Sick - Tumblr Posts

HOLY SHIT-- IM GOING FERAL!!! I just binged this entire thing and honestly all I'm thinking is I don't care how ugly this bastard is, I WANT HIM TO ABSOLUTELY DEMOLISH MY BACK, FUCK ME TILL I CANT WALK SIR.

PLEASE SIR

Sick <3

Zombie!Ghost x Survivor You ☢️🖤

Part 7: Ghost goes hunting. You both cross a line…oral M2F, he’s very dead, but so are you without him…

When you struggle downstairs, there’s a little bunch of wild flowers on the table. Blue and white, they looks so pretty, sat in a small vase.

“Oh you didn’t have to do that!”

You’re vaguely embarrassed about your clinginess. After all, Ghost has it worse. He’s dead and you’re still alive, what have you got to complain about realistically.

His white, clouded eyes alight on your smiling face, watching the happiness in your gaze as you take in his small gift. God it just makes him wild, how vividly perfect you are, all bright cheer and warm smiles.

Si’s voice coughs in his head, encouraging him to respond normally. Or as normally as possible.

So he grunts, spreading his long fingers over the table top, in what he hopes is a casual gesture.

You start to look through the cupboards. Most of it is out of date, but you manage to find a tin of beans hidden away in a dark corner.

Beans are not your favourite, but it is what it is.

Ghost watches you eating them out of the can with a spoon. You’ll need supplies, if you’re going to stay here. He huffs to get your attention, then stands up.

“Where are you going?” You ask him, through a mouth full of sickly tomato sauce.

Ghost tilts his head, like he wants to ask you to stop being so nosey, then trudges out at his odd rolling pace.

“When you get back you need a bath!” You shout at him, watching his departing shoulders roll with indignation.

After almost an entire day to yourself, you start to get restless. You feel slightly exposed without Ghost at your side, even though he doesn’t talk. You’ve been through so much together in the short time since you met.

When he finally rocks up, looking like a packhorse with various scrounged items of long life food and materials, you fight the urge to give him a hug.

There’s an odd moment between you, where you get halfway to flinging your arms around him and he awkwardly drifts closer. Then you pretend you were just going to help him with the goods.

Ghost presents you with a box of English teabags, like they’re a treasure, then settles down to look at an ancient map. It’s so old, the corners are yellow, he’s obviously stolen it from a picture frame somewhere.

Later, you wake to find the bed empty.

You’re dripping with slick, cunt aching. Since your nasty bite, it’s happened almost every night.

You’ve been having rabid dreams. Mainly centring around the man who’s now become central to your life. Even in your sleeping mind he’s cold, but it doesn’t scare you.

Quite the opposite.

Ghost sticks to you so closely most of the time, you might not get another chance in the near future.

Carefully, you move your shorts down and slip one hand under your panties. God it feels good, slow fingers massaging your swollen clit, cream leaking over your thighs.

You arch slightly off the bed, squirming under your own touch. Your knees drift apart, allowing more access, as you dip into your honeyed centre.

A tiny moan escapes your lips.

Ghost, in the woods behind the house, hears it.

Suddenly he’s out of control entirely, almost as badly as when he first turned. Every sinew is crying out, a clamouring chorus of want.

So much desire it’s painful, raking through his nearly empty veins and crippling any coherent thought.

Saliva starts to drop onto his tactical vest, fuelled by the smell of your dripping sex carried on the evening air.

Si’s voice is lost under the sound of your fingers touching that hot core. Without hesitation, his feet are carrying him back to the house, and there’s no way on earth he can stop them.

It’s carnal, his need to touch you, feel your wetness on his blue tinged fingers. His limp jaw lets groans and growls sputter freely from his throat.

He’s up the stairs and standing in your doorway in seconds. The heady smell of you is so potent, it feels like it’s scorching his icy skin.

You’re spread out so pretty, glistening as your hands work furiously.

Ghost’s shadow falls over the bed, utterly transfixed by the sight of you pleasuring yourself.

“Get out!” You shout at him, closing your legs and wriggling backwards. Your cheeks are glowing with embarrassment, as you chuck pillows at his frozen form.

But Ghost lets out a snarl unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, wrenching your knees apart and inhaling, like he’s taking his first breath after almost drowning.

His empty lungs expand with the scent of you. You try and kick him in the face, but he’s way too quick. Dragging your struggling form close to him.

“Stop it!” You whine, as the friction of the sheets beneath you rubs against your leaking pussy.

