OKAY HEAR ME OUT PARASITIC HOARD OF ZOMBIES WHO MAKE THEIR DARLING INTO A BREEDER? 🥺
-🦟
Zombie Horde Having Their Way With You
Sorry, it took me a minute to get to this! Wish it were longer! Hope you like it!
Tw: noncon, breaking in, smarter zombies, hint of somno, breeding kink, hints of a/b/o (barely)
Masterlist
The house that you barricaded yourself into is currently surrounded by a horde. They somehow know your name. They shout it, calling for you to help them. You know all too well that they are just trying to trick you into letting them in.
When that doesn't work, they bang on the doors and windows. Their shouts are more intense now, desperate to get to you. They look through the windows, trying to figure out where exactly you are.
"Let us in. We don't want to hurt you; you'll see." One says when they catch sight of you through the window. Soon, they pile on top of each other, the parasite communicating your location to the others.
The sight of you makes them more aggressive. Some fights break out in the horde. Meanwhile, others are working together, trying to break the glass.
When it finally shatters, they don't waste a minute. Before you know it, they surround you. Some of them rip off your clothes; others hold you down. All of their clothes leave them too. Some of them jerk off to the sight of you.
The one who first saw you is the first to mount you. He pushes himself into you, not giving you time to adjust. His cock rams into you, desperate for a release.
The parasite is quick to give him what he wants, but he's not done with you yet. After he dumps his parasitic cum into you, he lets the next one in line enter you. He's much bigger than the first, easily hitting your cervix with every thrust.
The first one holds your jaw open, pushing himself into your mouth. He fucks your mouth while other cocks enter and exit you. He tells you how you are doing such a great job taking them all and how you will have all of their babies forever.
When it's all finally over, you are covered in copious amounts of cum and sweat. They arrange for you to be watched at all times. The house becomes like a headquarters. They fill the rooms and halls. Outside, camps start forming because of the lack of room.
They use you almost whenever they like. You'd wake up with some of them surrounding you, a cock already in you. Your pussy grows tired from all of the action, but they won't stop. You'll be having their babies soon, spreading the parasite further.
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“Hold still, cub. You're almost clean.” Battle Beast snarled, keeping you pinned to the nest of furs that composed your shared bed as he licked your face.
You continued squirming as you pushed at his face and kicked at his stomach. It didn't do anything but get drool on your hands and make him chuckle. You yelled and scratched but it did nothing. You hated him. He found you while you were traveling on a freighter and simply seemed to decide that you were his baby. He adored you. You were the cutest thing that he had ever seen and he regularly told you so. He hummed in contentment as he looked you over. He had licked your face clean, just like he always did when he came back to the strange house that he kept you in. He had come back from a hunt and seemed particularly pleased with the massive animal that he had taken down.
“So feisty! You take after your Pa, little one. You will be a mighty warrior like me one day. You must grow big and strong first though. Now, it's time for you to eat, cub.” He growled warmly as he began tearing bite sized chunks of meat off of the leg of the bovine looking alien that he dragged into the main sleeping area.
“No! That's disgusting!” You exclaimed as you pushed his paws away, trying to keep the raw, bloody alien meat away from your mouth.
That didn't stop him from still feeding it to you. He didn't mind when you were being difficult. He found it endearing. You were absolutely precious to him and your aggression towards him was proof to him that you had a warrior's spirit. You begrudgingly ate, glaring at him the whole time. Once you had eaten a satisfactory amount, the Dornian leaned in and began licking the blood off of your face again like an Earth lion with his most favored cub. You, of course, retaliated.
“Stop it! I don't like being licked!” You practically squealed, smacking at his face as you tried your best to get him to stop.
“It's for your own good, cub. You need to be clean to grow up healthy.” He hummed as he nuzzled against you for a moment.
“I'm an adult!” You all but screeched in indignantion.
He laughed again, this time much more heartily, and continued licking your face.
