. And automatically, by mere association, they had deemed you and Daryl the same. Most of the women simply referred to you as the archer’s girl, and you were pretty sure they didn’t even know your actual name.

Most of the women didn’t even bother acknowledging your existence most of the time. The only exception was a sweet woman named Carol Peletier, who offered you her kindness whenever she saw or spoke to you. She offered you advice on how to properly scrub stains from jeans, on how to fix up the holes in your husband’s socks, and so much more than that as well. She was the only one who you had felt comfortable enough sharing the secret of your pregnancy with, and even though she promised not to tell anyone, she silently offered you her support, and gave you advice regarding your pregnancy by telling you stories about her own pregnancy with little Sophia. Carol was your only true friend there, and you appreciated her on a profound level.

Without her, you probably would have snapped at the other women there for the judgemental looks they threw your way, so you deeply cherished the friendship you had formed with her.

The touch of a calloused yet gentle hand drew you from your thoughts. You looked up and locked eyes with your husband, his blue eyes staring down at you with a softness reserved only for you. You sent him a smile and dropped the pair of jeans you were washing on the ground, standing up to face him better.

“Ya know all’a that washin’ s’now ruined ‘cause ya dropped it in the mud, right?” he told you playfully, sending you a small smile.

You smiled and shrugged. “It’s your jeans. I’ve never heard you complain about a little mud on them before, considering those kills you have to skin that stained these jeans in the first place.”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, yer right,” he replied, before his smile fell and he adapted a more serious tone. “I have to go huntin’.”

“Again?” you asked incredulously, your mood visibly deflating. “You went on a hunt not even two days ago.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daryl said with a heavy sigh, fidgeting with his hands. “But that Shane prick demanded that I go on another hunt again for some reason. I dun’ know why, ‘cause we have enough meat to last us another week or so, but he threatened to throw us out’a the camp if I didn’t go now. We can’t leave. ‘Specially not now.”

Your lips formed into a small smile as Daryl’s eyes trailed down to your stomach, his eyes softening slightly as he thought about the life that fluttered there beyond the skin, the life that he had helped create. His very own son or daughter. A small being that he would go to great lengths to protect, even if they weren’t born yet. His little Peanut.

You stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek, before withdrawing again. You giggled at the blush that spread across his face, and you did not miss the way his lips twitched up into a small smile. He could say whatever he wanted, but he secretly loved your little public displays of affection. It was never something big, like some passionate kiss or a full-blown make out session or something along those lines. It was always something small and sweet, something quick to show your affection without drawing too much attention to the two of you. A subtle graze of your hand against his, quick pecks on the cheek, a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, you name it. You knew how to show him love in public without making him uncomfortable, and he loved you for it.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked, nervously fidgeting with your fingers.

Daryl noticed and subtly took your hands in his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Ain’t no tellin’. Walsh demanded that I find some venison, and that might take me a while. Dun’ even know if there are any deer here.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

Daryl nodded. Stepping out of his own comfort zone, he leaned down and pressed a feathery light kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, he gently caressed your cheek. “Always am. And I love ya more, Sweetheart.”

With that, he turned around and left, leaving you standing alone with the unfinished laundry. Watching his retreating figure, you smiled fondly, completely missing the envious looks the other women were sending your way.

They had not heard your conversation, the two of you being too far away to overhear anything, but they did see the way the archer interacted with you. It was so vastly different from the way he talked to anyone, including his own brother, his own flesh and blood. It was clear there was a lot of history between the two of you, good and bad, and it made the two of you a strong couple. From what Merle had let slip in his high state once, the two of you had been together since you were both merely seventeen years old, and by the looks of it, the two of you were still going strong. The two of you radiated love for one another, and that’s more than most could say about their own past relationships.

It was clear the two of you shared something special, a deep, profound bond that went beyond what the naked eye could see, and it felt unfair to them that they couldn’t find love like that. And with the world at its end, they doubted that they ever would be able to.