Eyes glassy, he holds you tight, jaw moving violently.

“Please!” The word is half formed, dry and hard forced out of his drooling mouth, not helped by his fractured face.

It’s frighteningly coherent though, a plea. His body is pulsing with electricity and you can feel it zapping against your skin. Something, very deep inside you, calls out to him on an unfamiliar level.

You stop struggling. Each of you just staring at the other.

“Please.” He begs again. “Please!”

He looks feral, more inhuman than ever, snow coloured eyes wild. But you don’t care. Your brain right now only wants one thing.

Him.

Heart pounding violently, you spread your legs.

Ghost, Si and the virus, all force him onto his knees in front of you, hands pressed into the mattress as his tongue darts out.

He starts to lap at you, drinking your nectar with savage energy. You squirm and writhe, as his chilled breath sends you hurtling towards an orgasm.

A cool drink on a hot day, his mouth calms the raging ache you’ve been dealing with for days.

Simon can’t remember the last time he ate pussy, but there’s no way on earth it was like this. It satisfies him, in a way that nothing else can or ever will. Even the tang of blood loses its lustre in comparison to your sweet surrender.

You’re panting, hands moving to his head to touch some part of him and ground yourself. Messily he circles your bud, flicking and kissing it until you can barely see straight.

As your fingertips caress his scalp, Ghost moans throatily, like he’s never felt anything like it. So you do it again, until the vibration of his voice snaps the tight coil building in your stomach.

When you cry out under his broken mouth, you gush. It’s like the most potent drug. Ghosts fingers drag through your folds, making you gasp with the chilling sensation of his pulseless digits.

“Please.” He slurs over and over again between your legs, revelling in the fact he can say a word. His broad tongue moves inside you, a stream of spit and your first release making the bed covers damp.

Ghosts hands press your own around his face, willing you to keep touching him. So soft and gentle, you feel the harsh line of what must have once been a strong jaw.

Feet resting on his back, he pulls more orgasms from your trembling body, inhaling them and savouring every whimper leaving your mouth.

He only stops eating you out, when you start to sob in earnest. So overstimulated it’s painful. The sound of your weeping, is like a brisk slap in the face.

Gradually Si’s voice starts battling through the lustful roar of the virus.

Shit.

You’ve both crossed a line, that can never be stepped back from.

Tags: @ashy-kit @cutiecusp @deadmarygolds @redbleedingrose @dustycrusty09 @darkangel4121 @smexysarah @cmbghost @silly-norman @sigrid666 @pxssygxblin @spicyspicyliving @itsyaboinoah-blog @misshugs @murder-hobo @sobbingnshtting

Not to force my music down your throats but this song is in my top ten forever

GAH! Oml I need him carnally... I def wouldn't be trusting them either after being handcuffed for awhile. One thing though is their dynamic is making me think of that one audio where it's like a dog snarling and the guy goes 'get your fucking dog bitch.' And the owner goes 'it don't bite.' And then the other guy goes 'yes it do!' Like reader is the dog and Simon is the owner and Johnny is the other guy. It also makes me think of Simon being this big giant cuddly bear that legit embodies the saying don't poke the bear because he's so sweet unless you provoke him. And then reader is one of those chihuahuas that fucking yap and bite any time you go near them or their stuff. Especially their favorite toy (which would be Si in this case).

I hope that made sense 😭😭😭

Sick <3

Zombie!Ghost x Survivor You ☢️🖤

Part 16: Shameless smut because they needed a hot reunion! Smidge of zombie!Simon being adorable. MDNI ta. He’s very dead, but so are you without him.

It feels like the longest day, night blending into early dawn outside the windows of your little room. Both Price and Laswell had wanted to hear your story, with you acting as translator when Simon couldn’t get coherent words out. They had watched your silent communication of blinks and nods with keen interest, quizzing you about when he started to speak, how you both came to know each other on a level beyond the understanding of most people. So you told them almost everything.

Actually you conveniently left out the part where Simon’s first statement was formed so he could beg to eat your dripping pussy, how he’s been inside you deeper than anyone else ever has. The way you crave that stretch between your thighs like oxygen. Rationally you’re sure they don’t want to hear about that, but something in Laswell’s eyes made you wonder if she guessed it without needing you to spell everything out.

