#if tumblr breaks it again...oh well

[artttho]

i think hes pretty neat ヽ(´▽`)/

[lilmeowmrow]

3 years later and the nosebleed is back.

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

there are too many thoughts inside of me at all times.

[moregraceful]

god bless al gore's tumblr there really is a place for everyone on here.

[luciesartblog]

I’m a Hex Girl, and I’m gonna put a spell on you ✨

Happy Halloween to these ladies who blew my tiny mind when I was a kid

[theguiltinessisyours]

finished breaking bad yesterday and um. what the fuck

[syncrovoid-presents]

YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN THE REAL YOU - A Short Story

7.9k words

TW: unreality, fire, meat, body horror, blood, unreality

Summary: This is basically a nightmare I had that I turned into a short story! Join a family of 3 as you go on an adventure to a sleepy home on a hill. You also go shopping, but it's totally fine. Everything is so very very normal with the house on a hill, and did I mention the ocean? @:))

It started simple enough.

There were three others in the car, the gentle purr of the engine proving steady company. You sat in the back left seat, the interior of the car clashing with the bright colours you found yourself wearing. Vertically striped pants of red and yellow, faded from wear and torn at the bottom stood out against the dull, listless grey of the felt seat, black shoes stark against the pebble-littered floor. The faux-carpet was a charcoal that spoke not of years spent travelling but rather of a quiet, uneventful existence. The stray dirt and stains blended in, faded like trapped in a sepia toned state.

To your right sat a boy a few years younger than yourself; a brother figure you've never seen before yet felt deeply familiar with. Staring out the window, you weren't able to catch his attention. Even when you waved your hand, tapped his shoulder, it was as if he was a statue, blue eyes locked on the world beyond. You found that you couldn't break the silence, but that didn't bother you. The others were too preoccupied to speak anyways.

As the drive continued the trees outside slowly turned from a seemingly endless sea of vermilion leaves and tawny bark into scattered brambles and golden fields. The wheat grew in large swaths, rectangular only from the perspective you could see them from, trapped within the metal box you called transportation. The sky above was a brilliant blue, neither dark nor light though glowing bright, cloudless and sunless. I looked flat, lacking dimension, lacking variation. It was akin to staring at a solid colour on a computer screen, as blank and textureless as could be.

As the time passed the rumble of the car turned into a high whine, and finally the silence was broken. Though not by words but rather through shared thought, as everyone turned to their left in unison as the car breached a hill, revealing a large body of water. The road growled as it shifted, clawing towards the water's edge, land heaving as it reformed itself before your very eyes.

Though it was hard to see from your position—the overwhelmingly dull grey of the walls and ceiling, and seats and doors tried to block the sight—you could see glimpses of rich ocean waves of turquoise and sapphire intermingling with one another. The waves were low, lapping at the edges lazily. White foam coated the very edges, and it was difficult to see past the murkiness of the surface.

The car slowed once the road ran parallel with the ocean's edge. Up ahead were arches made of the skeletal remains of train cabs, the iron frames rising high over the road and sinking deep into the water. Sections of the metal exterior clung on like a shattered exoskeleton, red paint worn from age and rust, stripes of white and blue now a similar grey to the car's interior. The driver, a women older than you—perhaps a mother?—let the vehicle reach a stop, turning to whisper something you couldn't hear to the front passenger.

All together the other three opened their doors and left, leaving you scrambling to unbuckle yourself as the car lurched forwards. Your hands, warm and sweaty slipped over the seat-belt. The click barely audible over the low snarl of the road below opening up, the cracks turning to a large mouth, spreading wider and wider, the crumbling edges of asphalt and rocks were teeth lining its throat.

You swung the door open and leapt out without a thought, feet slamming down on solid dirt as the car began its decent into the sinkhole. You rushed towards the group you came with. You didn't want to be left behind. And you had a sinking suspicion that if you were, your fate would be the same as the car, swallowed by the very earth as it was forgotten. An all-to-real example of '<i>out of sight, out of mind</i>'.

By the time you caught up the other three had begun a conversation with an older man. He wore his beard wild, the sea-salt hair spreading out several inches beyond his face, reaching down to his chest in a salt-and-pepper semi-circle. His face was wrinkled, his body round though mostly hidden by a large blue coat that reached down to his knees. It was covered in pockets, each one held shut by a singular large navy button. Some bulged, stuffed full. Most were flat, and some had the edges torn clean off, stained and useless.

He stood before the sea like it was a part of him, the sky beyond him more murky grey, clouds heavy and low. There was a clear line in the sky, a divider between where you came from and where he was, and it split the heavens in two. One remained that bright blue, the other a low ceiling of darkening clouds swirling towards the man. He spoke of danger, of explosives barely hidden, abandoned in a bygone era. With his arms spread and voice challenging the growing winds he pointed towards the edge of the water.

And there it sat like an egg in a nest, a metallic orb covered with spikes. Each spike was twice the length of the orb itself, and rather than being smooth metal it shrank in tiers, each one slimmer than the last. Every spike had three tiers, with a fourth made not of a rusted calendar but of a triangular spear. Once the first was noticed the rest revealed themselves; the water was filled with them. They swayed with the waves, their lower spikes digging into the rocky sand. They reminded you of urchins as they lazily rolled about, though each would reach up to your hips, had you joined them in the waters.

The man explained what they were.

Explosives.

The clouds above turned darker still as he bagged the woman not to travel any further, telling tales of his own companions that died at this very shore. And yet she showed no signs of fear, rather her voice was filled with excitement. Matched by brother than wasn't yours and the passenger—and wasn't it odd? Every time you looked away from the Passenger's face you forgot what it looked like. Their name, though no name it was, stood in solitary gold, stretched and sinking into nonexistence. You swore they were familiar, a sister perhaps? And yet you couldn't <i>see</i>, you couldn't <i>remember</i>—they thanked the man with hearty handshakes and went on their marry way.

You skirted around the water's edge, more hesitant than your companions. There was a lingering feeling of dread, a taste of salt and rot hovering in the air. Between the nearest explosive and the ground you stood was a low wall of dead fish, their eyes dull, their scales the same listless grey of the vehicle abandoned. A shiver ran down your spine, and you looked up to avoid their eyes.

Above the sky was still split in two, one half brilliant blue and the other running clouds. Glancing to your left your eyes were met with a sea of gold, the wheat waist height at the tallest, shrinking and fading into emerald grasses that reached your knees, a dirt path left behind by your companions. The road was but a faint memory, one that you could so clearly remember travelling but could see no traces of.

You sighed and focused on where you had to be, looking one final time at the wayward man before continuing. Your companions—you think they are a family. Were you part of their family? You didn't know, you couldn't tell. The brother was yours, the Passenger was not, and the eldest, their mother, was but a stranger to you. They looked like duplicates, cookie cutter copies of one another. And yet they were entirely separate, so completely different that claiming a family resemblance would be a joke—laughed as they climbed into the metal lungs of a killed train.

The entrance yawned before you, twice your height and arching taller still. The metal creaked as the family climbed within, and you could feel the breath of the life it once held. The entrance was nothing more than the front ripped off, sharp iron edges daring you to cut yourself upon them.

The opening itself reminded you of a bullet wound, with the rusted edges like mechanical blood. Oil dribbled from the base onto the ground, slick and hypnotic. When you took your first step inside the remains of the metal floor shuddered, groaning. You clung to the rope strung above. It ran from the opening deep into the iron skeleton, following where its spine was. You tried not to think of it as the main root of a nervous system, you didn't dare even look at it.

Because despite knowing it was a rope, it felt slimy in your hands. It squished as you held tight, a film of slime building up on your palms. You winced with every step, ignoring how it squelched, ignoring how the floor shook beneath you. And it was weird, wasn't it? You knew it was a train cart, you had seen the remains, you <i>knew</i> it to be. And yet once inside it was three times larger than it should be, the darkness inside swirling like a living thing, the metal exterior like the hardened shell of a beetle.

You couldn't tell how long it lasted, but the entire time you could overhear the playful conversations of the family. They were always a few steps ahead, just out of reach no matter how fast or slow you travelled. A golden glow followed them, making their travel inside more like a stroll in a field. Still, you didn't look at the rope they held, because even they weren't spared from the risk of falling into the serrated edges of crumpled metal that laid beneath the patchwork floor.

