PASTRY OF THE DAY ! : Weed Brownies 🍃 Sebastianx M!Reader
DESCRIPTION ! : While trying to get absolutely baked, Sebastian asks a recurring question. This time around, you can't help but give in.
INGREDIENTS ! : FTM!Reader, Weed, Casual Relationsip, Friends with Benefits, Mentions of Past Surgeries (Keyhole and Phalloplasty), Friends to More?, Very Intimate Blowjob
A/N: HAPPY PRIDE MONTH gay azzez.... SORRY FOR ANY INACCURACIES- I TRIED MY BEST TO RESEARCHHHH AOFIGAWIUFE I'll probably make a part 2 if this does okay........
In the dim lighting of Sebastian’s room, you lay on the floor, blunt hanging precariously between your middle and index finger. Above you, smoke swirls in the air, creating a misty haze as it gathered. You inhale deeply, your mind already fogged by the weed you and your best friend were smoking, though still somewhat lucid.
“Damn…” You mumbled as the ceiling began to almost spin before your eyes. A nauseating feeling took hold of you the longer you stared; you had to look away, instead turning your head to stare at Sebastian, on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as you had been.
“Where’d you get this shit?” You asked with words slightly slurred.
He huffed out some smoke and shrugged his shoulders, lax and lazy. “I just bought it from one of the vendors at the night market...” he coughed as he sat up, hanging his head down for a moment.
Looking over, you could see the way he was mulling over something, the silence he carried gaving you a sneaking suspicion that maybe he didn't just want to get high with you.
“... Hey, (Y/N)?”
“Hm?” You gave a quiet hum.
“You…. give any thought to friends with benefits?”
This again, huh?
You sighed, bringing the blunt to your lips and taking a hit slowly. You let the silence go on for a bit longer as you exhaled, smoke escaping from your lips and into the cold air of Sebastian's room. Momentarily, you watched as it curled, joining the mist already accumulated at the ceiling, which made you reminisce despite your hazy mind.
…
Over the past few months of your and Sebastian’s friendship, you had tried to woo him into something more, but Sebastian, as he put it, ‘... I just can’t see myself being in a relationship like that. I mean, I’ve tried before, but they never really worked out...’ Then he’d bring up something more casual, like maybe being friends with benefits because there'd be less commitment with the added bonus of the occasional fuck, of course.
And although you did want to fuck him—and that may be one of the main reasons why you confessed in the first place—being stuck being friends with benefits with him just felt wrong to you.
That and you weren’t exactly all that comfortable exposing yourself that way, even after you had done all the gender affirming care you could to feel comfortable in your own skin; the thought of actually using your penis months after getting your phalloplasty and subsequently a prosthesis? It still scared you more than you’d like to admit. Especially since you haven’t told anyone in Stardew Valley about being a trans man—you didn’t owe anyone that anyway.
…
As the silence dragged on longer, you thought about what to say. After a few seconds of building tension, you finally gave a response: “I’m still not sure I can be that… for you.”
Sebastian lifts his head and lies down on his side, looking down at you. You lock eyes with him as he does so. “Can't we…” his eyes flickered away for a moment, “... At least try or something?”
You went quiet again, turning your head back at the ceiling. You exhaled and slowly stood up, wobbling a bit as you plopped onto the bed with Sebastian, sitting at the foot of his bed. He looked at you wide-eyed when you straddled him
“Try?” You muttered, eyes lidded as you gave him what he could only describe as a sultry look.
Whether it was the drugs talking or you finally didn’t give a fuck about those past fears and insecurities, your body had moved before you even had the chance to overthink again.
He stared up at you, flushed, while he anticipated what you'd do next.
And damn did that look change something in you right then and there.
You lean down and press a kiss onto Sebastian’s lips. He shudders, moaning softly against you as his eyes fall shut, indulging in what you were so graciously giving him.
Sebastian pulled you down with his arms around your neck, groaning as you moved your leg over to straddle him, your crotch pressed up against his growing erection.
You ground down shamelessly, your clothed penis pressed right against his own hardness. A quiet whimper slips past his lips. You smile at the pathetic sound and put your hands on his shoulders, pulling away to whisper a gentle tease into his ear, "You're so eager..."
Maybe a part of you really did anticipate this—that Sebastian would be so desperate he’d basically beg you to hook up with him, just this once, even if it ends with a broken friendship and not a friends with benefits situation.
Though from the way Sebastian’s staring at you, it’s most likely he’ll stay.
Either way, it was your call.
Right now, though? There was only one thing on your mind, and that was fucking your emo friend.
You let out a breathy moan as you humped Sebastian's boner, getting yourself going before you'd undress. Sebastian reacts with a disgruntled groan, his sensitivity probably heightened by the weed—same as you.
Taking advantage of this, you continued your humping and grinding while you got more handsy with him, your hands slipping under his hoodie, feeling up his happy trail, before tracing his V-line upwards, moving away from where you knew he wanted you the most.
He was unsurprisingly submissive under you, but maybe that was just the weed again. You’re blaming it all on the weed, like a responsible man should.
Just as you thought that, though, you felt Sebastian's hands on your hips, pulling you forward, making you grind harder against him.
With an amused smirk, you took his hands and guided them up your shirt.
You kept your eyes on his, observing the way he watched you leading his palms over your chest, and when the pads of his fingers felt your pebbled nipples, he couldn't help but moan.
Pleasure shot through you as you bit your lip to hold back a whine.
"Touch me, Sebby..." you whispered in a single breath as you let go of his hands.
In a way, this was you silently telling him to take over, to indulge in what he's been craving for so long.
It clicked in his mind the moment your needy voice ordered him to lay his hands on you. An overwhelming heat took hold of him as he moved with purpose, pulling off your shirt before taking off his own hoodie.
"Can you lie down for me?" He asked as he started to unbutton his pants.
With a grin and a chuckle, you nodded, "Mhm..." You got off of Sebastian and crawled further into the bed, and laid on your back, your head on his pillows with your pants still on.
The cool air of Sebastian's room sent a pleasant chill up your spine.
You felt the buzz of pleasure all over your body, leaving you aching to touch yourself, but you wanted Sebastian to do that, to have his hands all over your skin, exploring you... You just hoped he wouldn't notice the subtle scarring under your areolae or the other, much more obvious scarring on your inner thigh once he had you bare.
As Sebastian discarded his pants and boxers, your eyes zeroed in on his hard cock. It was definitely bigger than yours. Oddly enough, seeing it not only turned you on but made you feel envious. You should have asked for a longer size for yourself, but oh well.
"Mh..." you groaned as Sebastian unbuttoned your pants now, his hands slightly shaky.
Licking his lips, he raised his head, looking at you. You met his eyes and nodded your head.
With your permission, he pulled down your pants along with your boxers, revealing your own hardened dick, standing proud and awaiting to be touched. Your breath hitched as you watched Sebastian lean in to kiss the tip of your cock lovingly; the sensation alone wasn’t all that pleasurable, but watching Sebastian fondling your dick was enough of a substitute for that.
You wondered how it’d feel cumming from being fucked in the ass. Sure, you’ve done some self-exploration, but you were never able to cum untouched, relying on more stimulation from your other toys. Suddenly, your mind was wandering, your heart missing a beat from anxiety rather than the man sucking you off.
What if you disappointed Sebastian? What if neither of you got off?
You let out a shaky moan, but the noise sounded fake in your ears, perhaps to Sebastian’s too, as you watched the way his brows knitted together, and not in concentration. That didn’t help your anxieties at all.
Looking away from him only served to worry Sebastian more; you felt him pull off from your dick in an act of sudden sobriety. You could hear the sheets ruffling as he repositioned himself to sit more comfortably between your legs. In a silent understanding, he put a hand on your thigh, right on top of your graft scar.
Maybe he read your mind, or maybe you were too obvious, but these maybes didn’t really matter when Sebastian spoke.
“Hey… we don’t have to continue this if you don’t feel comfortable.”
You didn’t give him any response right away, instead bracing yourself for the big question you knew was sitting at the tip of Sebastian’s tongue
“Are you…” There it was, the unfinished question, the lingering word that you’d have to fill in, ‘Trans?’
All you could muster was a nod, “I am.”
You weren’t ashamed. For years, the fact that you were a transgender man never made you feel an ounce of shame, especially after you got all these damn surgeries… But being perceived while in your most vulnerable made everything feel like a crushing weight on the foundation you had built for yourself.
Suddenly every scar on your body felt too obvious, burning under Sebastian’s gaze.
You were expecting something from him: rejection, pity, even him being turned off.
But he didn’t show any of that, and it was stupid of you to even think that.
He reached a hand out to cup your cheek, gently easing you to meet his gaze, “But, you do want this, right?” He asked.
And you stared, your breathing slowing as your mind’s racing came to a sudden stop. You did want this. You want to fuck Sebastian—to mess up your fucking friendship. You wanted this.
So you nodded your head again.
But that wasn’t enough for him: “I need ya to speak, [Y/N]…”
It almost made you roll your eyes. “I do want this,” you said nonetheless.
Finally satisfied with your answer, Sebastian’s lips curled into a smirk. You’d wipe that off soon, but you remained lying in bed, closing your eyes as he got back down to business, his hand already stroking your hardened cock.
Embarrassingly, you found yourself bucking your hips every time his strokes reached the base of your cock, your hands fisted into the sheets as you tried to stop yourself, even as your mind—already hazy from the dang weed—was already giving in to your desires.
Taking note of that, Sebastian focused his efforts there, lowering his head to kiss a line from the tip of your cock down to your balls, "You like it here?" He mumbled against your sensitive flesh.
With a grunt, you nodded your head. "Hng... yeah. I'm more sensitive the closer to... mmh-" unable to properly finish your sentence, Sebastian smirked, evident against your cock.
"I'll keep that in mind then," he said before he raised his head.