Three days had passed. Three days where Daryl was nowhere to be found. Three days where you had to deal with Merle’s disgusting attitude on your own. Three days where you had to sleep alone in your shared tent, wishing, praying that he was there beside you.

It seemed like Baby Dixon noticed their father’s absence, and they weren’t a fan of it. For the past three days, you had not managed to keep anything down in the depths of your stomach. Any and all food you ate came right back up again within a few hours, and it was not exactly pleasant. Thankfully, nobody saw you whenever you rushed to the bushes behind the RV to spew out the contents of your stomach, so nobody knew of your pregnancy just yet.

And you had Carol by your side whenever your stomach rebelled against you, so that was a major plus for you.

“God, I hate this so much,” you groaned in frustration, eliciting a laugh from the woman gently rubbing your back.

“It’s what comes with the joys of pregnancy,” she laughed lightly, continuing the circular motion on your back until you felt better. Once you stood upright, she handed you a bottle of water, encouraging you to drink as much as you needed to. “Drink up. You need to stay hydrated.”

Once you had enough to drink, you handed her the bottle again. “Thank you,” you thanked her, giving her a small smile. “How’d you handle it? The morning sickness, I mean.”

“I was lucky enough to only experience a mild case of morning sickness,” Carol explained, wrapping her arm around you and starting to walk with you back to the main campsite. “You know, and I’m not saying this to pressure you at all, but maybe you should tell everyone about your pregnancy. It would be good for Glenn to be on the lookout for prenatal vitamins.”

“I can’t,” you denied instantaneously. “Then everyone will look at me like I’m carrying the black plague and see me as just another liability. I can’t have that. Daryl and I can handle things on our own until we absolutely have to tell everyone.”

“Okay,” Carol replied, before shifting the conversation away from something that quite obviously stressed you out, and she knew that stress was not good for the baby. “I drank a lot of herbal teas when I was pregnant. That seemed to really work for the nausea.”

“Just great,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Where the fuck are we supposed to find that?”

Carol smiled and gently rubbed your shoulder. “I’ll see if Dale has some. I remember him mentioning something about ginger tea.”

“What if he asks why you need it?” you asked hurriedly with worry evident in your tone.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” she reassured you. “I’ll just tell him I’m feeling nauseous. That something I ate isn’t corresponding with my stomach. Trust me, he’ll believe it.”

You sent her a smile. “Thanks, Carol. I mean it.”

She smiled at you before disappearing into the RV, on a search for Dale. You stood waiting outside, staring ahead at the treeline. You hoped that by continuously looking at it, your husband would appear from the trees with a deer over his shoulders, dirty but unharmed. Alas, as you had learned over the last few days that has passed, that did not work, and you wished you could go out there and look for him yourself, but you knew he’d be beyond mad if you did.

No, your main priority was your baby at that moment. Your husband had shown time and time again that he could take care of himself, so you chose to believe that he would be fine. You had to believe that, otherwise you would spiral into an abyss you did not want to go down.

The feeling of somebody standing next to you startled you. You stumbled and nearly fell, but the hands of the mystery person caught you. Looking up, you locked eyes with the self-appointed leader of the group, Shane Walsh. His brown eyes were staring down at you, a small grin on his face.

“Sorry, girl. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized, slightly rubbing your arms.

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, you shrugged his hands from your arms and took a step back, putting some distance between the two of you. You sent him a tight-lipped smile. “It’s okay,” you replied, hoping that he would end the conversation with that. However, the man had other plans.

“What’s your story, lady?” he asked curiosly, leaning back against the metal of the RV, his eyes trailing over you in a way you did not like.

“My story?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “What’s a pretty girl like yourself doing with a low life nothing like Daryl Dixon? I mean, you could have anyone you want, but you chose him, the good-for-nothing redneck. Why?”

“Because I love him,” you stated matter-of-factly, sending him a harsh glare that only seemed to spur him on even more.

