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Extended Stay;; WYF [pt.1]

Check out Part Two here~

Word Count;; 10.4k total, 5.2k for pt.1

Genre;; Zombie AU [Horror], Mafia AU [Violence], Smut

Pairing;; Kris Wu x Fem!Reader

Summary;;

There comes a point in every relationship where things start to get serious. For you and Kris, that point comes in the form of a weekend getaway at a paradise resort. While you have your doubts about the many secrets he holds, there's a part of you that wants the relationship to thrive, to grow into something greater. All great things, however, must be strong enough to withstand a storm and the quickest way to learn of a person's true character is under unfathomable odds. Luckily for you, an island gone dark promises many hardships.

Collab Info;;

The Undead - an EXO12 Collab hosted by @biaswreckingfics ♡

Check out the Masterlist for more great EXO Zombie AU fics!

Warnings;;

Zombies!! + Mafia AU so

Graphic depictions of violence, gore, horror in general, guns Explicit Language!! Explicit Smut!! Thigh riding and fingering, daddy kink

My Networks;; @supermwritersnet

My Masterlist

The jet touches down in Banoi minutes before 6pm, much earlier than scheduled. Despite night fast approaching, the sun is still high and bright in the crystal blue sky. Nary a cloud taints the endless canvas - there aren't even birds floating on the gentle sea breeze.

Stretching your legs without fear of touching the seat in front of you or even coming anywhere near it, a yawn escapes your lips. Travelling by private jet is a level of luxury you never thought you'd experience and yet here you are, as impressed as you are bored.

You tear your gaze from the small glass panel and its view of the Royal Palms Resort. It was a long flight and you want nothing more than to disembark this extravagant tin can and take a gulp of fresh island air, to feel sand beneath your toes as the warm ocean kisses your feet.

The stewardess approaches you. She is smiling. Of course she is - that smile hasn't dropped for the entirety of the flight. You wish it were contagious but it's a weak facade, incapable of eliciting anything close to a spark of emotion within you, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it's all for show. Anxiety twitches her upper lip and her hands shake as she hands you a menu. It's the same menu you've seen a hundred times over the course of the flight.

You've started to hate it.

Just a little.

"Would you care for any refreshments before you leave, ma'am?"

"God, no"—you wave her off—"I'll just have a scotch when we get to the bar."

"Of course, ma'am."

She scurries toward the back just as Yifan comes through the very curtain she's trying to disappear behind. They come close to a collision but he sidesteps her. Towering over her much smaller frame with a look that screams murder, it doesn't surprise you when she quivers. You, too, felt the same way the first time you met him.

On the surface, Yifan is like ice.

It becomes noisy fast; the stewardess is apologising nonstop, the pilot announces you're clear to leave, the bodyguards are shuffling to and fro and you're sighing in relief. There's a hiss as the doors open and a quiet howl rolls in on the breeze. Outside is otherwise silent.

This realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

You can't help but wonder if Yifan somehow managed to buy the island for the weekend. If it were an option, you think he would have. Extravagance is part of his lifestyle, after all, and he likes to display his wealth, flaunt his power, showcase his trophies.

Stretching as you stand, you glance toward the exit. No one else is moving to leave yet, hung up on small details and menial tasks. Even the guards have yet to reach the door, stopping periodically to 'assess the situation'. They're just a bunch of lumbering fools. If a threat appeared, they would only serve as cannon fodder for their boss's escape.

Yifan is calculating. Not cold, but calculating.

He's the type of man that can find a purpose for anyone and everything. Even the worthless can be made useful. You don't find this to be a problem, not really. If anything you can appreciate his quick thinking and impartial approach to problems.

Your issue lies in that you don't know how he views you. Sure, he flew you out to some luxury beach resort in the middle of the ocean for some R&R, but that doesn't mean much. Material things have no real value - they can be replaced, spent, tossed. No matter how much he loves his possessions and his collections, they are not what's important to him.

What is important to him, however, is a mystery to you.

Yifan is a man of many secrets.

Hot on the trail of the security detail, your pace is erratic and sluggish until you finally reach the exit. Even within the shade of the men in front of you, the air is warmer here. Light pours in around them, basking them in an orange glow. There's an urge growing inside you just to push them out of your way, to shove them head first onto the tarmac down below. It's unbecoming of you but you can't shake it loose.