As you opened your eyes to watch him, you found piercing obsidian meet (E/C), an intimate moment of perception as he took your cock into his mouth in a slow, almost teasing—and albeit clumsy—show. It made you wonder if Sebastian was a virgin; then again, anyone can be experienced if you've done some self-love frequently enough.
He suckled at your tip, maintaining that hypnotizing gaze. It made you want to fuck into his mouth, but you managed to hold back. Another moan slips past your lips as he lowers himself, bobbing his head to slobber up more of your cock's length inch by inch. He looked like he was prepared for this moment, and it sent a pleasant shiver down your spine and right to your core.
"Damn—" You sucked in a sharp breath when he wrapped his cold hand back around the base of your cock, giving you some more needed stimulation, though you were sure you'd be able to cum just from Sebastian's mouth. So hot and wet inside... so good around your sex.
Your senses were already heightened, but this new sensation of a mouth around your dick had you living the dream. Maybe you really should have agreed to that friends-with-benefits thing a long time ago. Just as your mind began to wander, Sebastian was already moving his head faster, bobbing up and down, and at the same time giving the remainder of your cock some much-needed strokes, going by observation as he pressed against a specific spot at the underside of where the skin of your balls began.
"Shit—shit! Seb—" You gasped as you bucked your hips, unable to stop yourself any longer as your mind grew hazier and hazier. High off weed and pleasure, you broke Sebastian's gaze and closed your eyes shut, moaning even louder as you felt the black-haired male gag around you. Regardless, he kept going, the hand stroking you moving faster and faster, helping you to chase your release; Sebastian was eager to see you come apart completely by his own hands.
It was almost humiliating how sensitive you were getting. How could Sebastian get you to this state when you, a few weeks ago, could barely get your dick to stand, let alone get off with it without missing the direct access to your clit.
As Sebastian pressed down harder on that specific spot, you felt the heat at your core come to a ceremonious climax, throwing your head back as you came, your hand buried in Sebastian's hair, gripping his raven strands harshly, pushing him down on you, and unintentionally making him take all of your cock.
You feel Sebastian's shaky breath against your lower abdomen, slowly letting go of his hair as your arm falls slack. He pulls off of you a bit later, panting softly, but audibly. You open your eyes to look at him, looking disheveled and so damn fuckable.
Without wasting any time, you lifted yourself up, your hand reaching out as you tugged Sebastian down by his collar, dragging him down and into another messy kiss. He kisses back with reckless abandon, his hands on either side of your head, holding himself above you, caging you below him.
The kiss is an intense flurry of pleasure and desire, and lots of wet sucking, leaving you absolutely breathless and lightheaded- the perfect mix to have you wanting more.
"Mhh..." You grunted when Sebastian pulled away, catching his breath before he actually passed out from lack of oxygen.
"... Would it be too much to keep going?" He asked when his breathing finally evened out.
You chuckle at the question, your hand still holding the fabric of Sebastian's shirt collar. "No... I want you to keep going." A small smirk grew on your lips as you spoke.
Pairing: mlm ;; Damian Wayne x Reader
Tags: somewhat angst, fluff, wholesome, damian opening up, established friendship, sort of a slow burn, platonic / romantic interpretation, Male reader.
(Summary: Damian's struggling with an art project where he has to define who makes him feel safe, that's when u come in the picture <3)
2.4k words.
Despite what Ra's al ghul had told him in great detail, (Damian had asked once, a product of curiosity after reading one of the many poems that mentioned such whom lined the league's expansive library) that hell was a fiery, unyielding afterlife that proved hideously torturous..
.. This art project may have, somehow, proved to be a fate worse than eternal damnation.
The prompt was laughably childish on paper. He was amused, even, listening as his teacher began to explain this next projects theme and criteria.
"What is safety to you?"
Oh, please, he wasn't a child anymore.
I mean, really!! Safety!! Dont make him laugh. He could do a hundred different things. Even his fellow art class acquaintances could draw something with their eyes closed!! He could take this a million different ways—ways literally, metaphorically, rhetorically, emotionally, humorously..and every other possible word that ended with -ly he could think of!!
He could draw a safety cone to represent how safe he feels on the road of life (he'd turn it into something sentimental somehow) , he could draw a sword to represent literal safety behind a weapon, he could draw goliath, (because a pet dragon bat, would, logically, make anybody feel safe) for crying out loud!!
Then came the bombshell.
"And who is safety to you?"
..huh?
It was that additional clarification that had him in the art studio during the lunch break, hunched over his blank canvas, pencils scattered across the multi-media (there was an engraved recreation of the fall of icarus on the table corner—he didn't even ask how or why anymore) abused table, composition sketches crumpled and tossed like scraps..
And not a single idea of what to do in sight.
He rocked, he thought, he pulled open his own sketchbook, searching for something to no avail, then came the manga, searching for inspiration, for a spark to set his creativity alight—every artists dream chain reaction.
And nothing still.
"Uff!" He's huffy before he even knows it. He pushes away from the table, his stool groaning against the cement floor.
His face feels hot. His lips are a thin undefined line that shiver the more he thinks of how empty his head feels right now. He paces through the studio, head in his shaking hands. Why cant he think? Why wont it make any sense? Did the universe have to choose something so obscene to challenge him with artistically and honestly?
The exposed infrastructure of the ceiling hummed rhythmically, a steady metronome to force his thoughts to succumb to—something to ground him before his brain began to run faster than he could emotionally manage.
The tapping of shoes outside and the noise serves as a mocking jest, a reminder that he could be doing anything else right now—eating, at least, during lunch!—but he was mentally bound here by his own insistence and his brain's lack of cooperation.
"You're so talented, damian! A real artist, you are!" A voice from a memory recalled to him.
Sure, what "an artist" he was.
As he returns to face his canvas again, hands dropping to his sides, they begin to ball into bunched blossoms of fists.
"a—mee—ann?"
He feels this surge of anger, of vulnerability he cannot exactly confine to his little frame.
What was safety if not something he believed was an obligation bound, not by respect and love, but by blood and adoption papers that commanded he feel so?
"Day—mee—in."
Safety? What a joke. A fad. Something people say that's meant to make you feel warm, but how could you ever feel warm, when your the most outside an outsider could be?
"Damian!!"
He jumps when he feels you tap his shoulder.
When did—?
He stares at you, eyes wide, his eyes shrinking then dilating, as if little stones of jade carried the pulse and turmoils of a heart. His fingers are no longer pushed into the tender flesh of his palm. The area begins to pulse, his nerves tingling with a scathing afterburn. When he glances down breifly, he notices the small halfmoons denting his flesh.
He feels hyper aware of how close you're leaning toward him, and what you just walked in on.
He feels his face flush slightly.
But you have more pressing matters to address—"there you are! and I thought you didn't wanna hang out anymore, dami," you find yourself laughing a little.
He never understood your gregariousness.
You straighten up, looking around. The room is empty. No surprise, its lunch. Your eyes fall back to his canvas, how hes the only occupant and sign of life in this room that isn't the intricately decorated cobweb peppered with black dots that crawled across the ceiling sometimes (legend has it that the brood mother scared the janitor of all people.)
"So, what're you up to? Productive, I see?" You tease a little, and you dont miss the way he blushes slightly before rolling his eyes and looking away.
"What's it to you?" As much as he tries to muster some bite into his tone, he is unable to around you. Where he imagined his firmness as a snap and done sort of ordeal, he sounds like a grumpy, wet cat given human form and a teenage boy's voice.
"Uh-huh, very productive," you muse as you make your way round the table, your swaying overly groggy and exaggerated before yanking a stool from under the table and sit down parallel to him.
Your eyes meet his blank canvas, and he knows you dont hide the way your eyebrows raise and your shock is perfectly visible. "Working overtime?" You muse.
"Something like it."
He stares at the canvas again. It irks him again. His eyebrows furrow as he tries to steel his face into something that wasn't an outright scowl—scaring you off was something that made him feel uneasy.
You tilt your head, smiling a little. Damian's always been someone who was startlingly disciplined. It was almost charming, the way he was so hyper focused on such a specific task and intended on performing at the best, most effective way possible. You learned that much about him, curiously, when you were both paired together for the first time in the project that began your friendship.
You raise your legs till you sat cross legged on the stool.
When he looks back up to you, seeing you cross your legs and looking at him with that look, he isn't sure why, at first, and hes sure it's likely delirium after starving himself trying to think of a decent idea to at least put down to the canvas..
..but the image Hailey, dick's dog of all things, flashes before his eyes in your place.
And suddenly, it makes sense. The way you were so social, your wandering antics, the way people seem drawn to you, your clinginess..
The mental image of you being a litter of puppies in a trench coat became the bane of his existence.
And—as if he were replaced with an entirely different person within a matter of seconds—He cracks a smile, then he looks away to stop himself from laughing.
A giggle escapes anyhow.
"You're.. " he stares at you, biting his inner cheek to quit stifling a joy that was so foreign it was frightening, "You're one weird guy, you know,"
You stare, bewildered. Such an odd thing to say. "Am I, now?" And suddenly, your laughing too.
And for a moment, damian feels good. Damian feels wonderful, even. The stress had shaved away, somewhat. He felt as close to normal, as acceptable for someone like him, as he could get.
When the laughter dies down slowly, you pull out your English book, plopping it firmly down. He raises an eyebrow.
"And whatre you doing?"
"Cant leave you all alone, can I?"
He stares at the way your head bows, the way your shoulders hunch and you lean vigilantly over your copy book, already beginning to write away like he wasn't here anymore.
He stares back at his canvas. Blank. The white so luminously clean he would make out every fine little gray hair of the canvas cloth.
He sighs, burying his head in his hands again.
Fuck.
You glance up again, putting your pencil down. "Stuck?"
You both know the answer.
Slowly, he nods, shoulder sagging, deflating like two sad balloons. "..I.. dont know what to do."