“No, you're a cub. Don't be silly, little one. You'd be much bigger if you were an adult.” He rumbled affectionately.
drugs that make a character woozy and disoriented. slurring words and falling slack, everything too heavy and confusing and muffled
blown pupils, wandering eyes, breathing too much or too little. sweating, shaking, puking, so limp and pale it’s almost like they’re dead
fevers so high a character's mind just turns to mush. glossy eyes tracking the ceiling, listless and unaware until eventually there's sweat sticking all over the sheets and they start mumbling some vague responses to caretaker's questions
tranquilizer dart that brings a character down all at once. one sudden jerk or look of confusion, not enough time to glance at it much less pull it out before eyes are rolling back and they collapse into the dirt
tranquilizer dart that comes on slowly. pulling it out and running and running until each step becomes too uncoordinated, stumbling or getting dragged along by a teammate until even their begging to stay awake, let's go, becomes hazy and distant
struck so hard that everything rings in one ugly roar. staggering or falling, told to sit down, just stay down. so confused and lost, repeating the same questions and forgetting the answer over and over and over again
character so messed up they struggle to follow any part of the conversation. everything too heavy and confusing and muffled, just useless and incoherent and completely oblivious to the situation
nervous prodding or pleading by caretaker, begging them to just stay awake or focus
jostled around by captor, told to get the fuck up and follow orders, easily manhandled and restrained
mumbling nonsense and spilling secrets. stoic characters without any masks, so confused and broken and vulnerable, slipping and powerless in every sort of way
"you're okay, i promise you're okay"
“ah, shit. you’re a mess—”
“I guess you won’t remember this anyways…”
gaze drifting and blank, too faraway to track anything caretaker/captor is saying. nudged and prodded and pleaded at to no avail, just incoherent and out of it
too weak to move. beaten absolutely senseless or bleeding all over the place, a character just hurting and spent beyond means sprawled flat against the ground
getting dragged along or stepped on, pinned down as if they're in any state to go anywhere
hypnotized and stunned into mindlessness. repeated mantras and rewired thoughts, a character made pliable and blank and used like a puppet
paralyzed but fully aware, left slack and useless and desperate with limp muscles and depressed breathing. assumed dead and abandoned, grieved over or dumped aside like a corpse, forced to watch and unable to do anything
poisoned and just getting worse and worse. teammates desperately looking for a cure while character deteriorates, puking and passing out and getting high fevers, hallucinating and begging for relief
characters taken out of commission when they're otherwise the strongest one. exposed to a weakness, given magical restraints or cuffs with neural suppressors to keep them docile, targeted and taken out
vertigo taking a character side to side, brought down and useless
resistant little one that refuses to give their kidnapper an inch, especially in the reactionary sense.
they don't scream or cry or glare, at most they look annoyed and frustrated at their situation. physical signs of positive emotions of any kind are nowhere to be seem.
their control slowly faltering in tiny ways– pouting at another failed escape attempt, hidden smirks at something captor said, pushing things over in boredom. of course, no stoic child is permanently so, eventually all those tiny drops of water overflow and break the dam.
that wet, burning feeling in their eyes can't possibly be tears– even when their knees buckle, dropping to the padded floor while a sob rips from their chest. those "annoying brats" throwing fits in public that they used to internally scoff at have never felt more relatable, mits punching and kicking the ground as they scream and whine.
everything is just too much all of a sudden, they barely remember what this tantrum is about but it feels like the end of the world.
kidnapper sitting down on the floor, making shushing noises while rubbing their back, pained at their cries but internally relieved his little one's finally letting all those scary emotions out,
he's ready to wipe their flushed face with babywipes after.
Tw: yandere behavior, captivity, creep behavior, moral ambiguity, ‘is he your dad or your daddy?’, general ‘this is fucked up’ behavior, NSFW, OOC behaviour for literally every character listed in the tags ever, feminine reader, I would hunt him for sport if he existed irl, the reader does NOT like this, unwilling reader, I did not realize it but my god you shiver a lot, etc.
(Yandere saw that we had no dad and decided to take it upon himself to ‘fulfill that role’.
He does not. But he is trying to ‘fill’ something.)
Yandere prompt:
They say their feelings are platonic. Insist upon it really. They say they only want to be your family.
