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Memento Mori - Jschlatt x F!Reader (Zombie AU!)

1/? -> Next Part (Coming soon)

Plot: New York City is not the most pleasant place to be stuck in during a zombie apocalypse, especially as a tourist from another country. After just barely escaping a dangerous situation, Y/n finds herself saved by a standoffish man named Schlatt who seems to think she's more trouble than she's worth. Unfortunately, the perilous world the couple has found themselves in requires them to stick together in order to survive, even if they can't stand each other. Warnings: Zombie apocalypse typical violence, Descriptions of blood, wounds, and fainting. guns. Word Count: 2160

A/N: It's been a while! I'm sorry I keep promising fics that never appear, I've had a hectic school and exam semester. I ended up submitting my wips to my prof for grades so I couldn't post them unfortunately. Luckily they're back now so I'll be revising and trying to get into a good schedule. I hope you enjoy this one especially, I've been sitting on it forever!

“Just tell me, once this is over, would you stay with me? Would you want me like this?” The tall brunette’s voice was filled with a sense of nervous urgency, his brown eyes that were usually filled with a closed off sense of overconfidence pleading to you with unfallen tears of affection.

You were quiet, your mouth unable to function as you looked at him with sad, wet eyes. It was a shock, seeing the man so desperate before you. He was usually cocky or angry, nothing like this… It made you wonder how things turned out this way. How you both ended up in such a fucked up situation. How you couldn’t give him a true, honest answer. - Memento mori

Remember you must die

Your whole body felt weak and faint while your shoes slammed against the ground as you ran down the street, the heavy black backpack you had slung over your shoulder was causing your body to tilt to the right underneath its weight, your hands constantly adjusting its position on your shoulder out of discomfort. The sunrise was slowly dipping below the horizon, casting a heavenly golden light between the buildings, although it did little to save you from the summer heat that the excess of pavement in the city amplified, coating your body in an uncomfortable sheen of sweat. Although you were dressed light in your too small shorts and thin tank top that was about half holes half fabric, your flesh felt as if it was physically melting off of you from the heat. You were lucky people forgot about sun safety during the apocalypse, it meant you were easily able to scavenge for good sunscreen, although you probably had sweat so much off by now that it wouldn’t do anything. The yelling from the men behind you made the situation all the more frantic, especially with the addition of the heavy and steady stream of warmth on the lower right side of your stomach that refused to go unnoticed. Your amateur attempt at stitches had ripped a while ago when the chase began, and the reopened wound was clearly the cause of your woozy feeling. Somehow, Despite the dire situation, you felt a desperate jolt of regret in your body for not letting your grandmother teach you more about sewing past the basics when you were a child.

You sharply turned the corner, running into an alleyway. The quick turn disoriented your lightheaded body. Time felt thick and slow as two options presented themselves to you; climb the nearby fire escape and find a way out through the apartment complex (but risk being cornered inside), or continue down the alleyway to the street it connected to and risk being ambushed on the other side. The sound of your heartbeat played as a steady yet fast paced drum in your ears as you heard the sound of the men’s running feet slamming on the pavement coming closer and closer. Your mind envisioned the bullets that would swiftly pierce your skin once they found you. The feeling of your body collapsing onto the pavement in a painful heap that was warm and sticky with your blood seeming more like a prophecy than a possibility. With sweaty hands you scrambled on top of the nearby dumpster and grabbed a hold of the fire escape ladder. The rusty appendage creaked dangerously under your weight. You could feel even more stitches tearing as you pulled yourself up. Your battered and weak body yelled at you to stay still and rest as you made it onto the platform, collapsing onto your stomach. Acting on adrenaline alone, you pulled yourself shakily onto your hands and knees and sent the hardest kicks you could to the ladder, causing it to slam into the ground below and render your pursuers unable to follow you up. Just as they rounded the corner to the alley, you crawled through the broken window of the apartment, only just barely avoiding detection. The tan carpet was moldy, presumably from rain entering through the broken window you had used to get in. Still, you collapsed into a heap on the carpet, panting heavily from the run. You were especially unlucky to have been in New York City as a tourist when the apocalypse broke out four months ago. Even though quite a bit of time had passed since the apocalypse broke out, you were still a novice at navigating the concrete jungle, which made avoiding scavenging in places already claimed by hostile groups of survivors a difficult task. You were honestly surprised you even managed to escape the current situation alive and find a safe spot, although the whole interaction was not worth the lone can of beans that had started the whole conflict. You hardly had time to catch your breath before your weak and disoriented body was quickly pulled up into a kneeling position by the now unbearably heavy backpack you wore, your tired body feeling much like a ragdoll. The cocking of a gun and cold metal pressed against your head soon followed.