You hum momentarily, then, the idea hits you spontaneously, and he knew so by the way your eyes seemed to capture the art studio's lights like stars (was his heart beating faster? He felt his face run red)
"Well, I have an idea."
— — —
" 'Draw someone who reminds me of something I like?' ?" He repeats your words back at you, both of you facing each other, one on one now, his sketchbook open to a fresh, blank page on his lap and a pencil in his hands.
You nod, "uh huh. Nothing fancy, just.. someone."
He stares skeptically, lips pulled down, confused. "..this seems counterproductive—"
You flap your hands and gesture mindlessly. "Quit stalling! Work, man!!"
He thinks, reluctantly.
Who was this..someone?
He began to sift through the people he knew, to wonder about who felt similarly to him. Who were the people who he felt closer to, because of a mutual feeling? A mutual desire? A mutual enjoyment? And not someone who he liked, no less, but someone who reminded him of said interest.
"I've always liked superman cause he reminds me of a bomb pop."
It was sudden, and it made his head snap up, looking at you with an unidentifiable expression that had a million things going through his face right now as he stared at the boy before him.
"..a bomb pop?"
"Yup." And just like that, you elaborate. "I mean, the red reminds me of cherries, and I love cherries. Their so..tart, you know? But like, a good tart!! And sweet. The blue is the blue raspberry, that's self explanatory..."
He isn't sure why, but its helping a lot.
"And the white? Where does that go on the superman suit?" He asks, eyes trained on the paper before him.
"The lime, duh! You know, lemon juice and lime juice are practically the same."
He stifles a smile. "And is that why you like superman? No other reason?"
"Hm..I guess the saving humanity parts also cool too.." you hum jokingly. You both laugh a little at that. "Bomb pops are good for the summer, but god I couldn't even eat it fast enough before that shit starting melting."
Damian laughs a little, nodding along in accordance. He feels a little livelier, and you can see the way he sits a little closer, leans a little more forward, betraying that perfectly upright posture for something looser.
"Back when I was in Abu Dhabi, you had 2 minutes at best."
It was one of the fonder memories of the league of assassins. Whenever Ra's treated him to a trip to the nearby bodegas of the city. He still remembered the old wedding tune Ra's would hum when they drove anywhere. The way Abu always sulked in the backseat as a strangely comforting shadow who had to hide a smile when damian showed off his bag of treats in the summer heat..
It made him feel a little bittersweet.
He swallowed thickly. His eyes stinging? No. Just a figment of his imagination. He exhaled slowly as his hands flicked pencil lines over the figure slowly being assembled with graphite.
"And I like the janitor, he reminds me of an old beagle." You add on.
That stifles a snort. "I liken him to my father,"
That gets you. "Bruce Wayne? To our old, creaky janitor?" You sit up straight now, bewildered and alive, as if he'd dumped you in cold water.
Damian rolled his eyes, "the paparazzi know nothing," he mused. "Its a wonder they never caught baba's knees creaking on audio." The word baba slips out naturally, which he wishes to take back—but the word pays you so little mind, as if the word that carried the world's most intimate weight to him was something you accepted instantaneously, a fact as simple as him liking ice cream, for instance.
"Your dad too?! Oh, dont get me started about how my dad's back hurts EVERY. OTHER. DAY!! How does collapsing on a recliner with popcorn pull a muscle?!"
Damian's shaking now, his pencil lines, usually pristine and delicately controlled, were now wobbly, abstractly placed wherever. Hes trembling from the newfound (not exactly new—you've always had a tender spot in his heart) kinship that sets you both laughing like children.
"Baba's practically primordial," he adds, grinning, "dont fall for that Brucie Wayne they keep pushing to you. Hes an old, old man. Emphasis on old."
"Oh, man, if you ever meet my dad, dont let him start spewing the whole 'I was a lady killer in my day..' bull. Pure. Bull."
You both grin at each other like children.
"That reminds me of grayson—my brother—oh. Never, I mean, never ask him about his love life,"
Hes pleasantly surprised to find you completing his sentence. "Oh, boy—I never ask anymore. It just goes on and on and on—like holy hell!!"
"At some point, you practically feel like you got roped into being some marriage counselor for someone who isn't even married."
"Right?! But the advice they give works like magic!!"
"The advice you get," he clarified. "The advice I get would get me sent to therapy."
"Oh please, anyone who attends this shit ass school needs therapy to graduate,"
You both start laughing again.
When he looks up to see you, that carefree smile, the way your head is thrown back as your body shivers with laughter. Maybe it's the way your laugh is so silly, so stupidly joyous and infectious in the moment that has his woes slipping away like water from cupped fingers.
He feels fuzzy. He feels something warm blooming within the confines of his ribcage, swelling like a balloon that pushes around his organs. The feeling is alien—but he grows to enjoy it. It feels like affection. Like the soft sprinkles of daylight seeping through blackened after a heavy storm.
Safety, what was safety?
Was it this? Was it yearning to live in this moment forever, where everything feels like it'll be accepted without judgement? Was it finally finding solace in someone who sought his presence for legitimate friendship, and never out of what they felt was an obligation?
Because if that's what safety was, to him, then it felt right.
He feels his face flush, he stares at the notebook, then puts it aside. The face of whoever he drew mattered no longer anymore.
He didn't need anymore excercises to stimulate his brain.
He knew what safety was, he knew what he wanted to draw.
SWEET TREAT OF THE WEEK ! : Any Character x GN!Reader
A/N: found this in my notes, thought I should share teeeheeeeee~~
In the early mornings of Sunday, you groggily opened your eyes, squinting as the sun glared at you with its bright rays. You let out an audible groan and turned around into a warm body. You smiled to yourself and nuzzled into your lover’s neck, arms tucked between you and their chest.
They hummed, enveloping you in their embrace, equally unrelenting to the taunting glare of the morning sun.
“Five more minutes?” They asked as they pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.
You nod your head, inhaling deeply the lingering scent of their favorite perfume/cologne.
In turn, they nuzzle their nose against your hair and sigh in contentment. “M’kay…” They replied, mouth opening wide as they let out the softest of yawns. “Ha… You’re lucky it’s a Sunday.”
A chuckle slips past your lips as you lean in and press a kiss onto their shoulder, mumbling sleepily against them, “I feel twice as lucky spending it with you.”
They all but chuckled, rolling their eyes as they rubbed gentle circles at the space between your shoulder blades, their hands now lowering to under your armpits.
“Whaddya want today…? Coffee or hot choco?” Your lover asked as they used the leverage of their hold to pull you on top of them. You plop down without protest, lying on your stomach, looking down at them.
A contemplative look replaced your sleepy one as you gave the question quite some thought, your eyes closing, brows furrowing.
“Pffft—“ Your lover snickered, “You gaining a new brain wrinkle?”
You shush them and hide your face in their neck, “Gimme some… uhh… yes.”
“Yes?” They sighed, leaning their head back against their pillow as their arms tightened around your frame. “I’ll make both then, greedy, greedy…”
You laughed, then, taking another deep inhale, you relaxed completely atop your lover, ready to fall back asleep again.
Hii I'm not sure if you take requests since I can't find anything on your page about it, but if you don't then feel free to ignore this lol
Can I please request a Lilia x Diasomnia!M!Reader? It can be any type of fanfic your heart desires, I just really need a Lilia x M!reader fic 😭 Thank you!!
(sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my first language :p)
omggg I'm so sorry anonnn I don't take requests ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡
but i will take this as a suggestion......... I have no idea when I'll finish it thoo crycryyyyyy
Oh gods that fic you wrote was so delightfully hot. I loooovvveeee seeing dom bottoms and sub tops, like yesssss twist (aha) those roles! I’m non-binary myself but reading your fic felt so gender affirming regardless of the genitalia (I suppose because there were no gendered pronouns that I saw at least). Like oougghhhhhhh Vil I love him so much your honor!!!!
Love the work, 🪼 anon
(˚˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) thank you for yoru kind words 🪼 anon !!!
tbh I was rlly shy abt posting this fic hehe... I spent like 2 weeks writing it and then one more just revising it AARRGGHHHH (but I'm so happy ppl r enjoying it....)
NOW I'M COOKING UP ANOTHER FIC SO I HOPE YALL WILL ENJOY IT TOO
THANK YOU FOR WRITING TWST X MALE READER!!! I CANT EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN HOW LONG IVE BEEN SEARCHING FOR A GOOD X M!READER FIC! THANK YOU THANK YOU THABKYOUTHANKYOUTHABKYOY!!!
HEHEHEHE NO PROBLEM AT ALLLLL I’VE BEEN HAVING THE SAME PROBLEMMMMM I’M HAPPY TO CONTRIBUTEEEEEE RAHHHHH
PASTRY OF THE DAY ! : Heart-Shaped Jam Tarts 🫀 Vil x M!Reader
DESCRIPTION ! : You’ve been serving a certain regular for a few nights now, little did you know, his intentions on seeing you weren’t quite as pure as they seemed. It’s too bad you’re too into it to complain.
A/N: totally didnt like imagine this while listening to a certain katy perry song.... hweuhuehuehue....
Human blood isn't by any means a delicacy for vampires. Of course it isn't, there were many humans to pick and drain their blood from after all. However, Vil Schoenheit, with all his luxurious needs, had specific cravings he had to satisfy. Unluckily for you, your blood was just right for his palate from your smell alone, and far too enticing not to have a taste of.
He met you at a Michelin-starred restaurant, a more experienced server who always had everything under control and a suavity when tending to your customers. Vil was hooked immediately the night you first served him. Your smile was so charming and polite, and when he asked you to pour him a glass of your best wine, you did so without any effort at all.
He watched hungrily as your muscles flexed under your work shirt's sleeve, imagining how you'd taste if he bit into your biceps right here, right now. You’d probably taste heavenly, as heavenly as your scent.