But their actions really don’t match their words.
…
He’s helping you get undressed. Again.
You’d think you would be used to it by now.
He’s been doing it a lot more often.
It started out as him just standing in the bathroom with you, watching you as you undressed with trembling hands in front of him, watching as the dress he picked out fell to your feet around you.
When he first kidnapped you—which is a crazy sentence you never thought you’d say—he said he wanted to be family. A father to you. A dad.
Now, you don’t have much experience with dads seeing as you didn’t exactly grow up having one, but they don’t stare at you the way he stares at you. (They’re not supposed to, at least.)
He stares holes into you. His fists clench in his lap as he watches you step out of your jeans. He crosses his legs when your underwear fall to the ground and stares even harder if possible.
And afterwards he still reminds you to call him ‘dad’.
But at least then it was just watching. Just him sitting there and making sure you didn’t somehow tunnel your way out with a shampoo bottle.
Now, he was touching you.
His breathing is loud and heavy in the otherwise silent bathroom, his fingers scorching whenever they grazed your skin. He pulls the zipper of your dress down agonizingly slow. Like he’s trying to savor the moment, each inch of flesh that’s revealed to him.
You’re half afraid he’s going to start jerking off in the bathroom at the sight of your shoulder blades to be honest.
The first few times this happened, your hands went to your chest to hold the front up. But it didn’t really matter anyway. He’d see it all no matter if you held your dress up or not.
(You don’t know exactly when ‘the dress’ started to become your dress. But you know how dreadful the change was.)
“You done?” You snap suddenly, knocking him out of his reverie.
He hums in reply. Calm in the face of your disrespect.
(Something in you wants to claw his face off and spend the days afterward picking him out from under your nails.)
“Almost,” he says. “The zippers stuck.”
You almost scoff. Yeah, right. The old pervert.
After a few minutes of ‘struggle’ (him taking his sweet time with that zipper), it was finally undone. You tensed as his hands came up to your shoulders, large and calloused hands curling into your sleeves to tug them down.
He treats you more like his wife than his kid.
He insists on being slow. On torturing you. But the fabric slides down your arms all the same.
Your arms prickle with goosebumps with the sudden exposure to the cold air of the bathroom. The shiver that ensues is half from the cold and half because of the pure heat that he produces in waves. Manufactured almost—the fire of his skin produced rather than made with all the muscle on him.
You barely restrain yourself from smacking his hands away when the come down to skirt part of the dress.
This part he can’t exactly ‘make slow’. The skirt is loose—flow-y. When he tugs it down, just slightly, it crumbles to the ground easily. Just a circle of floral fabric around you.
This time, when he tries to take off your underwear, you do smack his hands away. “I’ll do it,” you hiss.
He lets you. Fortunately. If only so he can watch.
You practically yank your underwear down your legs, bending slightly to step out of it.
A sharp intake of breath.
If you were going to be forced to get naked in front of him, you were at least going to be petty about it.
Revulsion twists and churns in your stomach, burning in your veins, as you feel his eyes dig into you, attempting to unearth something from deep within you that you are certain is nowhere to be found.
He clears his throat but his next words still come out heavy with strain and almost croak-like. “Let’s get you into the shower, sweetheart.”
You tense and shiver with disgust when a large hand comes down to rest on your bare lower back.
You step into the shower and shiver again as a warm spray washes over you—already heated up and ready since he had turned it on for you just before the unpaid strip tease you gave him.
It’s almost enough to make you forget who’s watching. Who’s pulling the glass door to the side. Who’s practically leaking in his pants just fucking watching you shower.
You try to ignore him to the best of your abilities, but it’s difficult to not lunge at him and claw his eyes out. (You had already tried once and never again.)
You make the mistake of turning your back from him.
Cold fingers brush your spine. You flinch away violently, turning to give him a wide-eyed, repulsed look but he’s not even looking at your face.
He’s looking at the water on his fingers. At how they glisten.
“I should-“ he swallows thickly, gaze lifting. “I should probably help clean you up, right? Like a… like a dad would.”