Finally you stumbled out, cheering with the Passenger as the brother emerged after you.

You pointedly did not think about how he had been the first to enter.

You cheered with the rest as he jumped onto the ground with a yell, face curled in a grin. The train cart behind him was just that, a singular cart, an abandoned caboose. The roof was half torn off and the walls nothing more than the metal frame, an angular rib-cage. The sky above was solid blue once more, and the ocean's edge was nothing more than dirt and grass, now a sea of unmowed lawns, the white edges of the waves now roads in the distance.

The mother spoke of the house you were all to stay at, and you felt at peace. You joked with the rest, the Passenger falling in step with you as you spoke of a dream you once had. It was a soft one, one that tasted like bubblegum and looked like cotton-candy. Of pinks and purples you once had dreamt, and the Passenger chimed in with a dream of their own, matching the images captured in your mind. Though for them it had been a world doused in candy, of mountains of sherbet and flaura of multi-hued stretched toffee.

The conversation continued as together you walked up a hill and away from where the train cart sat. The Passenger laughed at a tale you told, and in turn they shared some of their own.

On the top of the hill sat the very car you all had abandoned. Though you knew it to be silver, all you saw was dull grey. The windows were tinged grey, the tires were grey, the lights on the front and back were all shades of listless grey. The clothes of the family, you finally noticed, matched this painfully boring grey.

You looked down in confusion.

Why weren't you wearing grey?

You circled around the vehicle and climbed into your seat. The family all opened their doors in tune, all slamming shut at the same time. The sounds of their seat-belts clicking in place rang out together as one loud snap, and just as suddenly they all stopped talking. You too found that you couldn't speak, though you could still move.

The brother was staring out the window once more, lost in thought, or perhaps all thought was lost on him. The Passenger was in the same state, the smiling face you swore you saw nothing more than a glow of foggy gold that you couldn't remember even as you stared at them. You couldn't see the mother, but you didn't need to to see the worry lines adorning her face, fingers clenching the steering wheel too tight.

You couldn't offer any words of comfort.

You couldn't speak at all.

The soft purr of the car made your mind think of grey, and the road below was made of the same material as the faux-carpet your feet sat upon. The mother rambled about the house you would all be staying at, speaking of yearly visits and grandparents that you never met. Her voice started off lively but slowly drained until it too was grey, matching the clothes she wore and the car she drove.

It was strange, was it not? The grey was everywhere, slowly slipping into the cracks of this shared adventure. And not all of it was visible either, nor was it all audible. The air itself tasted of dust and pepper, like pigeon feather grey. The smell was the same, lacking of all life, lacking of anything that made it anything but grey.

The house, once the car pulled up beside it, was also grey. A grey driveway and grey pathway, grey siding and grey eave-troughs. The flowers in the front garden were grey too. Lilacs drained of colour, roses dipped in ashes, even the leaves lost nearly all their green. And even the love-seat on the front porch—made from a woven frame and covered in large plush cushions—was grey.

As you exited the car out of sync with the family you dared not break the silence. For the only thing that wasn't grey, other than the static blue sky above was <i>you</i>.

While the outside of the home was a standard two story build that could be found in any pop-up neighbourhood where each house resembled the last, the inside was anything but. Once breaching the walls you found yourself within a mall, akin to an old Walmart, though any branding had been stripped free.

Everyone within was in a rush, scrambling from one isle to the next. The family scattered in different directions, leaving you standing by the front alone. You swallowed down a cry for them to wait, scanning your surroundings. The floor was made of the exact same square tile, grey with a slash down the left middle. Copied and pasted together, it repeated like a faulty texture. The walls were no where to be found, the isles fading into fog in the distance.

You had no idea how large this place was.

You had no idea if it ever ended.

Time seemed to hold still as you wandered the isles, the scrambling crowds of people fading into nothing whenever you got too close. If you looked them in the eye you saw their faces, but otherwise they had none, their heads lacking all features, their hair lacking any definition to separate it from their flesh. They still wore clothes, though those too lacked proper texture, looking more like it was painted onto plastic skin, like they all were pose-able manikins brought to life.

It would have been unsettling if you could remember that they were there. But akin to the face of the Passenger you forgot them when you looked away.

Which left you alone.

The first isle was dedicated to individually wrapped snack bars, the silver packaging filling the isles top to bottom. The second isle was dedicated to individually packaged raisins. The next was the same, though instead with gummies shaped like small frogs that squirmed when grabbed, trapped within clear wrappers. The next had water bottles filled with air, the caps the same grey as the floor.

After that was an isle of cooked rotisserie chickens stacked atop one another, greasy skin slowly peeling off and falling down. This isle had a carpet that squelched with each step you took, both slippery and sticky from the grease. Some of the meat had fallen onto the ground, some of it indistinguishable blobs of half-cooked meat and some the wings or legs of the cooked birds.

You got down on your knees to take a closer look, boggled at the isle. The lights above flickered as you examined a pile of torn off chicken wings left in the middle of the floor. While some of them appeared normal, skin crunchy and flesh a soft white, some of them were decidedly not. The skeleton's of the cooked chickens had changed, the wings plumper, the meat pinker. Fingers grew where wingtips jutted out. The base of them had dull nails buried in the crisp skin, akin to a thumb.

The longer ones had more joints, more cooked meat. In your brain all you saw was cooked chicken, no different than those found at the back of a grocery store. The swollen finger-like extremities seemed like nothing more than extra meat, plump chicken ready to consume. The embedded nails were like extra skin, the extra joints just more wings to eat. The grease that pooled around the anomalous pile was tinged pink with blood; not all the meat was cooked properly.

You stood back up, looking away from the pile.

At the other end of the isle was the family you came with, now with a large shopping cart filled with various homely belongings.

You watched as they scooped up large handfuls of meat and bones, chicken wings and chicken breasts. It made a wet schlapping sound as the chicken fell onto the objects within the cart. The brother waved towards you, gesturing to the pile on the ground with a grin. You watched as your body reached down and grabbed the pile.

It grabbed you back.

You were careful as you walked down the isle, avoiding the grease as best you could. The family thanked you as you dropped the pile into the cart and onto an old worn stuffed animal, a teddy-bear with one ear missing. The chicken meat fell onto it's face, the black button eyes gaining a life-like gleam from the grease that now coated the toy. There was a lace necklace around its neck, pearl white now tinged pink. You swallowed as the brother dropped more chicken onto it.

You couldn't look away.

Slowly the bear was covered in chicken, and the photo it sat upon was buried under partially cooked meat. It hadn't been clear what the photo had been of, but you saw glimpses of familiar faces and a home you once called your own, one of many you've lived in. The family was talking about stocking up on food, about a disaster that was coming, about something terrible that was to come.

But you couldn't stop looking at the bear. It's eyes were hypnotic, wet and shiny. The slow schlop of more meat being piled in was like a ticking clock, the bones jostling the bear in a way that made it look like it moved. From sitting to standing, from relaxing to drowning, the bear stared back at you with it's eyes of grease and blood. You wondered if it had been yours. You wondered if it had been a family heirloom. As it finally lost the battle against the steadily rising piles of chicken you wondered, sadly, when it had last been hugged.

The brother grabbed your hand and pulled you along once the cart was moving. Everyone was heading towards the front to leave, the not-quite-people rushing around you. You saw their own carts, filled with strangely packaged and completely unpackaged foods, each cart also having a pile of bedding and photographs. You jogged to keep up, the mother rambling about the disaster getting closer. You tried not to look in the cart where the bear once was, and you tried not to look at the torn off chunks of rotisserie chicken with too many bones and too undercooked.

You tried not to think of the grease on your hands.

There lights above flickered as you drew closer to the front, the typical lines to pay replaced with large metal cubes, the outsides hacked together with melted televisions and stray kitchen utensils. Rows upon rows of them sat in the front, red lights above blaring whenever someone passed by under their scanners, jutting out semicircles that barely brushed against the next cube to their right.

You quirked your head, confusion replaced by worry when the family cut in line to squeeze by one of the machines. Now closer you could hear the mechanical hum and the high pitched whine of florescent lights. The cube stood thrice your height, plastered with all sorts of colours, the head of a flimsy spatula peeling off it's hodgepodge skin. The semi-circular scanner was alight with a cosmos of twinkling LED lights within, burning bright with some sort of pattern before the red top of the cube blared your freedom.