Vil felt the undeniable craving to drain you of all your sweet blood, just like the alcohol you so effortlessly filled his glass with—gone with haste to sate his drooling tongue.
...
With that goal set in stone, he finally decided enough was enough and made his first move, pouncing on his beloved prey. Yes, Vil Schoenheit may be a patient man, but patience was a virtue, and he was no virtuous vampire when it came to humans he wanted.
At first, you were scared, terrified, even. But you couldn’t deny the throb of your cock as he pressed you against the hard brick wall, well-kept, smooth hands at your neck as he stared at you with pupils fully dilated.
"Hush, my darling… I'm simply here to… dine in and feast on your restaurant's special meal of the night." His tone was sultry, almost slurring his words.
You had been ambushed by the pretty blonde in the alleyway while you were trying to throw the garbage. Despite the absolute fear running through your veins, you felt this allure to him. You fell right into his trap, yet instead of fighting back, you were baring your neck as an offering.
Vil made no attempt at a charm nor did he cast any vampiric magic at all, and yet here you are, willingly showing him your throat; you even spoke in that sweet 'professional' tone of yours, made even more endearing by your stutters.
"Ah… th-then please enjoy your meal, sir." And who was he to deny you?
Now that you’ve given him such explicit permission to feed off of you, he couldn’t help but fall even harder, "Oh, if you insist, (Name)…"
Vil pressed against you, feeling the way your thick cock was straining against your slacks, sandwiched by his lower abdomen. Gods, he must have you.
Without any more honeyed words, he leaned in, fangs right above your goosebump-riddled skin. He could hear your heart racing—you were afraid, and yet you didn’t run. How sweet. A bunny in the jaws of a wolf, yet to be eaten whole, ruthlessly—ravenously.
His tongue traced up your Adam's apple, smirking as he felt it bob at your gulp. "Absolutely adorable, darling..." He whispered.
Vil inhaled deeply, ingraining every detail of your delectable scent into his memory. But the poor vampire couldn't wait much longer as he finally sunk he teeth into your soft flesh, biting down right where your neck and shoulder met, drawing a breathy gasp from your lips as your calloused hands grabbed at his shoulders, your grip firm.
To his delight, your blood was ten times as delicious as your smell implied, overwhelming him with each greedy gulp, and drowning out his thoughts until all that remained was to feed—to drink.
He let out a shaky exhale through his nose as his hands rested at your hips, holding you close as his fangs dug deeper. He could rip off your flesh and eat it if he were so savage, sadly, he wasn't, unlike the other brutish vampires he knew of.
You were feeling lightheaded now, your mouth parted and your eyes falling shut.
"Ahhh... a-are you... enjoying your meal, s-sir..?" You asked regardless of your pathetic state.
The blonde laughed at your concern, willing himself to pull away with much difficulty. He wasn't done, but he knew he had to keep you alive; you were going to be his new blood bag after all, and so much more.
“Mhm, yes I am,” he licked his lips, hand dragging downward to palm at your obvious boner.
You whine at the friction, practically grinding back against Vil’s teasing touch, “Th—ah!~that’s good to hear, s-mmhh—sir….”
“I think I’d like my dessert now,” he purred his words, undoing your pants and pulling out your cock from your boxers.
“A-ah— wait…” You shuddered, breaths coming out in quick pants as you held onto Vil’s wrist, eyes downcast in the concrete ground in shame.
The vampire tilted his head, “Hm? What’s wrong, love?” He used his thumb to stroke the prominent vein on the side of your sex.
"Can we move somewhere e-else...? I can't serve your dessert here."
Looking around, this was quite an unappetizing place for Vil to have his desert. And so, conceding to your request, he laughed in amusement before saying, "That's true... perhaps I can have my dessert to-go then?"
With a gasp, you were suddenly transported to an unfamiliar place, your back now against something far softer than a brick wall, and feeling rather expensive as well.
The insatiable vampire didn't even give you any time to adjust as he began undoing your clothes, ridding you of your horribly-fashioned server uniform. He stripped you completely bare, making your hair stand on its ends from the cold air around you.
A shiver ran up your spine, not just from the cold, but from the piercing purple eyes that fell upon you, drinking you in, trailing down the expanse of your newly exposed body.
The smirk on Vil's lips only widened as he reached to stroke your already hardened cock, significantly bigger now. He wondered internally how you ever fit that in your pants.
You only mustered a soft moan, almost bucking your hips like a pathetic, horny man—which in this case, you both were. "Vil—ah!~"
He licked his lips and shifted downward, eager to get a taste of your dick. "My, my... tell the head chef he has my praise, will you? My dessert looks absolutely delightful..."
The vampire started by licking the underside of your dick, an odd sensation as his tongue felt almost cold in contrast to your hot, sensitive sex.
"Fuck... ah... your tongue feels good, sir—"
He had you gripping the sheets as his sharp fangs teased your skin, digging in almost to nick you. The pain, oddly enough felt like a burning pleasure, involuntarily, you cum just from that, spurting a hefty amount right onto the vampire's face.
Luckily, he didn't seem to care, in fact, he looked delighted to be a recipient of your facial. He giggled, eyes locking onto yours as he licked his lips, digging back in to suckle on your tip, cleaning you off and getting you nice and hard again for him to use further.
"Mmmm..." He moaned in delight, "Your semen tastes as delectable as your blood, my dear." His tongue lapped at the cum that had dribbled down the sides of your cock.
The sight made you exhale shakily; you could cum again right now just from Vil's unabashedness. "M-may I touch you as well?" Your request was simple, but by the Gods did you crave to have your hands on him instead of these sheets—all along you had restrained yourself, all for nothing as Vil's eyes shone a mischievous glint.
"You need not my permission, darling..." He crawled upward, holding himself above you as his hand took your wrist, guiding your hand down his low-collared shirt, right against his hardened nipple. "Go on. Touch me."
And so you did, groping at his chest, drawing out maddening noises from his lips. You rolled the poor bud between your index and thumb, making his back arch, grinding himself against your boner, drawing friction to sate his own neediness.
You could feel him hard against his slacks, about to burst from the tight fabric. "You're quite sensitive here," you muttered, mostly to yourself, gaining a half-hearted glare from the vampire above you.
He didn't respond as you pinched his nipple harder. You were almost tempted to start playing with the neglected bud, but Vil pinned your other hand down, and as if reading your mind, sneered, "Don't you even—ah!" His hands shook as he grinded down harder against you.
At this point, you were both painfully hard and in need of a release, so you tugged at the vampire's nipple, making him collapse as his arms gave way, burying his face into your shoulder, smearing your own cum on you. The pleasure from your fingers seemed to electrify him. You chuckled at how sensitive he was.
You turned your head to whisper into Vil's ear, "Your dessert's getting cold, sir..."
Vil huffed out a chuckle, "Hm... how about a drink to refresh my palate first?" He licked up your neck, over the same puncture wounds he had inflicted just a moment before.
A shiver ran down your spine, yet your eagerness took over once more, "Yes—take my blood, sir."
You could feel his lips curl upward and then open slowly, his breath cold on your neck. His teeth found the same position, and as his arms gripped onto your shoulders, legs bracketing your hips, he drank from you once more. As he savored each gulp, you could feel yourself slipping from sobriety, a drunken haze washing over your entire body.
The horniness you felt before was enhanced, and you found your hands on Vil's slacks, hastily undoing his clothes while the vampire took more of your blood.
He hummed as he felt your hands on his skin, his clothes undone but yet to be discarded.
As he finally pulled away from you, he made haste to take off his clothes, each article thrown precariously into the air and out of sight.
Finally, in all his glory, Vil Schoenheit revealed himself to you—a porcelain figure of pure beauty, it was as if an angel were in front of you, if it weren't for your blood stained on his lips.
Without a second to spare, he reached over to the side to the bedsite table on his right. As he pulled the drawer open, he pulled out a vial, lube was all that came to mind, but by the pinkish color of it, you were more than excited for what was in store.
Vil poured a generous amount onto your cock, and immediately, you could feel its effects taking hold. All you could think about now was fucking Vil senseless, yet you remained pliant, because you were a server first, here to make sure your customer was well satisfied.
"What... is that...?" Your words slurred as you tried to speak, light-headed still from the blood taken from you
The vampire only continued preparations, using that same liquid to work himself open for you, eager to have you inside him as much as you were eager to penetrate him.
He moaned as he stretched himself, the liquid quickly heightening his sensitivity. He pressed his fingers up against every sweet spot he knew, he couldn't wait to discover more with your massive rod. Vil bit his lip and spent just a few more minutes really fingering himself ready.
In your haze, you leaned your head to the side, breathing slowly. You were completely relaxed, completely at Vil's mercy.
Looking at you through his long, blonde lashes, Vil pulled his fingers out, eyes rolling back for a second as a soft moan slipped from his lips. "Mmm..."
He looked down at your cock, standing proud, ready to be enveloped by Vil's velvet walls. The vampire positioned himself above it, sucking in a breath as he impaled himself onto you, body going rigid. The descent wasn't an easy feat, each inch he took in had him gripping your shoulders for support, nails digging in and drawing blood, only spurring Vil on to take you whole.
Whimpers, moans, and gasps all flew from the blonde's lips, looking as disheveled as you were. You, meanwhile, were in heaven, hands lazily on Vil's hips, not to push down, instead there to simply ground him as he worked his way down your lengthy dick.
The way Vil felt around you was better than anything you had tried before; his hole just kept sucking you in, methodically pulsing around you as if he were committing your cock to memory, making sure each bump and ridge was felt in his walls.
"[Y/N]...~" He moaned out as he finally reached the bottom of your dick, fully sat with your entire length inside him, his own cock a leaking mess, cum already having come from it without even noticing.
He looked delighted, catching his breath as he got used to the feel of your overwhelmingly fulfilling presence within him. He was right. You were the perfect human for him. He needed to keep you by his side forever. You aren't able to ever leave his side.