“Bullshit. There’s gotta be something to it,” he disagreed, chuckling at the glare on your face. “There’s no way that a guy like that managed to pull someone like you. It goes against all the laws of the universe. So tell me, what’s he got to offer? Is he paying you? Are you some prostitute he keeps around for his own pleasure or something? You certainly look pretty enough to have a guy pay you for something like that.”

Before you could stutter out an angry reply to Shane’s deeply offensive, deprecating accusation, a hand gently gripped your shoulder and pulled you aside. Looking up, you saw Daryl, an angry look in his eyes. Without a word, he stepped forward and viciously connected his fist with Shane’s nose, hearing the satisfying crack of the bone there.

“Son of a bitch!” Shane exclaimed, bending over to clutch his nose in his hands. “What the fuck, Dixon?!”

Daryl gripped Shane by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the side of the RV, a threatening glare on his face. Terror filled Shane’s eyes, something unusual for the for the former sherrif’s deputy. Everyone started gathering around the fighting pair, and Carol, who had rushed from the RV once she had heard the commotion, pulled you back from the battle ground, holding you firmly against her side.

“Listen’a me real fuckin’ close, Walsh,” Daryl spat angrily, his voice dangerously low. “I dun’ care what ya say ‘bout me, but if ya ever talk ‘bout my pregnant wife like that again, I’ll do so much worse than jus’ break yer nose. Ya dun’ talk to her, ya dun’ look at her, ya dun’ even breathe the same fuckin’ air as her. If ya do, I’ll skin ya alive and feed the remainin’ pieces of ya to the walkers. Do I make myself clear?”

“Fuck you,” Shane groaned out.

“Yer venison’s on the table. Next time, go hunt for it yer fuckin’ self.”

Without waiting for a response, Daryl shoved Shane harshly and turned around, meeting your eyes. Instead of finding fear in your eyes from his actions, he found adoration instead. You stepped out of Carol’s hold and took Daryl’s hand in your own, dragging him to your shared tent. You didn’t even spare a glance at the people, so you missed the way all of their eyes widened at the realization that you were pregnant, that they had been unnecessarily rude to a pregnant lady that had done absolutely nothing wrong to them. They had been harsh to an expecting mother and father, and for no reason at all. Everyone felt guilty, but the groan that Shane emitted caught their attention once again.

Back in your shared tent with Daryl, you were stood busy, gently cleaning the blood from his split knuckles whilst the man sat on the cot. Daryl was avoiding your eyes, feeling ashamed of his actions. In all the years that you had been together, you had only seen him lash out like that once—one time when you were drinking together in a bar when you were twenty-four, a guy had grabbed your breast without your consent, and Daryl had completely lost it. After that, he swore he would never act like that around you ever again, but Shane had made him break that promise.

“I’m not mad, you know,” you finally broke the silence, watching the way his ocean-coloured eyes flickered over to you, the confusion evident in them. “Shane got what he deserved. Quite honestly, I planned on punching him, too. You just beat me to it.”

“M’sorry,” Daryl mumbled, ducking his gaze to the floor. “I know ya can fight yer own battles. S’jus’... Hearin’ the way he talked ‘bout ya, like ya were some object whose worth he could judge... I dun’ know. It made me pissed. Ya dun’ deserve to be treated like that, ‘specially not when yer carryin’ a baby in yer belly.” He sighed and placed his good hand on your stomach. “Speakin’ of, m’sorry I revealed that yer pregnant. I know ya wanted to keep that hidden for as long as possible.”

You smiled and gently lifted his chin with your finger, gazing deeply into his eyes. “It’s okay. They would’ve found out eventually,” you told him, gently cupping his cheek. “Look at you, always so considerate about everyone else except yourself. You’re amazing, Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl blushed. “Yer the amazin’ one,” he countered, leaning forward to rest his forehead on your stomach. He placed a small kiss to the clothed skin. “Peanut’s gon’ have one hell of a mama.”

“And one hell of a daddy,” you replied, bringing one of your hands to thread through his hair. “I love you, Daryl.”

“Love ya more, Peach,” Daryl murmured, closing his eyes at the comforting feeling, his head still resting against your stomach. “Love ya too, Peanut,” he whispered to your belly, and it made you smile.