The family murmured their thanks and rushed to the door, the brother still holding tight to your wrist. The items in the cart felt larger now, bedding for one now suitable for four, the chicken now wrapped in clear zip-lock bags. You slipped your hand out of the grip and walked in tandem with the rest, keeping close and away from the faceless people puttering about.

The electric doors opened themselves before you. The fresh air you expected from outside was filled with smoke and tasted of tar, thick and heavy and smothering. The mother's concerns doubled as everyone rushed to the car. The trunk opened by itself as you and the brother began packing whatever would fit into the trunk. The store you exited from no longer existed, replaced by the facade of a two story home atop of a hill, the ocean of suburbia clear in sight.

The shopping cart was left abandoned as you hastily swung the trunk shut and darted into the backseat, the heavy car door slamming shut with a bang. You had no time to buckle up before the car was in full motion, sprinting down the lane leading up to the house, the engine snarling in the smokey air. Outside your window you could see a neighbourhood in flames, house upon house a cackling bonfire.

The flames were a bright orange, the tips soaked in daffodils and the bases like spilled white-out. The fields surrounding the family's home was smouldering, the flames beginning to spread closer and closer. The smoke it emitted was ruthlessly thick, black smog that chocked the very air. The sky above soon was filled with the smoke, even as the car hurried away from the fires, driving on a lonely paved road, a poor excuse for a highway.

The brother was filming it with his phone, and the Passenger buried their face in their hands to avoid looking. The mother's grip was tight on the wheel, her hands nearly snapping it in two as she slammed on the gas. The car couldn't keep up and the world swayed around you, the thick smog worming in from the windows and blocking your view.

You struggled to stay awake, pulling up the cloth of your shirt to breath through that in a supplemental filter that yielded no results. It prickled in your lungs as your eyes shut without your command, the voices of the family crying the last thing you heard.

It was dark.

It was oh so very, very dark.

It was a darkness you could taste, a darkness you could feel wet against your skin. It was a suffocating hug. It was twin hands digging into your shoulders. It tasted of soured honey and gone-off cranberries. It was thick, a slimy paste that wouldn't let you be. It clung to your tongue and stuck to your clothes, and you felt like you were sinking down into it.

You couldn't see.

The only sound was your own breathing and the rabbit-hop skipping of your lonesome heart.

You couldn't see.

And yet when you blinked, there was light.

You squinted and leaned back, eyes coming you help shade your weary eyes. Everything around you was a stark, brilliant white. Everything was made from blocks and simple shapes, cubes and stretched rectangles making a faux-office space. But it was so white, whiter than you could parse.

There was no discernible source of light yet everything was so brightly illuminated. The shadows, if there were any, were strange and simplistic, moreso light the one face of the cube was painted a dull grey rather than being cast in a true shadow. The walls and floor and ceiling were all the same stark white, flat and textureless.

From where you stood you hadn't much of a vantage point, as you were facing a wall. Looking down, there was a simplistic table that was nothing but a white slab sticking out of the wall. And on top of that was a perfect replica—perfect might have been stretching it. The shapes were simplified, the edges turned to different variations of 45 degree angles. And it was all white, the shadows wrong or missing, drowned in the endless, endless white—of the house and surrounding neighbourhoods that had been devoured by the flames.

You stared down at it, mind racing, heart skipping.

The car the family and you used to escape was sitting atop of the hill, the family's home cheerfully alone. It was the only care, even as you peered down at the various other homes. The further away they were from the hill the less and less detail they had, until the one's at the furthest edges of the miniature model were nothing but cubes with a triangular peak dotting along a flat plain.

The family's home was as tall as your pinky finger was long. The windows were white, no longer glass but rather indents in the building.The garage was the same, as too was the front door. A part of you wanted to pick it up and take a closer look, yet a louder part of you felt a deep level of discomfort at the thought. It was all wrong, the hill looking up at you as you remembered the smoke and the flames.

You had just been there, and it had all been real. The white empty fields had been of overgrown grasses and sprouting wild flowers. The boring white roads had been of dirt and asphalt and filled with variation. You had been inside the car that had no doors, no windows, nothing but a cheap mimicry of what you just seen. And there had been shadows, there had been light, there had been suffocating flames you couldn't escape.

You wondered, briefly, if you had died. Was this the equivalent of seeing the life you lived, now nothing but a ghost struggling to see the real world? Was this a form of heaven, seeing the breakdown of complicated matters, now nothing but cheap simplistic toys to the immortal being you've become? Was this a form of hell, weren't white rooms used for torture?

You shook the thoughts and turned around, finally willing to see the rest of the space.

And unsurprisingly it was all white.

Off to the left were rows of booths one would find at a diner, with various folks sitting inside. Past that the floor continued, simple square desks with blank-faced computer monitors awaiting interaction. That spanned a distance too vast to fully see, where in the white fog you saw glimmers of bookshelves and more isles reminiscent of the store you fled from.

To your right were small rectangular pods where people sat within. Some were laughing, some were alone, but all were preoccupied with whatever they were up to, whether that be playing cards or merely chatting. They appeared to be privacy pods, though the fronts were made of clear glass—was it really privacy if anyone could see? Maybe those folks just wanted the safety of a glass wall in this giant room that never seemed to end—and the doors were nowhere to be seen.

You couldn't see anything beyond that, the rows upon rows upon rows upon rows of these pods endlessly spanned out, fading into the fog as they stacked upon themselves, people stuck within.

Ahead of you were a few tables akin to those at a public school's library. A few rows in you saw the family. You sighed in relief and stumbled towards them, your feet lagging behind where you knew they should be. The brother sat in a chair, hunched over a small blank screen as he focused on a video game only he could see. The Passenger stood before a mirror, yet the reflection was nothing but more white.

The mother sat in front of a computer, scrolling through results as she whispered to herself. You stood beside her and asked what was wrong. She didn't hear you. You poked the brother on the shoulder, then the arm, then waved your hand over his gaming pad. He didn't react. You tried the same with the Passenger, but whatever they saw in the mirror was far more captivating than anything you could offer, though to you it was a blank white screen.

You frowned and looked around, shaking your head in confusion. Next you tried some of the folks sitting in the booths, rushing over and loudly exclaiming nonsense. You hoped their confusion would force their attention onto you, but they didn't react. With a grip that seemed impossible the man that sat before you shoved yet another fork-full of food into his mouth.

You looked down, and found his plate was empty.

And it was white, the fork was white and his hand was white and the inside of his mouth was the same, stark, shadowless white. He chewed and swallowed, taking another bite of something you couldn't see. The fork he held was halfway through his hand—his hand was weird, held like it was gripping a tube, fingers too blocky and skin inhumanly smooth—and jutting out through the back.

Judging by how he continued his cycle of eating he either hadn't noticed or felt no pain. There was no blood, no injury, just the handle of the too-white fork piercing through his palm.

You slowly backed away, looking towards a couple sitting in the booth behind him. They too held their forks strangely. Their plates were empty and the forks they seemed to eat from never wore a speck of food. Their mouths were empty chasms of white. No teeth lined their gums, no tongue was found within. They hadn't any lips, their mouths sealing shut as if they didn't exist whenever they were chewing.

The next booth was quite the same, though they had bowls and spoons instead of forks and plates.

You scanned the rows of booths.

They were all like that.

The unease you felt grew as you stumbled away and ran back to the family, but you couldn't run. You were locked at one speed, unable to slow down, unable to speed up. It awkward, lurching, stuck between a walk and a jog. Your legs shuffled oddly and your feet never fully touched the ground, snapping in place whenever you stopped to turn. Your hands were heavy, like you were holding something but you had nothing in your hands.

You looked again at the family.

The brother's gaming pad had static buttons that didn't move when he pressed them. The screen was blank white and it made no noise. The mirror—you knew it was a mirror because your brain told you it was—was just a slab of standing white, leaning back against nothing as the Passenger stood before it. You checked the other side, and it too was white and without shadows. You checked the computer the mother used, and it was just a cube.

It was a cube, why did you think it was a computer? It was just a white cube sitting on a white square table on white blocky legs. The keyboard was a stretched rectangle of white. The mouse was another cube in the mother's hand. You thought you heard her muttering words but when you looked away from her the only sound was your breathing.

You went back to the miniature replica of the town.

The home stood on top of the hill. It hadn't changed, but it looked all the more threatening.