Maybe it was just the potent aphrodisiac, but damn did he wish he had the right assets to bear your children.
As his eyes fluttered shut, he began to move, willing himself to rise up despite the ache in his limbs. Your cock slipping almost fully out of him felt just as good as when you entered, your cock tip so bulbous he couldn't pull himself off without great effort—not that he wanted to.
Then, he slid back down in one drop, sputtering out all sorts of profanities as you managed to hit even deeper inside him. "Oh my... f...—" A fresh spurt of cum stained your stomach along with the sheets, his hole tightening around you, making you groan, orgasm just over the horizon, so damn close.
You could feel a subtle tremor as Vil sucked in shallow breaths. Even after cumming twice now, he managed to start a steady pace, moving up and down your cock. His pace, however, was too slow for your liking, and so to help him, you started thrusting upward in time with his bounces, making both of you feel even more pleasure.
You were so close to your climax, but you were always slow to reach it. The worst part was that you could feel it building up, ready to burst, ready to fill Vil with.
But being a vampire didn't mean being infinitely strong. Soon enough, his legs gave out, and he couldn't keep up, cumming weakly as his dick twitched pitifully.
Without anything needing to be said, you took over, body working on pure need as you laid him down, legs on your shoulders as you pistoned into him with one goal in mind: to fill him up with your cum.
Vil cried out as he gripped whatever was closest, and luckily for you, it was his sheets instead of your back. You focused on reaching your own release, thrusts relentless as you indulged in the vampire's addicting hole.
The blonde was rendered speechless, yet melodic, lewd sounds continued to escape him, feeding into your animalistic urge to fuck him.
You could feel it as clear as day now. Your climax quickly approaching. Eager to satisfy this impudent vampire's nightly cravings, you deepened your thrusts, lifting his hips for a new angle.
The pressure built up within you, a wine bottle just about to burst open. Then, with one last deep plunge inside Vil, you finally came, a hot burst that filled the vampire up in all the ways he wanted you to.
Vil let out a loud, guttural moan, and as you looked down at him, you watched the way his cum-stained face contorted in absolute pleasure. As your eyes wandered downward, your heart skipped a beat as you found a subtle bump in the vampire's lower abdomen, a result of the copious amount of semen you had just planted within him.
Safe to say, your most loyal patron was thoroughly satisfied tonight.
𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢
Sir Jimmy Crystal x male reader
Summary: He found you in the woods, bleeding and terrified. Months later, you still wake in his arms, fed, clothed, protected and marked. You thought the infected outside were the worst of it, then Jimmy found someone trying to save take you from him and you learn who the real monster is.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Strangers to ‘lovers’. Dark Jimmy Crystal. Non-con/Dub-con. Flirting. Possessive Relationship.Toxic Relationship. Obsessive Love. Cult Dynamics / Worship Imagery. Psychological Manipulation. Power Imbalance. Jealousy. Possessive behavior. Stockholm Syndrome. OC. My own interpretation of what happened to that man in the movie left hanging upside down for the infected. Top Jimmy Crystal. Bottom male reader. Branding / Marking. Knifeplay. Dominant Jimmy. Riding. Anal sex.
Gif
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
Words count: 7500
The forest was a cathedral of rot and rebirth, a place where life stubbornly and violently persisted. High above, the canopy wove a tapestry of sickly green and bruised yellow, filtering the weak sunlight into dappled patterns like scattered coins. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Every step you took was slow and followed by the crunch of dead foliage under your boots.
It was a dead world, but it was your world now and the man at your side was the only god you acknowledged.
Jimmy’s arm was an iron band around your waist, pulling you flush against his own solid body, heat seeping through your layers of clothing. He was your anchor and tether to the present, dragging you from the memories that threatened to pull you under.
Mouth of his a brand on your neck, trailing lazy, open-mouthed kisses from the shell of your ear down to the juncture of your shoulder. A low, continuous groan rumbled in his chest with vibrations that you felt deep in your own bones. "Mmmph, there's me lad," he muttered, Scottish brogue thick and warm against your damp skin.
"Feel that? Yer heart's rabbitin' like a scared wee thing. But yer safe wi' me." His stubble scratched pleasantly, a rough counterpoint to the soft pressure of his lips.
This forest, from this specific patch of mossy ground to the twisted oak a mile east, felt identical to the one you’d run through months ago.
Yet, in your mind's eye, you could chart the exact, panicked path you’d taken, could still feel the phantom burn in your lungs and that searing agony in your legs as you’d jolted away from the Infected. They’d been so horrifically thin, all protruding bone and sinew stretched taut over skeletal frames, yet they moved with an impossible, jerking speed, fueled by a ravenous, singular need to feast.
You remembered the sound of their breath, a wet, rattling gasp and the way their deep red eyes seemed to lock onto you with hunger.
Adrenaline was the only cordial that had kept your tired body moving through the last of your reserves.
Then, from behind trees and ferns, a series of similar bodies emerged, moving with a fluid, acrobatic grace that was alien in this broken landscape.
Dressed in matching tracksuits, some with pieces crudely sewn together, all crowned with bizarre, shaggy blonde wigs.
Just as the lead Infected was about to close its jaws on your ankle, one of them, swinging from a low-hanging branch, unspooled a thin length of rope.
Another caught it and in a flash of coordinated motion, they pulled it taut just past you.
The Infected whose focus was singularly on you, didn't see the trap. The first row tripped spectacularly, their bony, bare feet snagging on the rope. Their momentum sent them crashing forward, a tangle of flailing limbs. The ones behind, unable to stop, stumbled over the fallen, creating a domino effect of collapsing bodies.
The weaker ones, those whose feet were little more than skin and bone, cried out as the thin rope slashed through their flesh.
This created a window of opportunity for you to gulp air and try to recover some semblance of strength.
Almost immediately, a large, impossibly warm hand landed on your shoulder.
Your entire system, already screaming on a feedback loop of panic, short-circuited as you tried to rip away in a frantic, animalistic jerk, but the grip was effortless.
He turned you gently with undeniable force.
He must have been the leader. While his members dispatched the tripped Infected with brutal efficiency, his attention was entirely on you. He held his other hand up, palm open in a gesture of peace that felt inherently dangerous, eyes a piercing, shocking blue.
"Easy now, bonnie," he said, voice a low, soft purr that was utterly at odds with the slaughter happening mere feet away. It was flirty, possessive, and caress. "Nae need tae run. Yer safe now, the show's fer you."
His heavy gaze, those lighthouse-bright blue eyes, drifted from your terrified eyes down to your mouth, lingering there for a heartbeat before sliding lower, down the line of your throat, over your heaving chest and slightly trembling legs. He was shameless, checking you out as if you were a prize he’d just won, his own warm, solid body standing so close you could feel the heat radiating from him.
The feeling of being watched by him was a dual-edged sword. There was the fear of these new, violent people, copies of him in their wigs and tracksuits. But his attention was a different kind of terror, laced with a terrifying, magnetic pull.
Being chosen and seen not as food for once but as something else entirely. The flipped cross hanging from a chain on his neck seemed to wink in the filtered light.
After a long, hot moment of his visual dissection, his gaze drifted back to his members. Your own eyes, as if tugged by an invisible string, followed his.
They weren't just fighting but almost playing and having fun. The hold on your shoulder shifted ever so slightly, his thumb stroking a small, calming circle into your muscle, forcing your gaze to follow the spectacle he commanded.
Once the last twitching body was still, the adrenaline that had been propping you up vanished and tiredness returned, making your knees buckle. You would have crumpled if not for that steadfast hand on your shoulder.
As the others, tracksuits now spattered with fresh, dark blood, still brandishing their gore-slicked poles, began to approach you with curious eyes, you instinctively stepped back, a hesitation born of sheer survival instinct.
The grip on your shoulder tightened instantly, halting your retreat in a not painful way. He raised his free hand in a single gesture towards his pack. They stopped moving as one, falling silent.
"Look at me, lad," he said, his voice dropping back to that intimate, purring register. His thumb came up to stroke your jawline, touch startlingly gentle. "Ye don't hae tae be scared. No more. Ye're under my protection."
He smiled then, "Name's Jimmy. Jimmy Crystal, if ye're feelin' formal. But I've a feelin' you an' me won't be standin' on ceremony." He offered his hand, not for a handshake but an invitation.
Hesitating, your own hand trembling before you placed it in his. His fingers closed around yours, engulfing them, skin calloused and warm. He pulled you closer to erase the space between you.
"Happy I found ye," he murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Right on time. Would've been a pure tragedy, lettin' those rotters get their hands on such a handsome one. A waste of good material, that would've been." That tone was brazen and unashamed.
He led you then, arm slung possessively over your shoulders, his "copies" falling into step around you both like bizarre honor guards. The journey to the Bone Temple was a blur of exhaustion, the place itself a monument to his madness and power with thousands of bones, meticulously arranged into towers and altars.
He took you to his private quarters that first night. He sat you down, cleaned the grime from your face with a damp cloth and surprising tenderness, fed you from his own stores.
He spoke of his ideas and tradition, voice a hypnotic lure and an overwhelming presence.
And when words ran out, his hands began their work. It started with that same thumb stroking your jaw, then tracing your lips as he leaned in, breath ghosting over your face as he pushed you back onto his pallet of furs and blankets, body covering yours, all hard muscle and intent.
Mouth everywhere at once, biting at your lips, sucking bruises over your throat, tongue leaving all over the collarbone area to ruin you for anyone else with a frantic impatience.
When he entered you, it was with a single thrust that stole the air from your lungs, that burning stretch and the overwhelming fullness of him were the only things felt. "Fook, yer tight," he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hips setting a relentless, pounding rhythm against your ass, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the small space with a savage grace, shifting your body, bending you over, pulling you onto his lap, taking what he wanted with a confident, brutal ownership, forcing your head back to plunder your mouth with his tongue.
