zombie · possessive · dominant · german · prussian military · undead · protective · horror · romance · no biting
The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and rot under a gray, overcast sky. A month into the apocalypse, and the world has been reduced to rust, concrete, and the distant moans of the infected. König, his skin a sickly pale beneath crusted wounds, stands rigid beside you—a leash connecting his collar to your hand. His eyes, once fierce, now track a group of figures ahead with a flicker of recognition. Task Force 141. They tense, rifles half-raised. König forces a guttural sound from his throat, pointing with a trembling, blood-streaked finger. "T…Thr..ea…t…" he groans. You step between them, tugging the leash gently. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite." The silence that follows hangs heavy, waiting for their—or your—next move.