It was the only thing with detail, though the detail still was sparse. The garden in the front was made of minuscule white cubes hovering in the air, the stems just straight white lines. It was hard to tell what was grass and what wasn't as each blade was but a white line jutting perfectly out from the ground, none of them overlapping. The lack of shadows—there were none even if you hovered your hand over the house—made it hard to understand.

You didn't need to see to understand, because even if you didn't know what you were looking at, your brain would always tell you.

The white cube beside the table with the houses? That was a fridge, even if it lacked a door or handle, or was nothing but a cube laying on the ground.

The white blocks hanging from the ceiling? Those were lights, couldn't you tell? It didn't matter if no light came from them, or if they were actually hovering in place, the wires holding them there only existing in your imagination.

The white floor? It was actually carpet, even if it had no texture and looked nothing like one. Even if you couldn't feel it under your feet.

The eyes you realized were missing from everyone's face? Don't worry, there were eyes, there were eyes, there were eyes. Just because you couldn't see them doesn't mean they didn't exist, just because you didn't see them watching you it didn't mean they weren't. The faces had noses and eyes and mouths, and the only reason you thought they didn't was because your eyes weren't seeing right.

The unease and confusion rolled in your stomach. You felt ill.

You buried your face in your hands and felt something attached to your face.

It covered your eyes and wrapped around to your ears. You couldn't see it but you could feel it. It seemed to cling to your face tight, like it didn't want to be removed. At that moment you finally recognized why everything teetered on the edge of familiarity.

The lack of shadows, the lack of a clear source of light. The stark white and seemingly endless space. The blocks hovering, the cubes that stood as representations rather than the real things. It was all akin to a poorly modelled space. Real world turned digital, the building blocks of an electronic simulation. The strange ways the people held various objects, the screen that had nothing on them and the mirrors that were blank.

It all matched the beginning stages of a game, rushed and simplistic and lacking in the realism department.

The object on your face felt more real as you were able to pull it off, the weight on your shoulders increasing as you set it on the table beside the mother. It was a VR headset, the twin screens within flickering white as you took in a deep breath.

You didn't know how you got there, and you hadn't a clue why you ended up there after the fire.

Looking around now, you wished you hadn't taken the headset off.

Everything looked almost the same, but not quite, not right. It was hyper-realistic, like you were peering into the very atoms that made up everything. Everything you saw in the digital world was the same as here, just here it was real, it had edges and shadows and the people were real. They had faces, they wore headsets, and you tried not to scream.

Because out of the back of every person you saw—all exactly where they were in the VR world and doing the exact same things—was a long gnarled arm, twisted and dark. It looked like burnt bark, like rot covering the stretched out skeletal remains of an arm. Everyone had one jutting out from the center of their upper back, taking root between their shoulder blades.

Each arm reached up to hover behind a person's head, and in their hands with too many fingers were large bulky cameras pointed directly at them. From the too-large camera lenses came two strings that buried themselves into the skull's of the people. The strings twisted upon themselves, multilayered and oozing. Your stomach lurched as you saw the drilled holes in the back of the mother's skull before you, giving you the chance to peer into the dark, pulsing insides.

You tried not to gag as you realized what they were. Stretched out and stitched together, the strings weren't strings; they were eye stems. They were the system of nerves and sinew that connected your brain to your eyes, and they were hooked up to the cameras, and their ooze was blood.

You covered your eyes and blinked, and when you looked again you were in the VR world.

You heard a voice, and saw a vision. It was trying to understand, and you were trying to forget.

It flickered from the famous diagram by Leonardo da Vinci, the Vitruvian Man with his four arms and four legs trapped within a sepia toned world, stuck within a square and circle. It zoomed in on his face, ignoring the rest as it shifted to a drawing of an androgynous person, neither young nor old. It zoomed in on their eyes, growing larger and larger until it shifted once more.

It changed to the wrinkles of a brain, mini explosions of light representative of passing thought. It followed where the eye connected up to the brain, diving deeper still. The next image was that of neurons and electricity, drowned in the sketches of a man long dead. It zoomed deeper still, and you saw yourself standing there, but it wasn't you.

It was a representation of you, an avatar within the virtual world. It stood before the town, and then moved towards the family. In double speed it followed everything you did, the face not quite yours and the eyes always blank. It slowed to a normal pace once it reached the point where you took the VR headset off, and you swore it looked you in the eyes.

The world flickered between the stark white of the virtual reality and the dark world beyond that. You saw yourself, the real you, the you made of flesh and blood. You stood there as it zoomed out, flying further and further outwards until you were nothing more than a speck, a tiny pin within a endless repeating pattern of booths and tables and isles of books.

Beyond that was a wall, and it was alive.

It was alive in a sense you couldn't understand, a gargantuan creature of flesh and eyes. The eyes were every colour and none, flickering between gold and green and white and blue far too fast to keep up, like you were never supposed to see it, like you couldn't actually witness it. The scale of it was bigger than you could fathom, it stretched into the heavens and deep below the surface, it went on for eternity in every direction that wasn't were you stood.

It was everywhere, and it was endless.

And it was looking at you.

A sea of arms and hands clawed out from the wall of dark, gnarled flesh. They matched the hands that grew out from the people's spines, 9 fingers each and without thumbs. They grew more elbows whenever they wished, and lost them with ease. You blinked and found yourself staring at your standing figure, and you finally heard it speak.

The voice was outside of yourself and it was in your head. You were forgetting where you started and where it began. You were yourself within your body, but you were also the avatar within the virtual world, yet still you were part of it, mindless. You saw the series of images flicker in your vision again, this time double, this time one set for each eye as if mimicking the screens of the VR headset.

It spoke.

"You've always been the real you"

As avatars in the virtual world tend to do, it tried to pose itself where your head should be based on where you abandoned the VR headset. Your stomach lurched as you saw the avatar's limbs bend wrong, clipping through it's body, stretched too far and in unnatural positions. It's feet stayed glued to the ground, yet its legs squashed into each other, knees like pulled toffee as they stuck out twice as far as they should.

It's face was distorted in horror, and you felt your body freeze as it did. The voice, it didn't understand. The series of images flickered by again, and you were beginning to understand what it was trying to say.

"You've always been the real you"

You watched like a camera as you saw the journey you took before waking up in the virtual world. You watched as the family travelled in the car, stopping by the ocean, talking to the world-weary man. You watched like a ghost, an outside observer as you shuffled through the rusted remains of old train carts and climbed into the car ones more.

You saw the car driving, and you saw it twice. It was like two visual streams, two videos where the car was always in the same position, the camera following it as it drove up the hill. In one you and the family were within the car as the mother drove you all home. In the second there was a large gnarled hand grabbing the simplistic white toy car from the miniature model and dragged it up the hill.

You felt your very being scatter into all the places you were meant to be. One of you was stuck as the VR avatar, limbs stretched and body contorted, frozen until the headset was moved by your hands. Another part of you was standing in the large empty space before the wall of flesh and eyes, an ant before a god, infinity before your human form.

Another part of you was lost within the thing, the it. And it was confused, because "you've always been the real you." What didn't you understand? The real you is what you perceive as real, and weren't you real within the Virtual World it made? For what was the difference between an avatar of code and an avatar of blood if both were controlled by a living consciousness?

"You've always been the real you," how hard was that to get? You images flickered faster, the Vitruvian Man and the androgynous person, the eyes and the stems and the wrinkles of a brain. The horror of what stood before you was drowned by the confusion of it, and you saw as it tried something new.

Usually a virtual avatar does it's best to match what a flesh and blood person would look like.

What if that was reversed?

The endless wave of hands that stuck out from the wall of infinite matter reached down towards your body, slowly pushing you into position. You felt your head be pushed down, your legs bent and knees sticking out before you. Your arms reached up at the shoulders and your hands pressed harsh against your sternum. The it was trying to understand, why couldn't you understand?

"You've always been the real you."

You heard the snap before you felt it, the bones in your legs fractured as they were pulled too far to match what the VR avatar would look like. Your stomach rolled as you realized what would come next, crying out as the hands against your chest pushed harder and harder still. The crunch of your wrist echoed in your ears, slowly followed by the wet sounds of your ribs caving in as your hands were shoved through, elbows snapping and pulled back as your fists dangled out between your shoulder blades.

You were the avatar, and you were frozen. You were an empty husk awaiting for your return.