Johnny had sat morosely in a corner, listening to every word. You’d refused to hear any of his apologies, practically spat venom at him whenever he tried to get closer. Resigned, he’d moved to the furthest chair possible, eyes creased as he watched you both. Only when your eyes were drooping with tiredness, had Simon signalled that he wanted to take you to bed.

“Fine.” Acknowledged Price with a clap of his weathered palms. “You know you’re both welcome here. We’ll continue this tomorrow Simon.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that, while Price opened the door, Laswell coolly observing you both exiting hand in hand. Her orbs seemed to linger on your threaded fingers, but perhaps you were just overthinking things.

“Stop arguing with me, I’m cleaning it whether you like it or not.”

Simon grunts, a tiny sliver of drool trailing along his gaping mouth, transparent and shining in the low light. Sat on the small bed in the room you were formerly held captive in, you insisted he take off his shirt and show you his injury. Softly you swab the open wound on his arm with an antibacterial pad, despite the fact he’s already dead and a lingering infection would be the least of his concerns. As you run a finger over the edge of the puncture in his ice cold skin, he twitches, the muscle flinching as he looks at you reproachfully through his hazy eyes.

“Does that hurt? I’m sorry.” You murmur, retracting your touch and gazing at him. “Is anywhere else sore?”

Simon shakes his head, the spit on his lips falling towards his chin, then tugs you into his lap resolutely. Cool palms close tightly on your wrists, arranging you chest to chest. Swirls of dark mix with the light in his stare, warmest amber peeking through the film of the viruses lenses like a scotch rolling inside a frosted decanter.

“Let me stitch it up? You’re a right mess aren’t you!”

Your hands wrap around his neck, scratching at the blonde hairs at the nape until he’s almost purring.

“Later.” He replies slowly, studying you closely, clumsy fingers rubbing along your heated skin, tracing each exposed area from your cheek down to your collarbone. The sense of peace he feels at you being returned to him is unparalleled, order restored to his universe, the infection inside him finally quiet in it’s entirety. It’s almost pure Simon with you now, not the same man that used to prowl the corridors of this base alive, but one forever altered by more than his death. Previously this level of dependence on another would have unnerved him. But now Simon sees with blinding clarity just how sweet life is when you have another to share it with.

“Missed this.” He rasps, throat wheezing slightly where he’s becoming re-accustomed to using his voice for speech again. “Love you, know that?”

“I know that.” You reply quietly. “Love you too. Please don’t ever try and leave me behind again.”

Simon nods, seeing the pain in your face and feeling hurt himself by that.

“M’sorry. Keep you safe.”

“I hate it here. These people don’t deserve you.”

Simon frowns, you watch the creases forming around his eyes. You don’t understand, how can you? This was his home before your heart was, these people his family when he didn’t realise you and he would make a new one. He trusts them beyond measure, even if you don’t yet.

Silently you ask if you can remove his mask, spattered with gore as it is. He gives you his ascent with a lopsided smile. The broken jawline looks more upsetting hanging limp without the covering, it throws off his face and strikes sadness into your heart.

“We should fix this.” You eye the tattered lower half of his visage, while you stroke his crooked nose.

“Ask Johnny tomorrow.”

“Don’t ask him anything!” You snarl, all essence of romance vanishing as you rear back in disgust. “I don’t trust him anywhere near you!”

Simon holds you firmly while you squirm away, anguished and furious with him.

“Don’t blame him. Good man I promise. Forgive him.”

“I will not!” Your voice snaps fiercely, while you struggle to maintain your composure. “He tried to murder you!”

“Forgive him. For me?” Simon’s big palm cups your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Please.”

He knows you can’t resist pleading, so you shoot him a mutinous look under your lashes. Simon huffs, refusing to release you.

“Please?” He groans out again, pinching your cheeks a little harder.

“I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything.”

That will have to be good enough for now he supposes. Simon stands up without any obvious effort, adjusting so that your legs wrap around his waist as he holds you off the ground. You’d forgotten how terrifyingly strong he is, the ice hardened muscles now built with a supernaturally enhanced capacity. But everything else about him feels so familiar, normal even. Koala cub style you hang onto his broad shoulders as he trudges towards the door, using the cuff of your sleeve to mop up some of the spit leaking down over his neck.

“Gross.” You say into his ear, and Simon chuckles in response, snatching a towel from a bundle deposited by Laswell earlier in the day.