The serene moment was soon interrupted. The soft calling from Carol grabbed your attention, and you giggled at the groan Daryl let out.

“Y/N?” she called out. “I’ve got that ginger tea I promised you.”

“Ginger tea?” Daryl questioned, looking up at you.

“Yeah. I got a bunch of morning sickness without you around for some reason. It seems like Baby Dixon doesn’t like it when their daddy’s not here.”

“Good,” Daryl chuckled, rubbing your stomach affectionately. “Then I guess ya won’t mind if I stick ‘round.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, pretending to think about it before letting out a light giggle. “I guess I’ll keep you around.”

“That’s real good to hear.”

Before you could respond, you heard the bellowing voice of your brother-in-law. You groaned in frustration, praying that Carol had gotten out of the line of fire, because your tent was about to become a war ground.

“When the fuck were ya plannin’ on tellin’ me ya got that lil’ whore’a yers pregnant?”

Daryl visibly tensed up at his brother’s words, anger flaring up in his eyes, and you knew that another beating was about to commence. “The fuck did ya jus’ say, Merle?!”

“Ya heard me, boy.”

God, you hated Merle with a fiery passion, and you doubted that it would ever change. But you loved Daryl, and you knew that as long as you had him by your side, you could face anything.

Yeah, your little Peanut was gonna have the best father ever.

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machveil · 7 months ago

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zombie apocalypse au? with König?

CW: zombies, zombie killin’, minimal, nondescript gore - it’s more focused on the characters than the zombies

Survivor!König whose been isolated in the woods for a year. the outbreak got bad while he was on a deployment and he got separated from his team. he’s a survivalist at heart, grew up escaping into nature as a child and well into his teens. he knew how to make a shelter - something sturdy and durable, built with thick logs and packed with mud. he doesn’t leave the forest often, minimal supply runs into small towns to scavenge for medical supplies and equipment

Survivor!König that’s only interacted with the undead for the better part of the past few months. he has no problem killing them, outpacing wandering corpses and overpowering them - he might be a couple pounds lighter from rationing his supplies, but König is still a beast. he taunts them, voice low before putting them out of their misery. he stopped feeling bad about killing them a couple weeks in, the mentality to survive overtaking whatever pity and grief he felt. he briefly ran into survivors early on, never saw them again. if König has any feelings towards other survivors in this apocalypse it’s a silent hope that they’ll live to see another day - pessimistic thoughts clawing at the back of his head that they’re truly gone

Survivor!König who wakes up in the middle of the night, a scream cutting through woods. he’s hesitant to go out, these current times unfortunately becoming a dog eat dog world. he expects that cry to fade out into the cool night air, but to his horror it gets louder. someone’s running in the direction of his makeshift cabin. he knows the undead aren’t strong enough to break down the walls, his door has a barricade from the inside, he doesn’t need to investigate. but, against his better judgment, he moves to open the door

you, he can vaguely make out your figure running in the dark, the sound of leaves and twigs crunching. faint groaning following you, it’s stupid. for all he knows you could be infected, running despite being bit or scratched, but König moves before he can think. despite his hulking size he quickly, silently, intercepts you - a rough, calloused palm slapped over your mouth. despite your panicked squirming he manages to drag you away, manhandles you back into his wooded home. barricades the door the shut as soon as you’re both inside, back to the door as he holds you. “Ssh.”, quietly hissing for you to quiet down, grip firm as infected pass by

#THOUGHTS?#sucker for an apocalypse au #I think he’s losing it a little ngl #zombie apocolypse au #survivor!könig #konig #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig headcanons #konig x you #konig x reader #könig x you #könig x reader #cod #cod thoughts #call of duty #hit post

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highprettybabyy · 2 months ago

Text

Seeing Red

Part 1 - The Last Person Alive

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: after weeks of surviving alone, Y/N executes a risky plan to clear out a nearby mall in search of supplies.