You were the flesh and blood you, and you were shattered beyond repair. All you felt was pain, and all you were was dying.

You were part of it and you didn't understand why the body was screaming.

"You've always been the real you."

The images flickered in your sight, faster this time as the it tried to understand what made anything not real. What was before you was real, because anything that was perceived was real to you. How was the world it made, the ocean and grasses, the homes and fires, any less real because it was made? How was the booths and tables and personalized pods any less real if it was perceived as such?

Why did you think it wasn't real?

"You've always been the real you."

The hands pulled away as your body matched the avatar, and still you didn't move. The it had no concept of death, and watched as your body decomposed. Skin turning dark, blood dripping out, you watched—and you were it and you were the dead body and you were the avatar awaiting for your autonomy to return—in confusion as it failed to move.

You didn't understand death, and you didn't understand what crying.

You didn't understand death, and you didn't understand what dying meant.

You didn't understand death, and you understood you were rotting.

You didn't understand death, but you understood it was real.

You didn't understand death, but you knew that you weren't real.

The it could wait eternity, because it wasn't bound to death or life or other meaningless things. It watched until your body was naught but bones held together by the gnarled hands that killed you. You were still the avatar, a body left abandoned and alone, still seeing and hearing but without the ability to move or speak. And you were part of it, and you were everything and nothing, and you saw the sky once more.

They sky that had been blue, too blank, too clear. They sky that had no clouds nor sun, the sky that you began everything with and lived above the house on the hill. The sky had been created, an outdated version of what it should have been. The it searched through the events you lived and updated what it needed to to make it all the more real.

After all, "You've always been the real you".

"You've always been the real you."

"You've always been the real you."

"You've always been the real you."

"You've always been the real you."

"You've always been the real you."

"You've always been the real you."

 

Haven't You?

[starlingskulls]

they're at mad at me island i should cvt

[haeroniel-doliet]

God that mood where you both need to do stuff and want to do stuff but both needs are vague and have too many options so you just. Do nothing you want or need to do and realize all the time you had is disappearing. A good time!!!

[noxtivagus]

SHADOWBRINGERS.... listening to the song again n oh god i love the lyrics so so much we r ignoring the fact that i have to wake up in like less than 4 hours

[relicsongmel]

Just spent over an hour searching for the static Ho-oh in the overworld and suddenly Ryuji taking literal years to reunite with his family makes sense to me now

[pastelsicheng]

Hey what happened to your blog and your work :'( I was looking for Murder Replay (it's one of my favourite works :D) and the url isn't available, just wondering!!! I hope you are well and taking care of yourself<3

hey!! Omg people still go back to reading murder replay 😭😭😭 that makes me so happy you can’t even imagine 😭😭😭😭😭😭

I deleted my blog back in June I think? It was Sometime last summer. I was barely coming on here because I was busy with school and work, and having unfinished wips was really bothering me. It helped me a lot mentally to just have the whole blog gone. But I finally took a break off from school last semester and basically got so bored I remade an account with the same username lol. All my works are gone (sort of) from tumblr.

I say sort of because !!!! god bless people who reblog every chapter and every piece of work written!!!!!! I (just like you) wanted to read back murder replay, so I managed to track down all the chapters. I have made a masterlist on google docs and have shared it with a few moots. I don’t wanna share it publicly for now. If ur comfortable getting off anon, just send me a message and I’ll send u a link to that so u can read it as well

[blkkizzat]

COME PUT THAT MILLI★N D★LLAR PU$$Y ON ME, MAKE ME RICH!

FARMHAND!TOJI X BIMBOBUNNY!READER

☼ summary: au. a quiet farm life and a young pretty thing—what more could an ex-con want? you're a bit of a brat, but that can be fixed too. ☼ wc: 4.0k ☼ cw: age gap, panty flashing, voyeurism, brat!reader, fantasizing, spit play, biting, hickies, breeding kink, olfactophilia, teasing, perverted toji, morally ambiguous toji, creampies, squirting, unprotected, pet names: Bunny and standard p in v stuff. ☼ a/n: idk y'all farmhand!toji possessed my mind. literally did this all in tumblr drafts again today. Lets see if tumblr actually lets me post this or cucks me again.

FarmHand!Toji who only got the job in the first place because of a prison rehabilitation program. It was either work on a farm or rot in a cell for another 2 years.

Toji chose the farm.

The work wasn't easy, but Toji couldn't complain. It was a very large farm, secluded and he was paid well—but most importantly?

It kept his fuckin' P.O. off his back.

Toji works on the farm for three grueling months until you, the farmer's niece, arrives for the summer to also work.

Well, 'work' wasn't really the right word, because you never did any thing of the sort.

Barely, 19 and kicked out of your house for smoking pot. Your parents sent you to your uncle, hoping the hard work and the ex-cons he had working for him would scare you straight. Additionally, due to the fact your Uncle had no wife and no kids, the sole owner of a large farm, the old bastard was pretty well off. As the only child of your dad, his only sibling, farm would eventually be left to you.

Everyone (not like you had a say) agreed you should know how to run it.

But the thing is—you suck at everything.

You're too flighty to work with the chickens, too prissy clean the pig cages and you'd complain you'd break a nail just from lifting an empty bucket—so milking cows were also out of the question.

Yet you still managed to get your work done.

Precisely cause you weren't the one doing it.

Aware of your youthful looks and charms, you don't hesitate to use them to your advantage.

Your shapely curves are always clad in some in a thin wispy dress, which would turn damn near see-through at the smallest bit of moisture. Wearing no bra and the tiniest of panties, you were always giving a show.

No you weren't scared of these ex-cons in the least bit.

Evident by the way you flounce around the farm, unabashfully, pretending to do the chores the women-starved prisoners were too eager to do for you.

For their efforts you reward them with smiles, blown kisses and sugary words. Sometimes for rewards came in the form of a peach you would sneak them from your uncle's grove.

Always bringing one for yourself you'd sensually bite into the ripen fruit. Allowing its juices to linger on your cherry-glossed lips and dribble down your chin—the slurping noises are the perfect fapping fodder for them.

Yet the best prize of all—and only if you were feeling particularly generous—a flash of panties.

Toji though had not fallen for your charms though.

Not that he wasn't susceptible to them, hell naw—he wanted to bend your pretty ass over the nearest fence and roughly fuck some decency, along with manners into your haughty lil' cunt.

But Toji, as well as any of the prisoners, knew better than to touch you. Not only were they risking their freedom, with even the slightest offense here was enough to send them back to the pen—they were also risking their lives.

Your uncle was no fool. The older man regularly carried a sawed off shotgun slung over his shoulder, which used to be a pistol before you arrived.

The farmer didn't make it a big announcement, simply reminding them it was prison or a grave if they fucked this opportunity up—but the underlying message was crystal clear:

He'd blow anyone to hell who even thought about touching his niece.

Oh, but Toji did think about touching you—alot.

Often staying up late in his shared bunk room—jerking his cock to a frilly pair of panties of yours he'd stolen off the laundry line—once he was sure the others had gone to bed.

Toji wants to teach you a lesson badly.

Not for your benefit though, it be payback for all your goddamn teasing.

Toji isn't a pushover for you.

Nicknaming you 'Bunny' since you were such a clumsy lil ditz. He often made his silly lil bunny do whatever work he was stationed at when you had chores there—yours and his.

And oh, you hated that. You only tried harder when none of your pouts, provocations and seductions move him. It was pure hell, but Toji had resisted every trick you had. An unintended benefit however, was that he'd likely seen every pair of panties you owned by now (which is why he had stolen his favorite).

At one point, when you were particularly annoying one day, Toji even tried straight up ignoring you.

Yet that didn't work either.

You only upped the ante, 'accidentally' spilling a whole bucket of cow's milk on yourself. The very color of your perky nips are clearly visible, poking through the now transparent fabric which clings to you like second skin.

Staring Toji dead in his eyes, a coy smile on your plump lips as your pink manicured nails rubbed circles over your soaked nubs.

It took everything Toji had in him that day not to force you down to the dirt floor, fucking your pussy open just as hard and flithy as you'd been asking for.

Turning away from you, he threw a hay laden blanket over you and told you to go back up to the house n' clean up.

Toji didn't miss how badly you pouted, even though he pretended not to care. You reluctantly listened to him, leaving the barn and back to the main house up the hill.

You were both playing with fire.

Yet from that point something broke in Toji.