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oh but to be locked up in vought tower and forced to be Homelanders loving girlfriend 😍🥰
Yes and… your wardrobe is perfectly curated by vought stylists to be very soft, very modest, very… maternal, but with easy access to your body.
Yes and… he has a lock on your heartbeat at all feasible times. If it even so much as a tick out of time, he will be by your side and you’ll have to keep it steady while he resolves whatever has your body clock upset.
Yes and… you have an unspoken bedtime. One that allows him to come to join you after as you tap the mattress and encourage him into the sheets the way a mother would her child who has started to feel unwell or unhappy in the night.
Yes and… you’re kept barefoot and pregnant 24/7 to ensure he always has a steady stream of the good stuff.
Yes and… he gets mad when you pump. He doesn’t care how much pain and discomfort the alternative is. He can get the bottled stuff easily… no, he keeps you around for the fresh stuff straight from mommy’s teats.
Yes and… the children that result from your nightmarishly never ending cycle of pregnancy? They’re sent to postnatal freedom nurseries because he cannot stand any competition for your love and affection.
Yes and… God… Um… Starlight help you should you ever show even an inkling of longing toward your estranged children.
Title: An Act of Rebellion
Rating: Explicit
Fandom: Predator: Killer of Killers
Ship: Warlord Predator/Grendel King (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader
Warnings: Non/Dubcon, captivity, canon typical violence
Author Note: This is the first third of this fic. The whole work can be read on AO3!
Summary: You are one of the few chosen by the Yautja to fight for their entertainment. Before you are taken to the arena, however, you catch the attention of the Warlord. Fighting back seems like a good idea at first - until he effortlessly turns the tables and demonstrates his power and control over you.
You spit onto the floor, releasing a mixture of saliva and old blood from your aching mouth. Your head throbs as if it had been slammed repeatedly against the metal wall of the room, even though you only fell out of the capsule holding you. A dull pain radiates from your hip, knee, and left hand—the parts of your body that broke your fall.
Who comes up with such nonsense as a floating cryo capsule?!
Dizziness makes the entire room dance and spin around you, causing deep, oppressive nausea. You have to muster all your willpower not to vomit on the cold floor beneath you.
"Fuck..." Blinking against the dizziness helps, if only a little. Don't throw up. Luckily, after a few seconds, your vision slowly becomes clearer. And your throat stops itching, mouth stops producing extra saliva.
Your weak knees can barely hold the weight of your own body. Cold muscles scream in silent agony, trembling and shaking as they threaten to give way. The cryo capsule you're pulling yourself up on is technology your foggy brain doesn't quite recognize. It's certainly not a Weyland-Yutani pod. Its rough, angular design is made for beings larger than humans. It's alien technology, an alien ship.
What's the last thing you remember?
It takes a moment for your brain to search for memories. The fog is thick, hiding what brought you to this creepy room lit only by narrow red lamps on the walls. The floor is cold. You hear the roar of an engine that doesn't belong to one of the company's large haulers. The vibrations in the material of this ship are more penetrating, reaching into your bones. Weyland-Yutani ships sound different. They sound hollow and somehow... cheaper. Their ships sound like cost-cutting measures and a willingness to lose entire crews if it means saving a little money.
This is not a human ship. Its high-quality engine emits a deep growl that resonates in your chest like a steady purr. A purring monster made of metal, on its way to who-knows-where.
You gasp for air as your brain finally locates the missing memory in the darkness. The Karattera. The strange cargo the company wanted to be transported to one of the research facilities back home. The crash on Vokila-2. And the black creatures that wreaked havoc. As this tidal wave of memories washes over you, accompanied by the lingering smell of blood, a trembling sob escapes you.
It's a sound as unstoppable as it is desperate. There are no tears, just the realization that the entire crew of the Karattera is dead. Just like the mining company team on the planet. You remember killing three of those black, fast beasts with long skulls using the Vokila-2 station's trash compactor. You heard the sound of bones breaking, of monsters screaming out in agony, of acid eating through metal - and then you sensed movement behind you, followed by a click and a growl.