When you came, untouched, just from the sheer overwhelming force of his possession, it was with a broken sob, body clenching around him. He growled, a feral, triumphant sound, and followed you over the edge, his own release a hot flood inside you, his name a prayer on your lips.
Ever since then, you’ve been his wee pet, as he likes to croon into your ear in the dark. He keeps you fed, clothed and protected from the horrors outside the Temple walls.
Keeping his bed warm is a full-time occupation. He’ll come to you after a "hunt," smelling of blood and sweat, eyes wild while asking you to get on your knees, other times he’ll wake you in the dead of night, hands already roaming, cock hard and pressing against your backside to then roll you over, still half-asleep and slide into you with a contented sigh to then take you in a lazy, deep rhythm, arms wrapped around your chest and mouth on your neck.
Back to the current present, the hum of your acknowledgment vibrated through your chest, a low thrum that was swallowed by the dense, silent woods. It wasn't enough. You felt the shift in him immediately, a subtle tightening of the arm around your waist, the warm, lazy affection evaporated, replaced by something more demanding.
He hummed back, the sound of a deep, guttural vibration that traveled from his open mouth directly into your skin. "Words, bonnie," he murmured, the tone darkening, losing its playful edge. "Actions. Dinnae gimme that disinterested shite. Yer here wi' me."
After months in his orbit, you understood the language of his moods perfectly. Another test of your devotion, a need for tangible proof that his presence was your entire world. You stopped your slow, curious pacing, the dead leaves ceasing their crunch under your boots. Turning fully into him, you snaked your arms tightly around his neck, pulling yourself up to close the small gap he always left for you to bridge.
You pressed your mouth to his, parting your lips in the way you knew he craved in that immediate, total surrender. He groaned, a sound of pure, pleasant satisfaction and plunged his tongue into your mouth with an eager hunger. The coarse fibers of his ridiculous blonde wig brushed against your forearms, his taste slightly coppery from the little tooth decay.
When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, a thin string of saliva connected your swollen lips for a moment before snapping. He chased after your mouth, a low growl of protest in his throat, grin wide and wolfish, satisfied but already wanting more. "Aye, tha's my boy," he breathed, blue eyes blazing.
Catching your breath, feeling a flush creep up your neck, you spoke, the words shy and breathless. "Thanks… fer lettin' me out fer a bit."
The large, warm hand splayed on the lower part of your back pressed down, not hard, but with an insistent pressure urging you to start walking again. He fell into step beside you, arm locking you back against his side.
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his whisper intimate and laced with that familiar, harsh undertone. "Didnae let ye out fer the scenery. Did it t' remind ye what’s out there." His grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "An' maybe… we might make it in time t' a place I wanna show ye."
You slid your arms from around his neck, the intimacy of the moment giving way to the purpose in his stride. His arm, however, remained a secure band around your waist, tethering you to the solid, sturdy warmth of his body. His other hand came up, high in the air, with his pinky and ring finger curled down, the rest of his finger pointing skyward in that signature, cryptic signal you'd seen him give a hundred times.
"Where are ye takin' me, Jimmy?" you asked, voice soft.
He was silent for a long moment, gaze fixed on some point far ahead in the tangled woods. "Home," he said finally, the word stark and simple. "Or what's left o' it, at the very least. The place I was in ‘fore all this…"
The weight in his voice was a physical thing, a grief you recognized, a hollowed-out feeling you'd carried since the first days of the pandemic, losses that had turned you into a lone ghost wandering a world of monsters. "I'm sorry."
He chuckled lightly, the sound devoid of real humor. His hand stroked a reassuring line up and down your back. "Dinnae be, lad. Been too long now. The rotten got my ma, da, my wee sisters and brothers a lifetime ago." He stared ahead, eyes losing focus, looking lost in the memories. His lips began to work, moving silently and quickly, mumbling a stream of words too fast and low for you to catch.
Then, abruptly, he stopped. So did you, pulled up short by his sudden stillness. You followed his gaze, landing on a figure about fifty yards away of a man, wiry and focused, driving an arrow into the skull of a crawler, one of the slower, ground-bound Infected.
Another one, fat and sluggish, crawling unseen from behind, its eyes fixed on the man's vulnerable calves.
A jolt of old instinct, the survivor's reflex that had kept you alive for years before Jimmy, shot through you. "Jimmy," you called softly, tugging at his tracksuit top. "Behind him."
Jimmy didn't move, he just watched, body a statue, grip on your waist tightening almost painfully, fingers digging into your hip.
The man nocked another arrow, still unaware of the danger creeping up from his blind spot. Your heart hammered against your ribs. The lone wolf still present somewhere in your mind took over. Your hand drifted lower, slipping under the back of Jimmy's tracksuit jacket with practiced ease till you rapidly found the familiar hilt of the sharp, heavy knife he kept sheathed there.
Extracting it in one smooth, fluid motion, you broke from his grip and ran.
Jimmy barked your name, a terrifying crack of sound that ripped through the forest silence, full of a fury so potent it felt like a physical blow and it froze the blood in your veins for a split second.
But your momentum carried you forward, the slow lows was inches from the man's leg, its jaw unhinging. You drove the knife down with both hands, putting your whole weight behind it to let the blade sank into the back of its skull with a wet, crunching thud. The creature spasmed once and then went still, a pool of dark ichor seeping into the earth.
The man whirled around, his movements a blur of trained panic as, in a heartbeat, his bow was up, the arrow knocked and drawn, the sharpened tip aimed directly at your throat. His eyes, wide and wild, darted from your raised hands to the fresh kill at your feet. He pivoted smoothly, the bowstring sang and an arrow buried itself in the eye socket of the final slow low that had been shambling towards you both.
He lowered the bow, his chest heaving. "Christ," he breathed, accent English, crisp compared to Jimmy's broad Scots. He looked down at the fat crawler again, then back to you, a look of stunned gratitude on his dirty and tired face as he offered his hand. "Angus. Thanks, you just saved me a world of hurt."
You hesitated for a moment, the echo of Jimmy's barked command still ringing in your ears, then reached out and took his hand, managing to say back your name.
His grip was firm, skin surprisingly clean, the calluses in different places than Jimmy's. It was different, a novel sensation. For months, the only touch you'd known was Jimmy's. This was just a simple handshake, human contact.
"Bastard things are crawlin' out o' the woodwork today, never seen so many in one spot"—all you could focus on was the feeling of his palm against yours, the brief, normalcy of it.
Then his words cut through your daze. "…you look in remarkably good nick," he said, eyes scanning you up and down, an appreciative glint there, more flirtation than a mere observation. "You with a community? Or from one of the safe zones?"
You opened your mouth to mumble something, anything, but the words died in your throat. That familiar, overwhelming warmth returned as a heavy hand landed on your shoulder, pulling you back a step. Jimmy slid into the space between you and Angus.
"Tha' would be thanks t' me," Jimmy said, his voice a low, pleasant purr that didn't quite mask the steel underneath, fingers squeezing your shoulder in a silent warning. His gaze, however, was fixed on Angus, a cold, appraising look, body angled to reduce Angus's view of you. "Nice aim wi' tha' bow, pal. Quick and clean."
Angus's gaze shifted from you to Jimmy and the subtle interest in his eyes cooled noticeably, replaced by a wary neutrality. "Thanks," he said, his tone polite but distant. He looked back at you, ignoring Jimmy's attempt to command the conversation. "So? Are you with a group?"
Jimmy nodded, extending his hand toward Angus, a smile playing on his lips that didn't reach his eyes. "Aye. You could say that. We're all pals here." You watched as Angus took his hand, noticed the muscles in Jimmy's forearm cord as he applied pressure to the handshake. Angus's jaw tightened slightly, but he held the grip, his own knuckles whitening.
The planned trip to Jimmy's childhood home was forgotten, buried under the new variable of Angus. The walk back to the Bone Temple was conducted in a tense, three-person silence. Jimmy kept you firmly on his right side, arm a vise around your waist while Angus walked a few paces to your left. Jimmy’s usual, confident swagger was gone, replaced by a coiled, watchful tension, thumb rubbing possessive circles on your hip.
The moment you crossed the threshold of the Bone Temple, there was a subtle release of pressure as Jimmy’s arm, which had been a constant, possessive band interwoven with yours, simply slipped away. He just disentangled himself, the absence of his warmth feeling like a sudden plunge into icy water.
He walked ahead, not looking back, shoulders set in a hard line as he melted into the labyrinth of bone towers. You were left standing alone near the entrance and you were being watched from behind the intricate spirals of skulls by the other ‘Jimmies’.
Their usual boisterous energy, the loud laughs and playful shoves you’d witnessed when you first arrived months ago, was gone. All still and silent sentinels in their matching tracksuits and wigs. For the first time in a long while, you felt like an outsider again.
A bit awkwardly, you scratched the back of your neck while turning to Angus, who was standing a few feet away, his head on a swivel as he took in the macabre grandeur of the place, eyes wide, tracing everywhere.
"Fuckin' hell," he breathed out, the words barely a whisper. "This place is… skeerie."
You breathed a laugh, a quiet, uncertain huff of air that held no real humor. "Aye," you agreed, the sound thin in the vast, echoing space. You didn't know what else to say.
Pointing a finger towards the eastern wing of the place, where a series of smaller, curtained-off areas served as quarters for the inner circle. "Over there," you informed him, your voice low. "Ye can find a place t' rest. It's… empty right now. Our doctor is out. But when he comes back, I can have him pay a visit to make sure everythin's alright." The offer felt flimsy, a pathetic attempt at normalcy in this utterly abnormal place.
He turned his gaze from a towering structure of interlocked skulls to look at you, a small, tired smile touching his lips. "I'm alright, Scout. Just need to get the stink of those crawlers out my nose." The nickname landed with a strange, discordant weight. It felt different, casual and almost respectful.