"All clear, boss."

"Thank you for your hard work."

Yifan's smooth voice rumbles deep in his chest as he speaks and you know they've annoyed him. For a brief second you think he might indulge you and help eject them but you know better. Nevertheless, it brings a smile to your lips just imagining how the whole thing might go down. He's much too meticulous to ever give in to baser desires, however.

"Sure thing, boss."

When they don't move, exasperation taints his tone. "Why don't you check the perimeter of the plane?"

"On it, boss."

They descend the airstairs one step at a time, surveying the area all the while. The runway is clear of… everything. There are no other vehicles, aircraft or otherwise. No one is even here to greet you. While you've never travelled in such luxury before, you assumed the service would be better than a commercial flight. Where are the staff members and their welcoming gifts? Who was meant to tell you where to go from here?

Slipping on a pair of shades, Yifan gives the jet one last glance before his Louis Vuitton shoes patter down the stairs. Dirt spirals in the air close to the hangar the jet will soon crawl inside. Despite the tropical palms and the endless beachfront, the concrete is dusty. It leaves a smudge on his pristine black suit.

Warm, moist air tickles the back of your neck and you jump, hand flying up to rub the exhalation off your skin. The stewardess is next to you, eyes wide as she looks out over the island. Mesmerised by the sparkling ocean, she doesn't notice your reaction, your discomfort. Her lips fall open and she inches forward.

"It sure is beautiful here."

"Yeah," you say, stepping aside to give her a better view. "It's paradise, apparently."

"That's an understatement."

"I'm hitting the bar the moment we get inside. How about you?"

At this she takes a step backward, smoothing out her stereotypical attendant outfit and clearing her throat with a slight bow of the head. "I'm here to work. I'll be waiting here until you're ready to leave."

"On the plane?"

"Yes."

"For two whole days?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"What do you mean?"

Sparing a cautionary look at Yifan, you inch closer. "Won't you, like, die? There's only peanuts and wine on this thing and it'll be turned off, won't it?"

"The plane has generators that will be connected to a power source inside the hangar for the duration of your trip and we have a supply of food, water, and other essentials, both for the crew's comfort and for emergencies."

"Is that your flight license training talking?" you tease.

She lights up at the mere mention of it, her eyes twinkling. About halfway through the flight you grew bored of listening to Yifan's business calls and sought out a new companion. It didn't take long before she had opened up to you about her lifelong dream of becoming a pilot. When you're passionate about something, it's hard not to express your love for it.

"Everyone knows that basic crap." It's the actual pilot that speaks, having left his cabin to grab a travel-sized bottle of vodka. "But don't you worry, little lady. Us small folks will manage while you two live it up."

There's animosity in his tone that you equal in your own slapback. "I'm surprised you still have your license, alky."

He is disgusting, both perverse and repulsive. This sentiment is shared between both you and the stewardess. When you take a step away from the man, she follows. He grins, licking his lips while looking you up and down. His eyes linger on your curves and you once more are filled with the desire to lash out.

But you don't.

"Babe, come on," Yifan calls, his steps rattling against the metal stairs as he starts to come back up.

"Well"—you clear your throat before smiling at the attendant and mirroring her own exaggerated expression of enthusiasm—"that's boring. I would simply not stay if I were you."

"Duly noted." The pilot hiccups. He already reeks of alcohol and his cheeks are tinted pink. Reaching for another bottle, he downs the first and drops it onto the ground.

"Not you. If anyone has to stay on the plane, shouldn't it be y-"

"What are you doing? Do you need something?" Yifan asks from behind you. He wraps his arm around your waist. Tilting your chin up, his eyes scour your face, searching for any sign of unease. Between the island's eerie silence and the pilot's obvious alcoholism, you're filled with worry but you hide it well. It's meant to be a vacation and you don't want to dwell on those not worthy of your time.

"Yifan, tell her she doesn't have to stay on the plane."

"I don't care what she does. All I care about is you. So do you want to stay here until I find someone to grab the luggage?"

"Has no one arrived to greet us yet?"

You aren't one to get scared easily but something feels wrong about this whole thing. While you yourself didn't understand how someone in construction could afford such a lavish lifestyle, it didn't change the fact that Yifan had cash to blow. If you were running the resort, you'd prioritise high-spenders. Money talks, after all.