And then? Nothing. Only the floating emptiness remains, waking up in the cryo capsule with the stale taste of blood in your mouth.
With trembling hands, you touch the back of your head, where there should be a wound because you were knocked down - or were you? It's the obvious conclusion to the blackout, to the lack of memories, but there's nothing there. Just a small bump that is hardly worth mentioning. The unanswered questions pile up in your stomach like a bunch of needles. What the hell is going on here?!
The door opens with a hiss. Every muscle in your body tenses in panic when you see the huge figure in the hallway. Ah, fuck.
It's a Yautja.
Rumors about these warriors - as fearless as they are brutal - have spread to the farthest corners of the company's colonies. People whisper on the freighters that these massive warriors are monsters who kill without mercy, whether with blades, plasma cannons, or their bare hands. They hunt for fun, pleasure, and the thrill of success. If that's true, then you're either a trophy or their afternoon entertainment. Double fuck.
The Yautja makes harsh growling noises - it's a command, that much is clear. Given the situation, move your ass is the only logical conclusion. He's coming to get you. But why? And to where?
With your legs trembling from the long, cold sleep, you stagger toward the door, trying not to appear threatening. Supposedly, the Yautja don't attack defenseless people: They don't attack the unarmed, the sick, children, or pregnant women. Hopefully, there's some truth to these rumors because you don't want to end up on the wrong end of that huge spear he's holding.
Nevertheless, your pride demands that you lift your chin and walk as upright as possible. You make smooth movements despite the jelly knees. Don't appear threatening, but don't appear easy prey either. This phrase echoes in your brain over and over again like a mantra or a prayer to reason. The chance of survival is probably slim, but not zero. If it happens, it happens. At least take one of these bastards with you.
This attitude was helpful when the black alien beasts overran the Karattera and Vokila-2. It kept you alive and gave you the courage to fight back. Maybe it'll save your out of luck ass again.
The spaceship's corridor is long and empty. Several doors lead to other rooms, but they are locked, and you can't peek inside any of them. A rough, deep rumbling sounds from somewhere. It's an animalistic roar that echoes off the ship's walls until it becomes a distorted sound of rage. Your heart skips a beat in despair.
Getting out of here alive is going to be difficult.
Suddenly, the Yautja grabs you with an incredibly strong grip. Before you can dodge his hand, the cold of the walls and floor wraps around your neck. There's a click, and something heavy hangs around your neck, pulling you slightly down. The weight and the realization what it is sends hot rage shooting through your head.
A fucking collar!
"Hey, what?!" Your angry hiss is drowned out by the mocking growls and clicks of your opponent, who seems to be thoroughly enjoying your expression of stupor. Trembling, weak human fingers pull at the metal holding your neck like an iron grip of death. But the collar won't come off; it just rubs uncomfortably against your sensitive skin. With a fiery gaze, you look up at the Yautja, nodding slightly and twitching your shoulder in a demanding manner. "What is this? What's going on here?! Am I your prisoner?"
The collar is beeping almost audibly, making you increasingly aggressive. Like a fucking time bomb around the neck.
The Yautja raises and lowers his chest with a deep, flat growl and lets out a snort. Mocking and amused. Then, he pushes you toward the end of the corridor to get you moving. Apparently, there's a schedule here because he pushes you again, urging you to pick up the pace.
The corridor itself is long with a floor of metal grates that echo your footsteps. It leads to another corridor, then another, and finally, a last one that is significantly wider and shorter than the rest. This cursed ship is a labyrinth and must be enormous. How are you supposed to get out of here? Hide in a ventilation shaft if you can escape at all. And then what? Steal a rescue pod and drift off into nothingness? Honestly, the options don't look good.
"C'jit, this one's particularly unimpressive." Another Yautja approaches you and your guide. He's armed with a long spear as well, though he has a much more relaxed demeanor than the guy who's been pushing you around. The loud hissing of a door at the other end of the hallway drowns out the words whispered into your ear by the collar. It's a translation of the warriors' language. Granted, it's useful that this thing around your neck acts as a translator, though that's definitely not its main function. It's probably more like... a shock collar. Or a real bomb. Oh god, please don't let it be a bomb.