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore

AN: grrr

word count: 3.4k

—//—

Your chest ached from the relentless sprint through ruined streets, the cold air burning your lungs with every breath. Your entire town was gone - consumed, broken, rotted from the inside out. Street after street teemed with the undead, their grey, sloughing bodies collapsing in on themselves as they shuffled forward without purpose. You could barely look at them anymore. The wet, rattling bellows that wheezed from their throats had turned the very air into something putrid and hard to breathe, like the world itself was rejecting what humanity had become.

You kept to the alleys, moving low between skeletal buildings and twisted fences, inching toward what was once your house - now fortified into something less like a home and more like a bunker.

It had been only a month and a half since the outbreak. Barely any time at all. The news hadn’t even caught up before the cities were overrun. Airports, subways, motorways - the virus spread faster than thought, faster than fear. Entire countries collapsed in under two weeks. Governments fractured. Military forces turned on their own to buy time. And none of it made a difference.

You remembered when it hit your hometown. One minute, the campus was buzzing with assignments, awkward coffee dates, and eye-rolls in the lecture hall - the next, blood smeared the corridors. Screams echoed through dorm rooms. Students leapt from windows. No one got a warning. Just a sudden, brutal end to the world you’d known.

After a careful check of your barricades, you slipped inside the safehouse. Your home’s entryway had long since been stripped of sentiment - the cheerful welcome mat now faded and torn, the door itself reinforced with scrap metal and bolts. You gave your shoes a wipe on instinct, a relic of old habits, before scanning the room with practised precision. Curtains drawn, lights off. No movement.

Only then did you flick on the lantern and drop your duffel bag onto the kitchen table with a dull thud. The metallic clatter of canned goods and the hollow thunk of tools echoed through the silence. Your fingers, still caked in soot and grime, fumbled with the zipper.

Inside: ten tins of food, a bag of potatoes, a hand axe, a machete, screwdriver, hammer, a few jars of jam and chocolate spread, crackers, two cabbages, and somehow - miraculously - an entire smoked ham. Not bad for one run. Your legs still ached from the weight of it, your speed in tight alleys compromised.

You chopped the cabbage and potatoes with dull focus, tossing them into the skillet with a slice of ham, letting the sizzle distract you from the quiet. Some salt, some pepper, a little drizzle of hot sauce, and done. You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, plate balanced on your lap, eating with absent urgency as your eyes flicked toward the papers scattered on the coffee table.

Survival lists. Supply logs. Plans. Everything mapped out in ink that was starting to smudge from repeated contact with dirty fingers. You chewed carefully, blowing on each bite even as steam fogged your eyes.

You picked up a pen and clicked it once. Twice. Three times. “Hammer… check. Screwdriver… check.” You scribbled down new notes, your handwriting slanting harder the further down the list you went. A generator was next. The solar panels on your roof were already beginning to fail - they’d been a miracle early on, but you weren’t an electrician. A book on wiring would help. Seeds, tarp, rain catchers, a trowel. You needed to think long-term now. Fresh food was a fantasy unless you grew it yourself.

The mall was always going to be dangerous. You knew that. But even you hadn’t expected it to still be this bad.

You crouched behind the ancient oak that overlooked the parking lot, eyes scanning the broken concrete stretch that used to buzz with Saturday crowds. Dust-covered cars sat in frozen disarray, doors hanging open, shopping carts tipped like skeletal animals on their sides. And zombies. So many of them. Maybe two hundred, all twitching and groaning and slipping around in loose circles like puppets on broken strings.

You opened your duffel and carefully removed a small CD player. No batteries, not yet. That would be suicide. You checked your jacket pocket. Lighter. Yes. Then - batteries. Good. You exhaled slowly.

The alcohol bottles clinked softly as you lifted the bag again, each one filled with potential destruction. You crept along the edge of the woods behind the mall, the path mostly clear - the natural world still hesitated to welcome the undead. You’d noticed that. Birds and bugs still scattered at their approach.