He hums, releasing his hold on you in order to lean out of the jet. "Not yet. We did arrive ahead of schedule though."

"I guess…"

Doubt gnaws at you. It may not be an official airport but surely they would know when a plane arrives. If not by sensors, by sheer visual - a jet is hard to miss.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

"No!" The concern embedded in his words is overshadowed by your adamant exclamation. "I'll go with you."

He opens his mouth to argue but closes it just as fast and you know he just doesn't want an additional issue to deal with before the current one is handled. "Alright, let's go."

There's a crunch underfoot as you disembark. Granules of sand and dirt grind under your shoes. You're glad you chose one of your more casual outfits. When Yifan had told you about this little weekend getaway, you hadn't realised the magnitude of it. Dressed in a hoodie and sweats, you had assumed a long flight in coach awaited you. That assumption bumped up to a long flight in first class when Yifan picked you up in his Porsche while decked out in designer from head to toe.

At least your few sets of designer clothes (mostly gifts from Yifan) are safe in your suitcase. A few more smudges on your tattered sneakers wouldn't hurt and you'd rather your heels be spared the harsh island breeze. Even now salt is accumulating on your face like a second layer of skin. You can taste it whenever you lick your lips. They're dry but not yet as dry as the wind ruffling through your hair.

Trailing behind your steady boyfriend of eight months, you struggle to keep pace with his large, determined strides. After a few minutes, your obvious panting seems to catch his attention and he takes pity on you. He halts, back turned to the sun and casting a shadow you soon stand within. Without saying anything, he gestures toward a back entrance to what looks like the main building and nudges you forward.

Once you're in charge of the pace, the trip is a lot easier. On occasion you point to some of the other buildings, admiring the sleek and modern design. In the distance is a set of "traditional" huts with their own pools and docks. When you point them out, he just nods and tells you that he rented one.

"I thought you said we'd be in the main building?"

"We will be. I didn't know which you'd prefer so I rented both. We can spend a day in each. The staff already confirmed they'd be willing to accomodate."

You scoff. "Seems a bit redundant. Did you also buy the island for the weekend? This place is dead."

"No, but it is kind of nice. Maybe next time."

"Not even you can afford that. There's no way your business is going that well. When I googled it, no new projects came up. Unless you're doing secret, private projects but then you'd have to be doing so many to get any seri-"

"Look." He cuts you off, yanking you backward into his chest. With a huff, you look at your feet and the surrounding area but see nothing. You look ahead, puzzled, only to find more nothing. His arm tightens around your stomach as he inches you backward, putting his body ahead of yours. "The door is open."

While this back door is technically an entrance, it remains locked and secured at all times, requiring an escort and their key card hence why a team is meant to have met you upon landing. There's a doorbell and screen to summon assistance in cases like your own where a guest is locked out. The door is closed just like it should be and even from here you can see the angry red 'no access' warning on the door's fob system. Confusion furrows your brow.

"The employee door, babe."

Following his line of sight, you have to squint to see what he is talking about. Several feet down and almost hidden behind bushes is a second door. It isn't as high-tech or welcoming as the main back door but it is ajar.

"Should we check it out?" You ask, starting to shift your direction.

"Curiosity killed the cat," he chides, realigning your trajectory.

You pout but allow him to lead. Once you reach the back door, he presses the button and you both wait. Shade envelopes you, providing a reprieve from the overactive sun. According to your phone it's nearing 6:30pm. Even so, summer is in full effect and you doubt night will fall for another two hours.

Sweat dampens your forehead. Your hair sticks to your neck. Moisture is welling between your breasts. Trickling down the curve of your spine, you can feel the salty liquid. It's uncomfortable, disgusting. Your trip to the bar will have to be delayed - a long soak, whether in a tub or shower, is your new priority.

Yifan had started to tap his foot after the first minute. By the third, he was pacing. At the exact five minute mark, he starts to push the button every other second. His knuckles rap against the door. When that fails, he yanks on the door and presses on the electronic screen. It indents wherever he touches but it doesn't utilise smart technology, remaining dark and useless.

"I'm not fuc-" He stops, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm not waiting until seven. They should realise we're here."