It’s beginning to occur to you that Simon knows his way around a base. Without needing direction he locates the showers, a cold room with several grimy looking cubicles. Still, when you turn the water on, it’s hot. It’s the first warm wash you’ve had in months, probably longer. Plunging yourself into freezing baths aside, you get so excited you actually squeak, while Simon starts fumbling at your clothes, demonstrating extremely clearly that he’s greedy, wanting for you without needing to verbalise it.

The water feels so good, the pressure beating down against your body as the steam rises, creating tiny clouds that hover then dissipate as quickly as they come. Si slips in behind you, a dichotomy of heated, glancing droplets on his ice cold skin pressing close. Already the water seems to be soaking away the trauma of the last few days, you watch it almost melting off you both.

Simon rubs his nose along the line of your shoulder, curving his bull-like chest to mould perfectly around your spine. You jump slightly when his cooler fingers trace their way down the flesh of your sides, squeezing and rubbing every inch he can reach. The temperature difference is enticing, goosebumps threatening to erupt on your arms while a warmth sparks and flows where the shower rains on you. Simon’s eyelashes tickle against your neck, his broken face buried in the crook he’s found there, a niche reserved for him and only him.

Your body begins to sing, craving his presence on a level deeper than physicality. Slowly those tender digits work over your belly, dipping down toward your cunt. His stiff cock juts firmly against your back, insistent and rousing a fierce, overwhelming longing for him. He’s too tall to easily take you like this, but you buck anyway, letting his prick slide over your sodden skin. Simon answers with a deep, guttural sound dragged from a place beyond love. It streams palpably through a desperate craving for you, an inability to be whole without your hand in his and an acceptance of that fact.

Turning to face him, you gaze at the beads of wetness clinging to the surface of his upper lip, take in the tigerish brown shining behind his filmy orbs. Two big paws hook around your arms, tugging you flush to him, while instinctively your legs link over his own. There’s an urgency building, rugged and depraved, just like the first time you fucked. But he’s trying his hardest to be gentle, you can tell, actions strained while he shakes with the effort of bottling up the virus for you.

It’s all for you, always has been. Everything he does, has done, was entirely designed to find a way to make you his. You want him to break you, crush you to fine powder, mix your essences into a cocktail of something feral and dark.

“Take me Si, don’t be soft about it either.”

He moans in earnest, it bounces off the tiled floor, reverberating around the empty room and echoing within the marrow of your bones. In response you drag his head to your own, fingers clawing at the pallid skin, scratching fiercely until he raises you entirely off the floor, arse held firmly in both hands. Without preamble, he’s working himself into you, the heat of your pussy engulfing him until he nearly loses his frayed mind at the feeling.

Your fluttering core welcomes Simon home with open arms, stretching with a sting to accommodate all of him as quickly as possible, an ungodly amount of lubrication leaking onto the hairs at his base. Si sinks punishingly up to his root, your cries and moans echoing ceaselessly within his sensitive eardrums like a beautiful mantra. Pulling out half way, he slams back inside, drawing out a searing punch of pleasure as he does so. Your little blunt teeth sink deep into the meat of his trap, urging him onwards, anything to stay crushed between the cubicle and his thick body. Grasping you, Simon rolls his hips, grinding your clit snuggly until your toes curl. Blinking vapour out of your eyes, you see his own lids heavily observing the way you take him, how your cunt begs for his cock to be seated within you, sucking him so tightly he can barely thrust.

Simon brings you to your first orgasm in what feels like years against that bathroom wall, spilling himself shortly afterwards, his seed still dripping from your clenching pussy even after a thorough scrub with a thin bar of soap.

Clean and warm, your fingers lace into the fresh sheets, head rolling back against soft pillows. It’s so divine, Simon lying nestled between your thighs while he laps around the swollen, sensitive parts of you with fervour, occasionally pumping his spend back inside, only partly on the viruses whim. When you eventually crash, exhaustion taking hold of your breath as you snore on his chest, he watches you dream, every wrong of being separated from your soul righted.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but with Si at your side again, you’re sure everything will be alright.

One way or another.

Masterlist

Tags closed besties

@ashy-kit @cutiecusp @deadmarygolds @redbleedingrose @magicstrengthandcourage @darkangel4121 @cmbghost @silly-norman @sigrid666 @pxssygxblin @spicyspicyliving @itsyaboinoah @misshugs @blush-haze @kolpvii @sobbingnshtting @murder-hobo @nexthyperfix @chinaza444 @contractedcriteria @soapsmohawk-16 @coqwuette @juneonhoth @lanalafey