When you reached the clearing, you worked quickly. Three liquor bottles. Two vodka, one whiskey - didn’t matter. You stuffed them with lengths of rope soaked in ethanol from your last scavenged supply run, laying them in a rough triangle around the speaker. One side open. One long fuse, enough time to escape.

Once everything was in place, you inserted the batteries, snapped the lid shut, and slid the CD inside. The label was half-smeared, but you knew the track by heart. You checked the volume. Maxed out.

Breathe. You flicked the lighter and held it to the rope.

Go.

You lit the fuse and slammed the play button, already turning on your heel as the opening bars of “…Ready For It?” thundered out into the sky.

Adrenaline tore through your veins. You sprinted across the grass, back to the safety of the tree line, the thudding bass behind you acting as bait. You didn’t look back. Couldn’t. Not until you crested the hill and collapsed against the bark, gasping.

You peered down just as three stragglers came into view - slower, less coordinated, but still dangerous. Only three. A miracle.

You rose shakily and drew your machete. The first one went down easy, its head split clean from its shoulders. The second staggered into your swing, and your blade jammed in its skull.

Shit.

You tugged hard but the blade wouldn’t come free. The third was nearly on you, jaw slack, teeth barely attached to grey gums, its lower face practically disintegrated. Drool hung from its chin in strings. You gritted your teeth, heaved the machete sideways with the weight of the corpse still attached, and launched it forward, straight into the last zombie.

The impact knocked them both off their feet, sending them tumbling down the hill like grotesque bowling pins. By the time they reached the bottom, they were in pieces.

You blinked, heart thundering. “Blehhh,” you muttered weakly, dragging the machete through grass and bark to clean it. If you strained your ears, you could still hear the chorus of the song. The speaker was stronger than you’d thought.

You looked out over the fire. Smoke smeared the sky like bruises, and the horde below burned like a funeral pyre. The zombies hadn’t even tried to escape. They walked into the flames, mindless and relentless. You just hoped the fire wouldn’t reach the forest.

The wind was on your side.

You slid down beside the oak tree and watched them burn.

Surprised was an understatement. The halls were mostly clear, a few stragglers here and there, but nothing you couldn't handle with a strong swing with your machete. A few of the lights flickered, suggesting that the solar panels on the roof were giving out slowly. Dust, leaves and zombie grime covered the floors.

The mall was too quiet. A kind of stillness that made your ears ring. After weeks of shrieking, snarling, and the wet squelch of rotting flesh dragging across broken pavement, the absence of sound was worse than noise. You kept your steps light as you moved down the corridor, eyes flicking from overturned benches to shattered storefront windows. There were mannequins in pieces on the floor, stiff arms and pale, bald heads strewn about like dismembered remains. The daylight that managed to filter in through broken skylights was soft, filtered through soot and ash, painting everything in a grayish-yellow haze. But there was no movement. No moaning. No skittering. And for the first time in days, you let yourself hope.

You’d done it. You’d actually pulled it off.

The CD player, the liquor trap, the long fuse - everything had gone to plan. You’d lured most of the undead from the perimeter to the empty field beyond the mall’s edge, right into the fire. Their bodies were so dry, so soaked in decay, they caught like matchsticks. It had been a grotesque spectacle, watching them stumble forward into the flames without hesitation, drawn only by the sound. You felt sick as you watched it, but satisfied too. It gave you a chance. A real one. And now, walking through this half-collapsed temple of consumerism, it almost felt like you’d found a piece of the old world again. That illusion of calm, of stillness, almost made you forget where you were.

You exhaled a long, shaky breath and wiped your palm on your jacket. Your machete dangled loose at your side, and you took a moment to pause by an abandoned juice bar, eyes scanning for any signs of life, or death. Empty. Just like the last four. Your pulse began to slow, your shoulders relaxing just slightly as the adrenaline haze began to fade. For a second, you imagined making it through this trip without a scratch. Collecting everything you could carry - batteries, canned goods, maybe even a jacket that wasn’t torn to hell - and heading back home. Safe. Alone, but safe.

That was your mistake.

