All Is Mind

ZAYNE MY HUBBY would be soooooo sweet. the second he notices you are hesitant or nervous, he slows down and immediately peppers kisses all over your face to soothe the anxiety. 100% saying something like "we don't have to do anything you aren't ready for" because this is entirely about your comfort and your pleasure. with that being said he would eat you out so good before hand, like really gentle but hungry (mmm) and when you're finally ready, he slips inside you so slowly, cupping your face and making you keep your eyes on him while you adjust. (also tethering himself from slamming into you bc i KNOW he's so turned with how pretty you look all flushed and nervous for him jfhdcfbvdfbhvfhh but he keeps it gentle for you)

SYLUS i think would tease a bit. not mean, but like touching your flushed cheeks with his fingertips and making comments about you being all sweet and shy for him... but if you were really scared, he would hold you and stroke your hair, making you tell him exactly what is worrying you. he wouldn't rush you at all but when you are ready, he's moving in you so gently, talking you through it, praising you like crazy ("thats it, sweetheart." "you're doing so good." "look so pretty like this.") and he's kissing you so much to distract you from overthinking.

CALEB is emotional as fuck ok. he has imagined your first time a thousand different ways and he needs it to be good because it's you and it's him and it just needs to be everything so lowkey he's hella nervous too. constant kisses, constant communication, "are you okay?" "does this hurt?" "tell me it feels good, baby" and definitely holding your hand against the mattress. he tries really hard to stay gentle but once you relax, its pound town... he can't help it.

RAFAYEL is playful, making you giggle and moan in the same breath. this side of him helps you forget you were even nervous in the first place. he's so attentive because he wants your first time to be romantic and memorable, i'm talking candles, soft music, anything to help make the space feel as inviting as the act. and after you finish and he's told you you're beautiful about a thousand times, he's nuzzling into your neck talking about mayyybeeee going again.

XAVIER would be soooo patient. he genuinely willing to spending hours just kissing and caressing your skin if thats what you need. he has all the time in the world for you and isn't afraid to use some of it. i know he spends forever with foreplay—his fingers and mouth making you shake until he's certain you are completely relaxed and ready for him. when he's finally inside you, he's stroking your cheeks, and asking if you need him to go slower.

You drag the door of the huge shipping container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the monsters. It would be if it weren't for Caleb. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on your brother. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the monster you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Caleb keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Caleb helping you from a distance is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Mindless moaning monsters you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Caleb anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find the only person you loved and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well, check it out then!" another commands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the moaning dead are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Caleb would be watching... waiting. A predator in the shadows. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of sight, using the edge of the container as a shield, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking," he adds.

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's a predictable evil. You're prey to people like them—something to hunt and occupy their time with in a world without the threat of consequence.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage. It's not hard to pull off considering the genuine fear wracking your body. It helps your performance. Make them drop their guard. Small. Afraid. Unthreatening. Alone. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

They hesitate. The barrels on their guns start to lower.

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims.

Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was: little thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Caleb more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Caleb was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something. You repeat it to yourself like a prayer.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response.

Their guards are down. They're distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

Their flashlights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger—probably still a child—a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him.

Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. Their hands send a wave of repulsion through you as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their slimy touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm growls, impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of monsters, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're pulled to a halt. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn of sudden emotion threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry undead. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Caleb was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all. A heavy weight sits in your chest, reaching it's hands out towards you, like the monsters in the pit: doubt.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol, and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the forehead before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though. Those moments with an enemy weapon pointed directly at you always do.

But then Caleb is there, strangling the man from behind with the body of a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck that you spot the bodies behind him: eliminated during your own attack.

He'd been waiting for you. If he attacked before you were ready, they'd use you against him. So he'd waited until the exact moment you'd shot the first one under the chin.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his eyes and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his purple eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky. His fingers struggle to secure your hair back behind your ear, trembling.

You nod.

"You did so good," he soothes, that familiar comforting voice easing you back into your own body. "You were perfect." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point before it rests at your clavicle. "We need to leave," he says, finally steadying his own breathing. "Stay close to me."

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember how close death is. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs—to the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His long, thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you. A protective warmth.

"You like that, sweetheart?" His lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. It falls down around his neck at the back, a messy wolf-cut that you hack at with a knife when it gets long enough to bother him. "You're so soft for me... dripping all over me... welcoming me in. You did so good today... so perfect..."

You offer a small whine in response, squirming a little.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your twitchy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"It's alright," he soothes. "You need me here? Inside?"

"Mm," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely with his huge body, a living blanket shielding you from all the world's dangers.

"I'm sorry they put their hands on you." His breath warms your skin, and he sounds pained.

"I'm not hurt," you remind him, again.

"Shouldn't have let them touch you."

You'd been through this before. More times than you could count. He would torture himself in the days after this. Perfection was all he ever accepted from himself, and arguing would get you nowhere.

So you reach blindly to find his wrist and grip it firmly. "Hold me tight," you whisper into his ear.

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas. Another apology.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he always knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you—like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"Won't let anyone touch you again," he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. "Never."

The loss of his hand on you is temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he buried himself deep—as soon as his cock was guided safely inside your dripping cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I've got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats.

He mumbles it over and over as he teases—plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink as he guides his tip over your twitchy hole and through your lips over and over.... and over... until you forget everything but the feeling of him against you and all the desperate need building up inside.

Then, eventually, he presses inside. Just the tip... and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a little taste of his actual strength. The strength he used to keep you safe every single day. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his thick arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a teasing sample of that fullness—of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he orders, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's wet and messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily.

His lips chase yours as you attempt to catch your breath. One kiss to your swollen lower lip as you pant. Then he licks at the drool glistening across your chin.

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck with a whimper.

And then, without warning, he pulls you down to meet his leaking cock—to fuck himself deep. It's sudden, and it's all forceful strength, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his shoulder as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin a little more, a silent warning moments before he's moving—fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his powerful thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

He attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear as you jostle against him. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... it's okay... you're okay..."

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My pretty girl." He holds you down against him, buried to the hilt, and grinds up into you with a roll of his hips. "My pretty little baby... fu-fuck... keep you safe."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips, lifts them up, and tugs you onto him—each thrust a vulgar slapping of skin that punches a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength.

You watch the muscles in his arms move as he uses you, moving you against him like you weigh nothing at all. His calloused fingers dig almost painfully into your hips. He's all power and murderous protection, and you feel it all as he drives himself through your walls again and again.