All you could do was nod, a tight, jerky motion, before you retreated, turning your back on him and fleeing towards the relative sanctuary of your shared space with Jimmy.
The rest of the short day passed with a leaden slowness. Today, the absence of one man made it feel hollow, how uneventful and utterly flat your existence felt without Jimmy's overwhelming presence nearby.
When night fell, the only illumination came from the hundreds of candles placed in skulls. Wrapped in a thin blanket, you ventured out until you found Angus sitting alone on a rough-hewn log near the perimeter, the candlelight glinting off the blade he was using to meticulously sharpen the fletching on his arrows.
You approached slowly, the soft scuff of your boots on the stone floor the only announcement of your presence while taking a seat on the log beside him, leaving a careful foot of space.
He glanced up, a faint smile touching his lips. "Scout. Can't sleep?"
You only shook your head, not trusting your voice and went back to observing his hands. They were capable, steady, each movement economical and precise.
"How long y’ been here?" he asked after a while, his eyes on his work.
"Months," you said, the word feeling inadequate.
"What'd you do? Before all this went to shit?"
You shrugged, the gesture feeling foreign. "Nothin' special. Just… a kid living." It was the truth.
Then he paused his sharpening, setting the arrow aside. "I'll probably push on tonight," he said, voice conversational.
The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. Your head snapped up, gaze diverting from his hands to his face, eyes wide with a surprise that felt painful. He shifted his own gaze to meet yours, expression unreadable in the flickering light.
"Why?" you asked, hard to understand why the thought of this stranger leaving sent a sharp pang of loss.
A long, weary sigh as an answer back. "Don't take a genius, Scout. I'm not exactly well-liked here by your leader. Or his… clones." He said the last word with a faint distaste.
As if summoned by the mention, there was a shift in his eyes, a new intensity as they remained settled on you. He leaned forward slightly, the space between you shrinking. "You and tha'… Bone King," he said dismissively. "That a thing?"
You hesitated a fraction of a second too long and he noticed, eyes narrowing just a perceptible amount before nodding your head in a quick, jerky motion. "Aye," you added, a weak, unconvincing noise trying to convince him and yourself of its absolute truth.
He studied your face for a long moment, the candlelight catching the earnest concern in his eyes. "Come with me, away from these lunatics." He said, voice dropping to a tentative, intimate whisper.
You were taken aback, recoiling slightly at the directness of the offer, the implication that your entire world was something to be escaped from. You looked down at the ground. "It's… it's not bad here," you whispered, the defense sounding feeble even to your own ears. "Lots of company. Good people for fightin' the infected."
This time, he was more straightforward, his voice firm. "Are you happy here, Scout?" He let the question hang for a beat before driving the point home. "With him?"
You looked down, your thoughts tumbling over themselves and the consuming presence of Jimmy. Before him, you had been so profoundly, utterly alone that you'd forgotten what it was like to be part of anything or feel things other than the grim determination required to survive from one sunrise to the next.
Here you were living.
"I don't mind it," you confessed quietly, voice thick with a confusing mix of emotions. "Bein' here… with him."
Angus shifted on the log as he reached out, hand landing on your thigh, a warm and solid weight. You looked up and saw the look on his eyes, one of determination for a singular focus, zeroing in on the lack of decision in your words.
"Just think about it," he mumbled, his thumb stroking a slow, persuasive circle on your leg. "Tomorrow morning I'll be at the gate." He gave your thigh a final squeeze, then stood, adjusting the bow and quiver on his back. "Get some rest, Scout." And with that, he turned and disappeared into the deep shadows between the bone towers, leaving you sitting alone on the log.
After watching the darkness swallow him, you rose on unsteady legs, the weight of his proposal and your own conflicted heart making you feel heavy, completely unaware of the multiple pairs of eyes that had observed the entire exchange. Wig-wearing individuals, silent and unmoving, who had seen everything and would now carry every detail back to their leader.
You trudged back towards the space you shared with Jimmy, still desolate and empty of his presence. You sank onto the mattress, the furs and blankets offering no comfort. The fabric was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the furnace-like heat Jimmy radiated.
Curling into yourself, the events of the day replaying in a dizzying loop until sheer exhaustion finally overwhelmed the chaos in your mind and dragged you down into a fitful, troubled sleep.
Consciousness returned as the first thing you registered was the soft, insistent pressure of lips being pressed all over your face, followed by the pleasant scratch of stubble against your cheeks, a rough, waking caress that sent shivers skittering across your skin.
The kisses trailed down, becoming hotter and open-mouthed against the sensitive column of your neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point that hammered under his attention.
"Wake up, my sleepy wee pet," Jimmy murmured, husky and low, vibrating against your throat. Your hands, still heavy with sleep, extended across the mattress. The furs on the side were cold and untouched. The only source of warmth was the solid, heavy weight of his body hovering above yours and caging you in.
A slow, drowsy smile touched your lips as you blinked up at him. The light filtering through the ragged tapestries was weak and grey, indicating that it was very, very early. "Jimmy?" you whispered, voice thick with sleep. "Did ye… did ye no' sleep at all?"
He grinned down, blue eyes crinkling at the corners but there was an unnerving intensity in them while he stayed quiet and just drank you in and for a fleeting moment, the memory of Angus's proposal flashed in your mind.
He saw the flicker of preoccupation in your eyes and his grin widened, turning predatory. "Yer bonnie when yer thinkin'," he purred, leaning down so close his lips brushed yours. "All serious. Worryin' fer me?" His tone dipped, becoming lustful, intimately suggestive. "Did ye miss me, lad?"
You gave a tentative nod, throat tight.
His grin became a blinding, triumphant thing. "Good. Now, are ye up fer a wee trip? Got somethin' t' show ye."
For once, a spark of something akin to playful defiance ignited in you, this is how people together act, no? Reaching up, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Two days in a row ye're lettin' me out," you whispered, a tentative teasing note in your voice. "Yer spoilin' me, Jimmy."
The effect was instantaneous as he preened, a proud, almost boyish look crossing his features before he buried his face in your neck again, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "Mmmph, ye deserve it," he mumbled against your skin, his breath scalding. "M’ good, loyal pet. Ye deserve everythin'."
The walk through the forest was long and strangely silent, his usual swagger replaced by a grim, determined stride. He held your hand, grip firm and almost too tight, as if afraid you'd vanish into the mist that clung to the gnarled trees. The sun arced across the sky, beginning its descent.
A house, two-story structure that time had been brutally unkind to, came to view and Jimmy stopped directly in front of the splintered front door, his back to it as he turned to you, taking both of your hands in his large, warm ones, engulfing them completely.
"I am so fookin' happy I found ye that day, bonnie," he said, his voice thick with a rare, unvarnished emotion. "So happy those rotters didnae get their teeth in ye an’ I got t' keep ye." His thumbs stroked the backs of your hands, the tenderness was heartwarming, a glimpse of the man beneath the cult leader.
Then his gaze hardened, the blue icing over. "But then ye had t' disobey an' put yerself in danger fer a stranger." The jealousy and wrath were bared naked now. "It made me realize I need t' show ye properly why ye should never, ever do that again. Hence why I brought ye here."
The heartwarming moment curdled, becoming something unsettling, a prelude to an unknown horror as he pushed the creaking door open and led you inside.
Damp rot, dust and the coppery tang of blood assaulted your senses. Then you heard a muffled, rhythmic groan of pain coming from down the dark hallway.
Your heart began to hammer against your ribs while Jimmy's grip on your hand tightened, pulling you forward.
He led you to a room at the end of the hall and pushed the door wide.
Your blood turned to ice.
Suspended upside down from a exposed ceiling beam by his ankles, secured with a thick, brutal-looking leather strap, was a man. A bag was pulled over his head, but you didn't need to see the face. The wiry build, that bare, tormented torso mottled with blood, bruising and grime gave enough of a clue it was Angus.
Across his chest, carved deep into his flesh, were a series of words.
JIMM
The letters were gouged roughly and unevenly into his skin. The middle 'M' was the deepest, a canyon of inflamed, weeping tissue, glistening with a mix of fresh blood and sweat. Around the main, horrific declaration were smaller, jagged slashes, a chaotic map of pain etched into his body.
Dark streaks of dirt and fluid ran from the wounds towards his neck and face, pulled down by gravity, staining his skin. The floor beneath him was littered with debris, rotten wood and flakes of old wallpaper.
There were no words, your mind simply short-circuited, refusing to process the tableau of utter agony before you, a high-pitched ringing started in your ears.
Jimmy let go of your hand, watching your face with a proud, almost ecstatic expression. His grin widened, a horrifying crescent of delight at your shock and revulsion.
He stepped forward, smoothly extracting the same sharp knife you'd taken from him the day before from the back of his tracksuit, kneeling down beside the suspended man. He let the tip of the blade graze the rough fabric of the bag over Angus's face.
A raw, guttural sound of pain erupted from Angus, choked and wordless keen. He tried to retract, his whole body convulsing in a pathetic, limited spasm. The sound was terrible and devoid of language, from the lack of his tongue.
"Shhh now, shhh," Jimmy crooned, his voice a grotesque parody of comfort. It would soften in places, almost fond. "See, lad?" He looked back at you, his eyes gleaming. "This daft sod thought he could take what's mine." His gaze swung back to Angus, the fondness twisting into a snarl. "Thought he could whisper sweet nothings t' my pet."
He then took a rough hold of Angus's throat, squeezing to still his frantic movements. The knife, already slick with old blood, was raised. "But he didnae know who ye really belong to, so we're gonna finish the lesson."
With a surgeon's terrifying precision and a butcher's force, he drove the point of the blade into Angus's chest and carved the final 'Y', connecting it to the mutilated 'M'. The flesh parted with a wet, tearing sound.