Your lips twist with mischief as you rock back and forth on the balls of your feet, eyes shifting toward the employee door. "Well there is another way inside."

The wind starts to pick up. Sand swirls within the sudden gust, cutting off the path back to the jet in a miniature tornado of dust. It wouldn't be hard to get through it but you didn't want to deal with the plethora of particles that would taint your hair and clothes and you know Yifan wouldn't either. With a resigned sigh, he nods.

"I guess. Easier than going to the front."

"They shouldn't have left it open if they didn't want people using it," you say, a sing-song lilt in your tone, excited at the prospect of breaking the rules.

"They should've sent someone to greet us," he grumbles while waving the two guards over. They jog through the dust, desperate not to cough and choke on it. Your disgusted frown is replicated on Yifan's face. By the time they arrive, they're not faring well, sputtering while they ask what he needs.

"I want one of you to grab our carry-ons and bring it up to our room. The other is to stay with the plane. Make sure it gets into that hangar."

They salute him and your frown deepens. With an overenthusiastic 'yes, boss!', they take off back toward the jet. Without waiting for them to reach it, Yifan turns his back on them and starts to walk toward the open door. Intrigue bubbles within you. There is something mysterious about seeing a side not meant for the general public's eyes. Would it be just as majestic or was the grandeur just for show, a front to cover a dark underbelly?

"Keep up babe, I don't want you getting lost in there."

"Okay!" you say, skipping up behind him and grabbing the back of his suit jacket. Leaning out toward the side of his protective figure, you count each step until you reach the door.

An ominous vibe rolls outward from the darkness within. Not a single light is on. In fact, there's so little light inside that you cannot make out the shape of the interior room. Is it a hall? A locker room? A break area? There aren't any sounds emanating from within that offer any clues.

All there is is darkness.

"Maybe we shouldn't go in there."

"But you were so eager a second ago." He glances at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Are you scared, princess?"

"Shut up. We should just go to the front."

"Don't worry. Daddy will protect you."

You stare at him in disbelief before groaning at the self-appointed title. "I'll manage on my own, thanks."

Pushing him aside and opening the creaking door just wide enough to shine light inside, you hold back a gag at the putrid stench that rushes out. It's pungent and rotten, like roadkill that has marinated in the sun for a few too many days.

"Oh my God, what is that?"

Sunlight touches the edge of a counter and its metallic, shiny sink. The darkness is much too thick. Like a blanket, it stops any further illumination beyond its veil. Squinting, you take a step inside, both intrigued and nauseated by the overwhelming odour.

"Smells like something died in here," Yifan supplements and you nod, taking another step, nearing the impenetrable curtain of darkness. "Be careful."

Using the hood of your sweater as leverage, he pulls you back into the small circle of light. Gulping, you look back at him. He quirks his brow but is otherwise stoic, cracking his neck before pulling out a face mask from his pocket. After handing it to you, he takes a tentative step beyond the light.

"Wear that. It'll help with the smell. Could you turn your flashlight on?"

It takes you a minute to realise he means the one on your phone. You fumble for it, your pockets somehow much deeper than you remember them being. It's cold to the touch, contrasting your clammy hands. Once you have it free of your sweats, you turn the light on and gasp. The room, now bright under the battery-sucking beam, displays a disturbing sight.

"My God," you whisper, squirming under Yifan's arm until it rests atop your shoulders. "Did they close down or something?"

Remnants of meals litter the sinks and stoves of the kitchen area you've walked into. Cutting boards filled with moldy vegetables and bloody, maggot-infested chunks of steak line the counter tops. Cutlery is strewn across the floor. Bottles of oil lay broken on the ground; their shards reflect your torch's light. Near them are dark puddles where the liquid has congregated.

And inside those thick, gooey puddles are what you can only imagine was once considered meat.

"Without cancelling our reservation first?"

Snapping out of your reverie, you shake off the unease crawling across your skin in the form of bumps and raised hair. "Have you checked your voicemail lately? Or is that just an excuse you give when you don't want to grab milk on your way over?"

He huffs, a tinge of amusement underlying the overall indifference of his demeanour. "They haven't called. Let's just find someone or maybe a flyer or notice. People don't just up and disappear mid-meal prep. There has to be an explanation."

"Yeah, let's."