A sudden crack split the air behind you. Wood shattering, metal groaning. You spun on instinct, eyes wide as the gate to the sporting goods store exploded open. A flood of bodies spilled out, grotesque and twitching, their skin hanging in tatters. You didn’t even have time to curse before they were on you.

There were so many.

Fifteen at least, packed together in the dark back of the store like diseased rats, their hunger boiling over now that the door was gone. Their eyes were milky, their limbs jerking erratically as they lunged forward as one. You ducked back just in time to avoid the first swipe, your machete swinging up in a wide arc that took off the lead zombie’s head. It hit the tile with a heavy clunk, rolling once before stopping at the base of a broken vending machine.

The next one grabbed at your arm, and you grunted as you twisted free, plunging your blade up through its jaw. The crunch of bone and the warmth of blood reminded you that hesitation meant death. You moved quickly, slicing through arms and necks with swift, practiced swings. One went down. Then another. You lost count after eight.

Your breathing became ragged, sweat pouring down your back as the weight of exhaustion began to slow you. You could feel it happening - your arms shaking, your grip faltering - but you didn’t have time to stop. The ninth zombie barrelled into you, its body heavier than expected, sending you tumbling backward across the floor. Your back slammed into a metal display rack, pain blooming down your spine. You scrambled to your feet, driving the blade through its eye socket with a scream, and then twisted just in time to avoid another bite.

There were five left.

And nowhere left to run.

You were backed into a corner now, boxed in by collapsed beams and heavy furniture that had once been part of a demo area. You could barely lift your machete, your vision blurred at the edges, but you held your ground. Blood dripped from your cheek, your arms, your knees, you weren’t even sure how many wounds were yours anymore.

You gritted your teeth, raised your weapon one last time, and prepared to die fighting.

Then, a sound louder than anything - BLAM - and the zombie closest to you crumpled as its head exploded in a spray of black and red. Another shot. Another body down. You stared, stunned, as gunfire lit up the corridor, each blast echoing off the tile and metal until only silence remained again. The last of them dropped, twitching once before going still.

You blinked, your brain struggling to catch up to what just happened. And then you saw her.

She stepped out of the shadows like a ghost from your past. Combat boots, ripped jeans, a dirt-smeared army jacket hanging off her shoulders like she stole it off a corpse. A military-grade mask covered most of her face - one of those black, moulded types you’d only seen soldiers wear back when the military was still pretending they had things under control. She lowered her rifle with practiced ease, cocked her head slightly.

You knew who she was before she even took it off.

Jenna fucking Ortega.

You were so out of breath you couldn’t even muster a proper insult. “Jesus Christ,” you rasped, still dazed. “Jenna?”

She tugged the mask off slowly, like she had all the time in the world, revealing that familiar expression - that impossibly punchable smirk paired with eyes sharp enough to slice you open. Her hair was longer than you remembered, wild and messy, and somehow she still had the nerve to look good. She stared at you like you were a roach crawling out from under her shoe.

“Of all the people still alive,” she said flatly, voice edged with dry disdain, “it had to be you.”

Even now, covered in blood and ash, you managed a scoff. “Yeah, well, you’re welcome for the zombie barbecue out front.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for just a second, you saw something flicker behind them. Surprise? Relief? It vanished as quickly as it came.

You straightened up slowly, ignoring the ache in your knees. “You gonna shoot me next, or are you here to criticise my machete form?”

Jenna snorted, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. “Please. If I was gonna shoot you, you’d already be dead.”

Before you could reply, a long, low moan echoed through the mall.

You both turned your heads in unison.

The last few stragglers - four, maybe five - had been drawn by the noise. Shuffling from the lower floor, crawling over the rubble, stumbling straight for you.

You looked at Jenna. She looked at you.

“Truce?” you said.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me regret it.”

--//--

AN: i hope you liked it grrrr <3

AN: haven't proofread as much as i probably needed to lol

Part 2

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #lesbian fanfiction #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #wlw fanfiction #fanfic #hpb.fanfics #hpb.jenna #hpb.seeingred

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