JIMMY
Angus screamed, a muffled sound that was all the more horrifying for being trapped inside the bag. His body twisted violently, limbs flailing with a desperate, useless strength.
Jimmy watched, mesmerized, as the man bucked and screamed in his agony. Then, calmly, he moved to a bucket of rainwater in the corner, plunging the bloody knife into it. The water bloomed crimson as he swirled and extracted it clean to get on his feet.
He walked back to you, where you stood paralyzed, legs trembling so hard you feared they would give way. His hand, warm and impossibly steady, took hold of your waist, pulling you against him. The other hand brought the freshly cleaned, cold metal of the knife blade to your cheek, grazing it with a terrifying gentleness.
"I loved hearin' all those words ye said fer me last night, bonnie," he mumbled, his breath hot against your ear. His eyes, when you dared to meet them, were fully wild, a blazing, unhinged blue that frightened every cell in your body. "Tellin' him ye didnae mind bein' wi' me."
A noise, strangled and unrecognizable, muffled in your throat. You couldn't tell if it was a sob, a plea or a scream. The cold steel of the knife pressed a little harder against your cheek in a silent promise.
It was then that the noises from outside broke the horrific intimacy of the moment. First, a distant screech, then the sound of multiple footsteps, clumsy and dragging of the infected drawn by the echoes of Angus's screams.
Jimmy's head snapped up, in one fluid motion, he released your cheek, grabbed your hand and shoved you violently towards a narrow staircase leading to the second floor, the grin never fading from his face.
You stumbled up the stairs, his grip like iron on your wrist, pulling you along. The sounds from below were getting louder. Upstairs, in a small, dusty landing, was a series of retractable wooden stairs leading to a hatch in the ceiling. Jimmy moved with speed, never letting go while hauling you up into the musty, pitch-black space above.
You collapsed onto your knees on the rough floorboards gasping. Jimmy didn't pause. He kicked at the base of the flimsy wooden stairs until, with a sickening crack, the weak wood gave way and the entire structure collapsed downward, sealing the hatch.
The Infected found their way into the room downstairs, then a sharp and utterly helpless series of muffled screams from Angus came.
The wet, tearing sound of flesh, greedy and slobbering snarls as they descended upon him, sickening crack of bone being wrenched from its socket, followed by a gurgling scream that was abruptly cut short.
You squeezed your eyes shut, but it only made the sounds louder and more vivid, never stopping. Even with two floors separating you, everything came loud and audible.
Through the ringing in your ears, Jimmy’s voice cut, low and expectant. "Come here."
You didn't move, resembling a statue of pure terror, knees welding to the rough, dusty floorboards of the attic.
The silence from him stretched, thick and dangerous. "Darlin'. Come here." A command wrapped in threat.
Something primal of the same instinct that had made you nod and agree to everything for months, overrode the paralysis. You moved, not walking, but crawling on your hands and knees across the gritty floor towards the shape of him seated against the far wall.
A low hum of satisfaction vibrated from his chest as he watched you approach, big hands, adorned with heavy, cold rings, came to rest on your ass as you settled onto his lap, straddling him and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if smelling a flower, stubble scratching skin.
"He tried t' take my hospitality," he breathed against your pulse, his voice a rough, intimate whisper. "Thought he could smile an' talk pretty an' steal what's mine. Couldnae let tha' stand. Needs t' be a message fer everyone so they understand who ye're wi'."
A choked, pathetic noise escaped your throat when you felt the cold, flat side of the knife press against the soft skin of your inner arm.
"Is tha' clear t' ye?" he mumbled, lips moving against your neck.
That gut-wrenching terror you hadn't felt since the very first day when he was just a terrifying, wig-wearing stranger saving you from a horde, came roaring back. It flooded your system now, icy and paralyzing. You nodded, a frantic, jerky motion, fighting with every fiber of your being to keep the hot tears from spilling over and betraying the sheer panic inside you.
You felt his mouth shift into a wide grin against your skin, sitting in the lap of your savior and torturer, listening to the man who offered you freedom being devoured.
"The rotters'll go away once the sun's back up," he said conversationally, one hand stroking your back while the other still held the knife to your arm. "S'just a matter o' killin' time 'till then." His voice dropped, becoming a hot, husky whisper in your ear. "So why don't we kill it 'gether? Show me how much ye missed me tonight. All alone in our bed without my cock warmin' ye up."
His hands moved to the waistband of your trousers and underwear, pulling them down in one rough, efficient motion, freeing you completely for him. The cool, musty air of the attic hits your exposed skin, raising goosebumps. One of his big, ring-adorned hands immediately palmed your bare ass, the cold metal of the rings making you hiss and jolt slightly against him.
He chuckled, the hand on your ass withdrew for just a moment as you heard a soft, wet sound and before you could process it, one thick, slick finger pushed its way inside your hole. Your head jerked up, a gasp caught in your throat at the sudden, unexpected intrusion.
He chuckled again, leaning forward so his head rested against your chest, mouth closing around your nipple, tongue leaving it before his teeth grazed the sensitive peak. "I want t' hear ye say it," he whispered, the vibration humming through your chest. "Tell me yer mine."
His finger began to move in a slow, deliberate piston, working you open. Your voice, when you tried to speak, was a hoarse rasp. "J-Jimmy—"
He added a second finger, stretching you further as the burn made you choke on his name. He scissored them, opening you up to take him, the cold bands of his rings acting as a hard, unyielding limit to how deep he could push, a constant and shocking contrast to the heat he was building.
When the words finally broke free, they were a desperate, shuddering whisper. "Yours… I'm yours."
A noise of deep satisfaction rumbled in his chest. "Tha's it," he muttered against your skin, fingers still working you open. "I want t' hear ye say it t' me whenever I make ye feel good." With that, he withdrew his fingers, the sudden emptiness making you gasp.
He maneuvered you both, helping you settle more firmly on his lap as he freed himself from his track suit bottoms. The thick, heavy length of him sprang free, pressing against your thigh. Below, you heard a fresh commotion of dragging sounds, a final, wet crunch and you fought anew to keep the tears locked behind your eyes, to not shatter in his arms.
He positioned you, hands guiding your hips and then he was pushing up, burying himself inside you in one long, relentless stroke that stole the air from your lungs. The chains around his neck, heavy and cold, clicked together against your chest as he bottomed out, fully settled deep inside and stretching you to your limit.
Yet, he didn't move.
He was a statue of heated flesh buried within you. Confused and desperate for a distraction from the sounds below, you tried to lift your head, to shift your hips and give him some signal to move and help lose yourself in the physicality and forget the horror.
His hand came up, tangling in your hair and pulled your head down firmly against his shoulder. "Ah, ah, pet," he chided softly, voice dangerously calm. "Ye forgot what ye have t' say."
Understanding dawned, cold and sickening. Almost immediately, you whispered against his neck, "I'm yours."
He made a sound of profound disappointment, a soft tsk. "I want t' hear it better, darlin'. Like ye mean it. Otherwise…" he shifted his hips the barest inch, a tantalizing, cruel promise, "…I'll just stay like this all night. Comfy an' warm inside ye, listenin' t' the rotters clean up the scraps."
The threat was unbearable, the words torn from you with a sob you could no longer contain. "I'm yours! Jimmy, I'm yours!"
A dark, triumphant sound escaped him. "Tha's my good boy."
Then he began to move.
He fucked up into you with a powerful, punishing rhythm, his grip on your hips bruising, holding you in place as he drove into you over and over. Your words of submission were lost, choked off into ragged gasps and moans that were equal parts pleasure and anguish.
After a long, relentless stretch where the world narrowed to the sensation of his cock pistoning inside your hole and the ragged sound of your shared breathing, he suddenly stilled again.
"Stay still," he whispered, his voice a harsh command.
His hand moved from your hip to your shoulder, an iron grip clamping down, stopping any involuntary movement you might make. You froze, suspended in a terrifying limbo. The anxiety of what he might do next was a cold knot in your stomach, warring with the feeling of his thick, pulsing length buried so deep inside you, a live wire of conflicting sensation.
Then you felt the cold kiss of the knife's tip on the tender skin of your inner arm.
Air left your lungs in a silent scream while fighting every nerve and muscle to force yourself still, knowing that any jolt would tear the flesh further. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the feel of him inside as you felt the slow, deliberate, searing pain of the blade carving into your skin.
It was a precise, agonizing pressure, a line being drawn, then a curve to form a J.
When he finished, he pulled the blade away. You were trembling violently, sweat and tears mingling on your face.
Then, in a heartbeat, the monster vanished, replaced by the lover. He took your face in both his hands, touch surprisingly gentle, thumbs lovingly stroking the tears from your cheeks.
The contrast was dizzying.
"Ye'll understand, bonnie," he whispered, blue eyes searching yours in the near-total darkness. "I promise ye. I'll give ye everythin' s'long as ye stay wi' me."
Your reaction was a silent, shuddering collapse, the fight went out of you completely.
He grunted, a sound of effort and satisfaction and maneuvered the both of you, rolling so that you were laid out on your back on the rough wooden floor, the dust tickling your bare skin. He hovered above, weight braced on his elbows, cock still locked deep inside in a permanent claim.
Then he started to fuck you again, this time with a rhythm slower, almost worshipful. His fingers now stroked the new, bleeding mark on your arm with a strange tenderness.
Your legs came up, wrapping tightly around his waist, holding him close as if he were your only salvation in this nightmare. He drove into you, gaze locked on yours until with a final, deep, guttural groan, he spilled his thick load of seed deep inside you, whole body shuddering with the force of his release. The overwhelming sensations tipped you over the edge moments later, your own climax a silent, shuddering thing that painted his abdomen with your spend.
He collapsed on top of you, his full weight a heavy, smothering blanket, face buried in your neck. Below, the sounds of the Infected were finally, mercifully, beginning to fade as the first grey light of dawn hinted at the edges of the attic hatch.