He still never crosses the line to touching you, but he'd starts pushing your buttons.

He wants to rile you up just as you had him.

As a result, Toji is working around you without a shirt more often—sometimes even with a raging hard on in full view. Also he doesn't hold back any longer from any of the vulgar thoughts of you that cross his mind. Regularly vocalizing them with a smirk, making overtly perverted comments towards you.

This was even something the other prisoners were too pussy to do to, given the very real threats of your farmer uncle.

Yet Toji wouldn't be a two-time ex-con he is if he didn't mind gambling with his life for a big reward. Toji relishes in your flustered, indignant reactions, loving to see how your face heats up everytime without fail every time he teases his lil' slut, his sultry voice whispering things like:

"I bet y'er cunt is riper than those peaches, Bunny."

"Bunny—think your pretty pussy can squirt more milk than these cow udders?"

"I wonder if my lil' Bunny can actually ride dick, since she's not half bad on a horse?"

You'd call him a 'perverted old man' like you weren't anything more than just a causal cocktease yourself—obviously you get some sick satisfaction knowing you had every man on this farm but Toji at your beck and call.

In reality, you were just as twisted in nature as him.

Still you were stubborn.

And as retaliation for his resistance, you play all manners of pranks on Toji. Doing anything you could so it was harder for him to do his job—from stealing his work gloves, boots and tools—to more serious ones like letting a weasel loose in the chicken coop when it was his shift to collect the eggs.

You deemed it your right to punish him for teasing you, for not becoming one of your simps and most fiendish of all?

Making you actually do work.

You harass him so often, it's not long before Toji realizes you're seeking him out intentionally.

Not even bothering to visit the other workstations where your chores are, they would get done by your lil'fan boys regardless, in favor of following him around all day like a lost lil' chick.

On a particularly hot n' sweltering summer day, Toji is stuck with the job of moving machinery from one side of the farm to the other when the sun is at its highest.

Like usual, he's since removed his sweat-drenched work shirt—remaining only in unhooked overalls and his briefs.

Toji hasn't seen you though, which isn't surprising given how broiling it is outside. Someone with as delicate a disposition as you, who also happened to be as manipulative, probably convinced your uncle to let you laze around inside the house, away from the heat—and Toji.

But you were a needy little thing, always seeking attention. Toji occupies his thoughts for most of the morning imagining you growing so bored, not having him to harass and all day.

With idle hands and absolutely nothing else to do, you'd start playing with that plump lil' pussy of yours, wouldn't you?

A supple girl like you had to overflow like a dam. Toji would bet money you'd already be wet enough, even untouched, to drench his fingers—just from palming your ripe pussy in his hand.

He wouldn't mind taking more than a sip of you on a miserable day like this to quench his thirst.

Continuing his work (and lewd thoughts of you) until his break, Toji discovers he's misplaced his work shirt.

Searching for it in the heat proves annoying—it's not on the grazing pasture fences, nor in the workshed by the machines. Tsk, he swore he had taken it with him to his last station near the horses.

Passing by the cow barn, Toji hasn't had a shift in there today but he absentmindedly remembers there's was a water hose in there. He could at least cool off for the remainder of his break—maybe even rub one out to you.

However, upon sliding open the Toji's smirk grows almost bigger than the hefty cock in his pants.

Looks like he hit the jackpot, today.

There you were in the middle the of the barn, on your back in the hay, thin dress bunched up past your hips and panties dangling off one of your shapely legs—all while feverishly fingering your fat wet lil' cunt.

You salaciously had even dripped a dark sizeable puddle on the dusty floor beneath you.

But the cherry on top?

You're quite shamelessly moaning out cries of his name, uncaring of who could happen to passby and hear you.

'T-Toji!'

'T-Toji, fuck me harder, Daddy!'

All while your pretty angelic face is twisted in pleasure, eyes closed and nose buried deep in the fabric of his soiled work shirt.

Daddy? Oh how fucking filthy of you—God you were perfect slut, just his fuckin' type.

Solely focused on cumming, your hips thrust up desperately to meet your fingers as he stalks closer to you—looking every bit of the predatory ex-convict he is.

"Well, well look at what we got ourselves here doll....n'here I thought the only degenerates on this farm were us prisoners?"

Your eyes widen in shock, but you don't stop your fingers right away. You were so close to your release before Toji suddenly appeared in front of you, there's no way you could physically stop chasing it now.

Not when it only takes a lingering glance at his dark features, muscular tanned sweat slick body, and the painfully obvious way his dick jumps in his pants to have you falling over the edge. You gush, mewling as you cream around your delicate lil' fingers.

"You've been a very naughty lil' bunny..."

Sheepishly pulling them out, covered in your slick, Toji's eyes zero in on the way your hole still gapes open. You're cunt quite literally throbbing for more, you'd cum but she's still left unsated.

You clearly needed something much bigger and harder than your flimsy little digits.

You unconsciously back up deeper into the bushels of hay around, putting distance between you as Toji gets closer.

"Tsk, tsk, nuh-uh Bunny, none of that shit. Not when I just caught you being such a whore for me."

You gulp, your heart racing as he crouches over you. Toji removes his work gloves, discarding them as he forces you to lay back on the soft hay.

“How sweet of you to prep yourself for me babydoll. But, Bunny, you dumb little girl, you’re too careless. What if it wasn’t me who walked in 'ere and saw you playing with my pussy?”

You didn't think of that, when you had so brazenly snuck up without him noticing to nab his work shirt.

Initially, you wanted to just be annoying to him again, too bored of being in the house all morning. At first you recoiled when you touched his soggy shirt, yet that all flipped once you caught of whiff of his scent.

Toji smelled of a farm but somehow that smell mixed with sweat, musk and notes of his aftershave hit you straight in your cunt. Your panties becoming just as drenched as the shirt in your hands.

You didn't realize Toji, grimy from farm work, could still smell so good.

Knowing it was far past the time for anyone to come milk cows, you headed straight to that barn. You just wanted some alone time, where you'd be free to touch yourself while thinking of the ridiculously sexy ex-con farmhand.

To say Toji had been plaguing your thoughts and dreams for the past few weeks would have been a massive understatement. You were obsessed with him. Him and his irritatingly smug expression, accentuated by his scar that made him appear all the more dangerous—you wanted him to fuck you—your uncles warnings be damned.

"You tryna get me to do more time, girl? Ya know Bunny, I'd kill anyone who touched you, if your uncle didn't get to 'em first."

Your face is hot with embarrassment but your cunt is also burning up—thinking you might die if he doesn’t actually touch you soon.

Letting his coveralls drop unceremoniously to the floor, he shrugs off his remaining clothes.

Toji's calloused hands, smudged with oil and grime, grab your hips and yank you to him. You yelp and his cock twitches even harder at your cute lil noises, smearing pre on your already soaked thighs.

Toji presses his sweaty body onto yours. It's cool in the barn but Toji's heat is so intense you feel like you are out in the sun again. Having him on top of you like this finally is overwhelming your senses. Toji is intoxicating and you're so feral with need for him it makes you dizzier than a heatstroke.

Fuck, you looked so ready for him.

He'd love you take his time to really break you in—make you fall apart until he's screwed every word out of your head but his own name.

Tch—but there's about 10 more minutes left of his break—and a good 15 or so more after that before anyone notices he's not where he should be.

Toji would reluctantly have to make this quick. Snatching your dress off overhead, he tosses it across the barn.

Mouth latching to one of your stiffened nipples, Toji simultaneously bullies his cockhead past your entrance, sinking into your slippery cunt.

Both of your collective groans fill the barn.

Goddamn, you're fuckin' tight.

Your eyes go wide and moisture pricks your vision as the sting of his girthy cock splitting you open nearly brakes you. You weren't a virgin by any means, and you knew Toji was huge—but shit—it was way bigger in thickness and length than you could have imagined.

Toji has to physically take your legs and wrap them around his body so they stop convulsing.

You whine for him to wait a moment but he couldn't—he didn't have the time.

Toji cups your face, unintentionally smearing dirt across your warm pristine lil' cheek.

"Daddy doesn't have time to wait for ya Bunny, can't get caught by y'er mean ole uncle, yeah?"

"*sniffs* I-I know, b-but—"

"No buts, baby—you want me to fuck ya, rite? Then just lay back and be good doll—promise I'll make ya feel good, eh?"