You didn’t even have the energy to be scared anymore. Your mind was woozy, the world spinning from the blood that flowed and flowed uncontrollably from your weakened body, and the only thing you had the strength to do was wonder what death would be like. It sounded nice to no longer exist, to not think or experience anything anymore, to have your consciousness absorbed by an unending black void. To not be. But as death placed a cold, metal kiss to the back of your forehead, you couldn’t help but picture a set of sheer white curtains. You would feel content, watching them tinged orange from the sun that set over your childhood hometown through the window. The breeze softly leaving small kisses all over your face as you stood a few meters away from the open window, the curtains dancing in the gentle wind transfixing you to the sight. It would smell like the irreplaceable evenings spent with your friends as you waited for someone to start a bonfire. You would feel like you did once you finished swimming in the quarry on a perfectly warm summer day, but without the soggy feeling of being wet. It would be the manifestation of being hugged by a loved one you hadn’t seen in a while, your bodies pressed together into a gentle yet tight embrace, a soft feeling coating your body. You never wanted to let go. As the world seemed more and more distant, you squeezed your eyes shut, savouring the image you could practically taste upon your tongue. Death would be easy. It would be safe. It would be peaceful. It would all be okay. It would all be okay. It would all be okay. By the time your body slumped face first onto the floor, you were no longer around to experience the sensation of falling.

-

You woke up in a bed that someone you would never know once called their own, dust and the powder of broken plaster covering nearly all possible surfaces in the dilapidated yet fairly well kept bedroom. A steady breeze was blowing in through the large broken window, the sheer white curtains that flowed with it were tinged yellow with both age and the light from the setting sun that lowered solemnly into the horizon. The wind from the half opened window grazed against your skin as you inhaled the crisp, thick breeze into your lungs and felt your body be painted in a heavenly gold by the ethereal golden hue. The pain that seeped into every bit of your being breathily whispered into your ear that this was not heaven. A faint rustling grew closer and closer to the door of the room. You wanted to sob loudly as you propped yourself up in the bed feeling a tightness in your side where your wound had been. It wasn’t moving like the rest of your body. You peeled off the covers gently, bandages covering the biggest problem area and more staring back at you. You had been patched up. You carefully put the covers back on as if any exposure to air would ruin it. Your still adjusting eyes wandered around the room, cautiously searching for something to use as a weapon against whatever could be making the noise that came from just outside the door. The only reason you could imagine having been cared for by a stranger was if they belonged to one of those radical fringe cults that began popping up after the apocalypse hit. Unfortunately, you had no interest in joining them and they never took too kindly to rejection. You inhaled sharply as the room’s door opened and perhaps the tallest man you had seen in person entered the room, a can of beans with a spoon stuck out of it looking small as he held it in his hand. His hair was brown and long enough to peek out of the weathered New York Yankees cap placed on his head, a stray bit falling in front of his face. The man’s facial hair was odd, styled into a mustache and mutton chops although it was roughly trimmed, likely a result of having to use scissors.

The sight of him was inarguably intimidating. He was dressed in bits of gear he must have looted from dead riot police that had come to defend the city at the beginning of the outbreak. His large form was adorned with the bullet proof vest, forearm covers, and knee pads they often wore. Strapped to his waist in a holster was a handgun. You suddenly felt silly wielding the 70’s alarm clock you had instinctively picked up. “I’ll give you a few moments to think about if you really want to attack me,” he said, his dark brown eyes watching you quickly drop the alarm clock to the floor. “Smart.” “Who are you?” You asked, trying anything you could to seem in control over the situation in which you could not possibly be less in control. “I should be asking you that. You’re the one who broke into my safehouse and bled all over the place. Do you know how hard it is to clean up blood well enough that it won't attract zombies? Especially without cleaning supplies,” He countered bitterly. Although his movements were casual in nature while he placed the can of beans beside a glass of water you hadn’t noticed on the end table, everything about him exuded an intimidating level of power and dominance, not to mention annoyance towards your presence. He picked up the discarded alarm clock from the ground, his gaze hard as he examined it in his hand before also placing it on the bedside table. “Well yeah, but…”

“But what? You’re not in any place to be making demands,” His eyes flickered back to yours, his gaze daring you to go on. “So either we’re at an impasse, or you cough up your name. I really don’t care either way.”

“Y/n,” You let a few beats pass before responding, looking down at the weathered duvet that covered your body rather than at him. “Schlatt,” He replied in turn. Wordlessly he lifted the duvet that covered your injured side and peeled up your shirt. With precise hands, he shifted around your bandages to inspect your patched up wound. You knew better than to make a comment about his odd name and cold hands.

“Well thank you …Schlatt… for helping me out,” Your words were shy as you tried to ease the tension between you two.

“Don’t,” came Schlatt’s curt reply. “I didn’t do it for your sake or anything, I’d just rather not have to deal with body disposal on top of everything.”

You stayed silent, watching as he continued to inspect your wound before re-covering it and pulling away, looking down at you. Every second spent in the same room as him had you feeling like more and more of a burden. Although you were grateful to Schlatt for saving your life, you couldn’t help but dislike being around him.

“You should eat,” He broke the silence, motioning to the can of beans he put beside your bed. “Don’t let them go to waste, it’s hard getting shit around here. And sleep too. You’ve been out for a few days but you still don’t look in good shape, if anything were to happen you’d be a burden.”

Not wanting to cause any issues, you stayed silent. In lieu of a response you quickly picked up the can of beans and began to eat, not noticing how ravenously hungry you were until you had food in your grasp. Schlatt’s cold eyes watched you for a few moments before he walked out, leaving you alone in the dimming room as the sun set.

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