It's a mistake to go in any further. This you know. Deep in the recesses of your racing mind, you know that something is wrong. You can't stop yourself from clinging to Yifan, handing him your phone so you can instead hold his jacket in both hands. Sinister silence echoes around you, devouring your footfalls and your shallow breathing until the only sound left is the unnatural lack thereof.

Yifan doesn't act affected. His breathing is steady, comforting even. He moves at a snail's pace, giving you ample time to look around and explore the deep, pitch-black crevices in the corners of the room. When you stop, he shines the light toward the direction you're staring in. It slows the process down but it's soothing to know that nothing is lurking, waiting to pounce.

By the time you reach the next door, your legs are shaking. While you don't consider yourself a coward, the unknown hosts an array of possibilities. Fear grips your heart and you have to fight back the urge to upheave the in-flight meal you had a few hours prior. The arm around your shoulder tightens, reassuring you before Yifan pulls the handle.

Compared to the Hell you just passed through, the overabundance of light you are greeted with is a welcome sight. It floods the wide, open-mouthed hallway. To your left and quite far down is the reception area where you should have entered from. It's a large room that swings around and connects to the front entrance of the resort. To your right are a few more doors, an elevator, and a set of double-doors with a tacky sign that reads, 'Beach Entrance'. Next to the door closest to the powered down metal box is an emergency red plaque with the words 'Stair Access' in bold font and 'Basement Access' in a much smaller size.

Pocketing your phone, Yifan tilts his head toward the main desk. "Shall we?"

"Can't wait."

You manage a single step before you stop dead in your tracks. There's some sort of thudding sound coming from one of the storage rooms. After a brief pause you look at Yifan but he just shakes his head, brushing it off. He takes off down the hall, dragging you with him, but your attention remains on the doors to the right. Every few seconds the sound repeats, as if someone is walking into a door or hitting their head against the wall.

Then you see it.

"Yifan!" You hiss, slipping away from him. "Look!"

He groans, both impatient and growing tired. "What?"

"There's something in that room."

"Good. That means it isn't abandoned. Let's hit up the front desk and get our key cards."

"No, there's something wrong with them. They aren't moving right… like they're… I don't know, on a loop or something."

Humouring you (but not without first sighing, impatience chipping away at his manners), he watches the doors. His gaze lingers here and there, checking under a new threshold after a few repetitions of the grating sound. Synchronised with the noise is a shadow. It follows the same pattern. When the thud occurs, the shadow moves close to the door. Then it steps away.

"See it?"

"It's a resort. Can't blame 'em for drinking early."

"That should be me," you mutter, your scotch craving returning in full force, increasing tenfold alongside your nerves.

"Lush."

"What?"

He shrugs off the venom in your question. "Drunkard."

"I barely even drin-"

A metallic clang quiets you. It resonates, bouncing from wall to wall within the stairwell. When the sound settles in the bowels of the hotel, you walk forward. After several long seconds of waiting for the sound to continue like the one behind the door had, Yifan steps in front of you, shielding you behind his lanky frame.

"I'll lead."

You throw your hands up in mock resignation. Despite the small distance, it takes a lifetime to reach the stairwell. Paranoia claws at your gut. Every few feet you look behind you. Keeping your back to the endless hall and the atrium it houses is a tactical disadvantage. Given the absolute lack of life within the hotel's walls, you would hear someone approach… but you can't shake the feeling that it wouldn't be enough, that a single second's notice could be the difference between escape and certain death.

Somewhere deep in the back of your mind you hope the stairwell is locked.

You've never been very lucky though.

Yifan's slender fingers wrap around the handle, pushing it open just enough to peer inside. Your own view is blocked. Seconds pass by while he just stares. There's a growl from high above. It rolls down the stairs in pursuit of the sudden influx of fresh air. The door creaks open further. You shiver.

"What's happening?"

"There's something a few floors up."

"Do you think it's a staff member or guest?"

"An animal."

"Is it hurt?"

He pauses before he answers, weighing his options. "No."

"Liar."

"Stay behind me. It sounds big."

"How big?"

He shrugs before ushering you into the pitch black stairwell. When he hears you patting yourself down, he returns your phone and you're quick to turn the torch on. First you flash it onto him, bathing him in artificial light. It's comforting. His visage, as smooth and suave as ever, offers a sort of normalcy in an otherwise odd situation. Then you check the lower floor.