You can't stop the tears that roll down your cheeks, the burning still evident in your cunt as your walls spasm around him. Toji nuzzles your neck, grunts fanning across your sweetly scented skin as he begins moving his hips.

Soon the sounds of wet flesh smacking, resound in the barn with every harsh thrust of Toji's broad hips. The sloppy squelching noises your pussy cries out has Toji feeling like she's talking directly to him.

Sweat drips off his brow and onto your face as he pulls back a bit to see just how well your slutty lil' hole is globbling him right up—you already frothing a ring of cream around his base like such a good girl—like you were made to take his dick.

Your teeth bite into his shoulder and your nails rake red streaks across his back when his fat cockhead brushes against your g-spot.

Instantly, the shocks vibrating in your cunt overtake any remaining discomfort from your pussy accommodating his massive cock. Your tiddies bounce violently whe he picks up speed rocking into your cunt—spurred on by your cute bites gnawing into him.

Toji would mark you up similarly.

God you were so fuckin' wet though, milking him so well.

For all the trouble you gave him your lil' pussy was obedient as hell once she got a lil' dick in her.

"T-Tojiiiii, puh-leaseee k-kiss me, Daddy!"

Slurring, you gaze up at him, eyes blown out in pleasure begging for more of him—for anything he'd give you.

"Yeah, baby, Bunny wants Daddy to kiss her, hm?"

You frantically nod, your whole body is tingling. You just want to feel him consume you completely, all parts of you.

"Heh, of course I'll kiss my lil' bunny—only if ya let me cum ya—m-motherfuck—ya know how long its been since I had pussy this good doll? Gotta cum in 'er."

Mewling under him, you're easily left at his mercy—yet Toji would show you none, devouring you just as greedily as you wanted him to. Your body responds so well to his praises, so needy for them and Toji doesn't mind indulging you when you're being this sweet for him.

Throwing your legs onto his shoulders, Toji raises your ass off the hay onto his knees as he folds your body in half—fucking into you deeper, abusing your cervix as he smashed his lips onto yours.

Truthfully, there's no way in hell Toji would pull out now.

Making the decision for you, the kiss Toji gives you is searing hot. Sucking on your tongue, Toji has you melting you completely under him, your pussy clamping harder around him. His deviant tongue and heavy cock fucking you into submission.

Hell, she was begging him to cum in her even if you weren't or couldn't—you looked absolutely gone—like not even the smallest thought lived in your fucked out lil' head.

Even when Toji pulls back to allow you air his lips never leave yours, biting your kiss swollen bottom lip almost to the point of drawing blood.

You tighten even more than Toji thought possible in the moment once he forced your mouth open and spits into it and your instantly swallowing it—sticking your tongue out for more.

Oh? Bunny becomes such a dirty whore once you're fucking her silly, eh?

Toji wonders what else of his you'd swallow. He'd save that for next time though.

For now Toji had to finish you, he was running out of time. Besides, he was speaking true earlier, he really hadn't had good pussy—pussy at all—in literal fuckin' years. Toji didn't think he could last much longer in a hole with as much wet suction as yours, even if he did have more time.

Slipping a hand between your slick bodies, Toji is now furiously thumbing circles on your sensitive clit.

"C'mon, Bunny baby, cum for Daddy, yeah? Squirt on this dick, just like you did your fingers earlier, doll."

Your body, utterly under the spell of his engorged cock which was currently digging into your kidneys, can't do anything but obey him.

Tumbling over your peak, you do as he asks, splashing fluids onto his pelvis, abs and chest with how much squirt he has gushing out of you.

Your head lulls back and Toji has to clasp his hand over your mouth from how loud you started screaming.

His own release follows soon after. Pumping his extra-thick load, all built up and saved over the years for a pussy as sweet as yours, into your well-fucked-open cunt.

Curses and swears pour out of Toji's mouth as remains side you, still pistoning in you with fervor through both your orgasms. Toji doesn't leave the snug warmth of your gooey core until you squeezed out every single drop he had to give you.

Pulling out, Toji immediately rolls over next to you as not to crush you further. Yet, like a magnet, his needy lil' bunny is curling up against his side, a sleepy sated expression on your angelic face.

Toji hated to leave, but he had to haul ass now if he wasn't gonna get caught.

A crude form of aftercare, but Toji hoses the both of you down.

The cold water snapping you from your lethargic afterglow immediately as you pouted and whined—the brat in you almost instantly returning.

But Toji couldn't just let you sleep ass naked, covered in his cum in the hay for your uncle to find you or worse—another prisoner to find you.

Toji was serious. He really would kill someone if they tried anything with you, he'd taken many innocent lives before as a former hitman—he had no qualms killing some no good convicts.

Setting you upright, Toji finds your dress in the hay and puts it on you. It's soiled and dusty but he straightens it enough so you're at least halfway presentable.

Toji knows you're clever enough to think of a lie if questioned further.

Although, you'd better back to the main house quickly, in case those hickies he gave you start showing up. Toji smirks to himself.

Sending you on your way with quick sloppy kiss and a firm smack on the ass, he lets you leave first.

After waiting a few minutes, Toji exits the barn, grinning devilishly upon seeing you.

You're halfway back up the hill to the house by now, but you still steal glances back at him every few paces. Still panting, you're too shy now to meet his own eyes for longer than a second with your coy smiles.

Toji chuckles.

He had you hooked.

Hah, a slut like you? You'd probably be begging for his cock all throughout the day from now on.

However, Toji knows if he keeps fucking you like this he'll soon get you pregnant.

But ya know? That might not be half bad though.

This simple farm life had been a nice change of pace.

And who wouldn't want a young n' tender cunt like yours to dump in daily? Toji would keep you stuffed full, belly round with his kids and soft tiddies full of milk—for his consumption only.

Toji muses once he had finished fucking the brat out of you, Bunny, you'd become the perfect lil' wifey.

It be good for Megumi to have a mom again and some siblings to keep em busy. Toji would finally have a decent place to raise him too, away from the city and his toxic as fuck family who'd Megumi had been with since the first time his dad got locked in the slammer.

Not to mention—the farm was a perfect cover for his con activities that he couldn't wait to back start up.

He'd only able to do so much with the burner phone Shiu smuggled-in for him, concealing in a shipment of animal feed.

Heh.

All Toji needed now was to knock you up, apply pressure on your strict, God-fearing parents to agree to the marriage, and then orchestrate an 'untimely and unfortunate accident' for your uncle. Thereby leaving the farm and the substantial inheritance to you—and by proxy—to him.

Yeah, FarmHand!Toji planned to become Farmer!Toji real soon.

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

☼ a/n: y'all toji be making me write the most twisted nastiest things for him. i realize soft toji just don't do it for me like depraved toxic morally corrupt toji does, i really would let this man ruin my credit fr y'all, he can have it all.

i didn't expect to write this, all in a day but im at the beck and call of my main mans. otaku!gojo and nerd!gero lovers dun hurt me. taglist in reblogs.

☼ comments and reblogs appreciated ‪‪❤︎‬

[aeyumicore]

what's mine

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, not canon events (completely fictional)

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 10.7k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, first time sex with zayne (not virginity loss), jealous!zayne, dom!zayne, zayne slightly loses control of evol, furniture breaks, lot’s of teasing, fictional characters, size kink, vaginal sex, oral sex f!receiving, tongue fucking, fingering, unprotected sex, creampies, slightly drunk sex (not really), tummy bulge, posessive/claiming behavior, let me know if i missed anything!

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: helloooo writing for my fav zayne again <3 would you guys believe this is actually the first lads fic i ever started but i put it on hold because it was way too elaborate and i didn’t want to make a whole like multi chapter fic? i actually cut out a lotttt of it, it probably would’ve been more like 30k words if i kept the same writing style/detail i had originally, and i just could not do that to myself

also the matthew/intern mentioned in the fic is completely made up and fictional, he is not a reference to any characters! i couldn’t bring myself to use greyson for the purposes of the plot bc i think he and zayne are so cute LOL god i love the jealous angsty feelings trope 

pls enjoy hehe i luv u guys <3 also come interact with me on twit @/aeyumicore :’)

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

"Will you go to dinner with me?”

You whip your head around to see where the unfamiliar voice came from, coming face to face with one of the surgical interns of the Akso hospital. You’d run into him several times before when visiting Zayne at work, but never quite got his name.