The hissing of the double doors announces the arrival of more inhabitants of this ship. Heavy footsteps thunder on the grated floor, sending vibrations through your whole body until the inside of your ears starts to hurt. And the closer the footsteps come, the faster your heart beats.
Three. Two guards and a monster that can only be described as such emerge from the gloom of the dimly lit corridor. The two guards stop and lower their heads as the third emerges from the dimly lit corridor.
Oh man... The newly arrived Yautja is massive. The chances of making it out alive are closing in on zero.
His stature easily surpasses that of the others of his kind, and his cloak of bones and spines makes him look even bigger, more powerful, and more terrifying. The vertebrae protruding from his shoulders and upper back are a stark, ominous warning not to mess with this specimen, a warning reinforced when the other two Yautja take a subtle step back as he glances at them.
The urge to look away is so strong that your neck muscles tense up. However, looking away now would be a sign of weakness, and weakness is something you can't afford right now. These people crush the weak like bugs between their giant hands, amused by emotions like fear and terror. And yes, of course you're afraid. It would be stupid not to be. A few deep breaths, though, allow you to think somewhat logically. You clench that fear into a tight little knot below your diaphragm and think back to the mantra:
If it happens, it happens. At least take one of those bastards with you.
So, you straighten your back, pull your shoulders back, and stare stubbornly ahead.
IVE BEEN DROOLING OVER THIS ALL DAY WAY BEFORE I EVEN GOT THE ASK.....i really do need them to snatch me omfg..
I love many many yandere stsg flavors, but it ALWAYS has to be oblivious, delusional and insanely sweet, no matter the reader, they'll always believe they're doing what's best for you.
They both have equal chance of stalking you first. Either Satoru thinks you're incredibly cute and believing its just a silly little fascination, he just likes to watch you from afar after bumping into you at that one coffee shop early in the morning, its not really his fault you happen to show up wherever he has business? OR Suguru finding you in a moment of need and desperation, a situation where he as a stranger had to step in to shield you from potential harm, and it just triggers something within him and he begins to feel such visceral responsibility for you, he already does feel a sense of duty towards what is weak and defenseless or just...small..., he'd actually actively look for you though....
COULD BE BOTH AT ONCE!!!!! But i do love the idea of one of them becoming absolutely infatuated and alarming his husband, then putting him on the stalking afterwards too lol
They definitely have the power to manipulate your world in order to coax you closer and closer to them, they wouldn't hurt you tho. I think whats more their style would be luring you into their home after fostering a friendship then never letting you out again... "why dont you stay for dinner?" "Its late, we'll drop you off first thing in the morning" "oh your boss called to let you know no work today? Hmmm..how odd, oh! Seems muffins are ready!" "Why dont you stay for the weekend, we're having a wonderful time aren't we?" And then it turns into more borderline threatening/intimidating responses TT disappointed stares, kiiinddddd of reprimanding, 'That’s weird, why do you want to leave?' Energy. I wouldn't say they're trying to gaslight you bcuz........ they believe the lie as well LMFAO
Then the "call me this and call me that" starts, it makes complete sense tho doesn't it? They nurture and take care of you, deep down it just feels so right. Before you know it its exclusively mommy and daddy now, and its something they reinforce with rewrads and gentle reprimand, like you're being trained .. isn't that fun...
They strip you of your privacy of course, they monitor the fuck out of you just very very smothering, coddling, all under the pretense of worry and protection tho, because "we don't keep secrets, do we sweetie?" But they will be trying to merge with you TAT its very overwhelming (In a less toxic dynamic they might SUBCONSCIOUSLY frame this much openness as the rite of passage into their relationship TvT)
But yeah, they're very patronizing TvT still give you a lot of passes fully believing you're being silly and not knowing what's good for you...... HONESTLY......you should just be okay with it as crazy as it sounds LMAOOO, be their little pampered cat. I think they do very very well with a willing....captive? TAT