You see nothing.

So you check the upper levels.

An endless spire towers overhead.

"How many floors does this place have?"

"A lot."

The trek upward starts strong but soon your pace slackens, forcing Yifan to follow suit. Once more an uncomfortable layer of sweat accumulates in the well of your back. After the fourth floor an odour starts to waft around you. You're self-conscious about it, going as far as sniffing your hoodie. By the sixth you're both scrunching your noses, revulsion twisting your features. A gag clutches at your throat and you dry heave.

"Fuck, that's awful."

"It's the same as the kitchen." He coughs, trying to eject the acrid scent from his mouth. "Wear the mask again."

It's when you're fumbling through your pockets for the thin patch of fabric that you hear it: an ear-splitting scream. While you're no expert, the dainty, high pitch resembles that of a child. Shivers tear down your spine. Your mind is telling you to run, to protect, and yet you're frozen to the spot.

Yifan is quicker to respond, climbing the remaining stairs between the sixth and seventh floors in a few leaps. Upon reaching the door, however, he doesn't enter. Instead he presses his ear to it and listens.

With your heart beating a million miles an hour and damn near thudding out of your chest, you raise your flashlight off his cautious stature and toward the guttural moaning floating down to you from much higher in the spire.

You're transfixed.

Squinting against the straining dark for a single glimpse of what could make such a noise, your breath catches in your throat. It seems almost surreal, no, it's absurd really. Impossible. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you. That's all it was. That's all it could be. An illusion or a hallucination brought on by dehydration.

And yet the way it hangs above you seems so real.

And the way its eyes watch you seem so life-like.

"Babe." You scream in shock at his unexpected shout. Whipping around to face Yifan, you place your hand on your chest all while panting. His eyes shine under the light's influence and he looks up into the darkness before cautiously asking if you're alright.

"Yeah, I just-"

Another scream, this time not your own but rather the child's.

"Come on," Yifan commands, dismissing the panic in your voice as nothing more than childish, like one's fear of boogeyman.

In your state of trepidation, you didn't realise the door was propped open. Yifan holds it ajar with his foot while beckoning you, urging you back to his side. Strangled sobs pour through the empty space, no longer hindered by the solid metal barrier.

Within a few short steps you're peering through the gap. There's luggage sprawled across the floor and just beyond a mountain of suitcases is a child. All you can see is their leg; it's red. Scarlet blood paints their skin in a dark hue and stains the carpet around them.

"Oh God," you murmur, falling into step behind Yifan as he runs toward the child.

"Hey, are you okay?"

He kicks a luggage cart out of his way. It rattles down the hall and with it gone, he stands over the child. You hear her soft sobs before you can get a good look at her as his long limbs pull her to her feet. Scooping the small girl into his arms, Yifan cradles her against his chest.

Her pink outfit is tarnished with grime. When she pulls her head away from the comfort of his shoulder, her cheeks are stained by a layer of dirt. The tears that rush free from an endless faucet leave a visible trail in their wake.

"What happened to you? Did someone hurt you?" Yifan asks, intent to pry a response out of the trembling girl.

No matter how he phrases his questions, she doesn't budge. All she does is stare at you. No, beyond you. It's as if she's looking right through you. With her glassy, unwavering blue eyes, she watches the other end of the hall.

In your rush to check on the girl, neither you nor Kris had checked the other side.

Your neck creaks as you turn.

The girl's breath staggers.

Yifan checks her for injuries.

Hungry growls waft toward you.

Their lifeless eyes watch you.

"-bitten?"

His voice is like a tether.

You don't dare to look away from what lurks down the hall.

"They're dead."

"What?"

Yifan's attention pulls away from the girl, looking toward the small crowd forming a hundred feet away. Most are in summer wear ranging from bikinis and boardshorts to sarongs and flowery t-shirts. Much like the girl, their bodies are covered in varying contaminants with the most notable being blood. The darkest spots are accompanied by open wounds. Their skin is torn and serrated, often oozing thick clots. Where the flesh is loose and hanging by the thread is a glimmer of white.

Right down to the bone, they've been-

Bitten.

Just like the weeping girl in Yifan's arms.

Except she isn't crying anymore.

She's dead silent.

[Part Two]

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