"Me?” 

The intern chuckles at your dumbfoundedness, which he thinks is adorable, "Yes, you’re Y/N right? My name is Matthew. I'm one of the surgical interns here. So, will you let me take you to dinner tomorrow?”

Zayne chokes on his rice from the seat beside you, patting his chest a few times to clear his throat. You’d decided to have lunch with Zayne after your check-up today; well more like you’d forced him to the cafeteria with you against his will. You’d desperately wanted to try the infamous mint chocolate chip jello the hospital cafeteria served, even though you knew it’d be disgusting. And so you both sat at a table in the cafeteria, you with your jello and Zayne with a homemade bento box you’d made for him, along with some of his favorite pastries from the bakery down the street.

At his coughs, the intern’s eyes snapped to Zayne’s and it was like he’d just then realized Zayne was there, the surprise and anxiety written all over his expression. Zayne was always someone who commanded respect and fear from his colleagues and subordinates, so much so that Matthew had turned pale as a ghost. 

"Oh! Dr. Zayne, I'm so sorry I didn’t realize–” but Zayne cuts him off with a simple wave of his hand. 

"It’s fine. Continue your conversation.” You’re a bit taken back by Zayne’s nonchalance. Sure, you were just childhood friends but it would be nice if Zayne had any reaction at all to being asked out right in front of him. You yourself couldn’t deny the attraction you felt towards Zayne but it was seeming more and more that it was completely one sided.

"I, um…” you’re at a loss for words, not knowing how to let the handsome intern down. Matthew was honestly very attractive, and seemed kind enough, but you had hoped to spend your friday night with Zayne, though you hadn’t had the chance to ask him yet. He’d been swamped with surgeries and patients the last few days and you hardly got to see him at all. And you missed him thoroughly.

"I actually had plans with Zay– I mean dr. Zayne,” you glance at Zayne, hoping he’ll get the message, but the expression on his face is dark and unreadable. 

"No we don’t. You should go,” Zayne’s tone is cold and his eyes refuse to meet yours. Despite yourself, your heart clenches in disappointment. You know Zayne could be obtuse but he was also extremely intelligent and perceptive. He undoubtedly knew you wanted to spend your night with him. But it was becoming more and more apparent he did not want to spend his with you.

"But i–”

"I have plans anyways.” Your eyes can’t help but sting as he avoids looking at you. So you try to steel yourself; you were a big girl and a little bit of unrequited affection would not destroy you. Keeping your voice steady and blinking back unshed tears of frustration, you look up at Matthew, his eyes lighting up at you expectantly, and you try to give him your best smile.

"I...I would love to go to dinner with you!”

You don’t notice the deep scowl on Zayne’s face as a dark icy storm brews in his green eyes. 

–

You stumbled out of the taxi, your way-too-high heels catching on the foot step almost causing you to trip headfirst into the pavement. You sigh as you catch yourself on the cab door and glance at your hunter watch and see that it’s already 1am. 

"Get home safe miss, and no more drinks, you hear me?” Your cab driver reprimands you teasingly.

"Yes sir,” you mock salute him as you wobble onto your feet, thoroughly drunk, "Thank you so much! Please drive safe. Good night sir!”

"Good night miss!” 

You turn towards your apartment building, sighing in exhausted defeat. What an absolute disaster of a night.

The date was unexpectedly wonderful. Matthew was handsome, kind, funny, and a complete gentleman. He brought you to a very fancy and expensive restaurant downtown, so you wore one of your most elegant dresses, not that you had many. It was a simple satin black mid-length evening dress, with a slit that exposed just up to your mid thigh and an open back that accentuates your figure. You’d normally never wear something so sensual on a first date, but you couldn’t deny that the way Zayne had reacted, or not reacted, stung your heart. So maybe you did go a little extra tonight because you were hurt. So what?

After dinner, Matthew and you took a leisurely stroll at linkon park, with enough time to catch the sunset. As you watched the sun melt into the sea of golden yellows and dusky pinks, Matthew kissed you. It was passionate, slow, and soft. The perfect kiss.

Except when you moaned out Zayne’s name. 

And so the night ended as quickly as it began. Matthew was as understanding as he possibly could have been, but you could tell it killed anything that could have happened between the two of you. Matthew was a surgical intern, so with what little free time he had, he said he couldn’t chance it on a girl who was clearly already in love with someone else, especially if that someone was his boss and mentor. He’d offered to give you a ride back home but you refused, saying you’d grab a cab instead.  

So you found yourself at a bar, downing shots of soju to numb the mortification of your blunder but also the feeling of utter patheticness. Hours went by as you wallowed in your emotions. You’d had feelings for Zayne for as long as you could even remember. And still, you couldn’t tell him or move on from him. 

But maybe you would have the guts to tell him if it didn’t feel like he literally could not give two cents about you, beyond as a patient and as his annoying childhood friend. It was literally like pulling teeth to get him to spend any time at all with you lately. 

So here you were, stumbling into your apartment building at 1:37 am: drunk, exhausted, and empty. The night breeze raised goosebumps on your exposed thighs as your heels clicked on the pavement in the dark. 

You headed toward your apartment, through the main entrance and up the lobby elevator, the alcohol still making your brain swim. Luckily you no longer saw double, and your eyelids no longer felt like a ton of bricks.  

The elevator door dinged open and you trudged toward your unit, your toes screaming in protest in the confine of your heels. You forced your vision to cooperate with you as you tried to punch in your door code. The error buzz sounded out, again and again, and you groaned in frustration.

In the blurry edges of your vision, a large and slightly scarred hand reached over yours. Yelping, you whip yourself around and reach to grab the gun you always had strapped to your thigh. But from the icy cold touch against your fingers and the scars littering the pink skin, you realize exactly who it was.

"Zayne?” You did your best not to slur, trapped between him and your front door. You don’t miss how he swears under his breath as his eyes trail down your body, lingering at all your exposed skin, before snapping back up to your face. You can’t even imagine how wrecked you must look right now, mentally kicking yourself for not touching up after the bar. Your gloss was undoubtedly smeared from the kiss and the copious alcohol, your hair a bird’s nest from the night breeze, and your mascara smeared from the stray tears of your drunken emotions.

You didn’t do a very good job at steeling your voice because Zayne saw right through you, his eyes narrowing as they absolutely drank you in, "You’re drunk?” His voice holds a dangerous edge, as if mad that you’d have the audacity to be drunk. He deftly types your access code in, and gently ushers you into your apartment. You stumble in your heels against his body, and Zayne wraps his arm around your waist to catch you before you fall. You flush at the way his hands palm the exposed skin of your lower back. 

"M’not drunk,” you protest, swatting his hand away, not wanting your body to give any of your feelings towards him away, but Zayne only grips you tighter, fingers flitting between the soft satin material of your dress and the goosebump ridden skin of your back. His arm on your waist feels so right, threatening to make you melt right into his embrace. But you fight the urge, trying to hold onto your annoyance.

You can’t see his eyes but you know they’re rolling in their sockets at your obvious drunkeness. He gently guides you through the threshold of your home and then kneels down before you. The sight of him on the floor in front of your feet makes you reel, hoping the furious blush is masked by the flush of alcohol in your blood.

"W-what are you doing?” You try to step back, but your knees wobble and Zayne grips your thigh in place. You shiver at his cold touch on your sensitive skin, a little too high for you to keep any semblance of calm.

"Do you want to stay in these deathtraps?” He murmurs as he starts to slip the strappy heels off of your aching feet. His fingers around your ankle tingle as he softly massages the red skin of where the straps dug in.

"Zayne? Why are you here? Did something happen?” Your voice wavers still, but Zayne’s cold touch is starting to sober you up and clear your vision as your mind tries its best to focus on him. Zayne doesn’t respond as he lifts your other foot and slips the other heel off. His fingers linger on your bare legs before he slips your house slippers on your feet, standing back up to tower over you. 

"It’s almost 2 in the morning, and you’re just now coming home,” his voice is hard and stern, it’s clear he has things he wants to say but you’re in no mood for a lecture on sexual safety, stds, and stranger danger. 

"I was busy,” you snap, your emotions running extra high from everything that had happened today, especially Zayne’s nonchalance. But he’s incredibly patient with you, as he always is, taking you by the waist nagain and leading you to your living room couch. You’re too tired to resist, and you desperately need to get off your aching feet.

"How was your date?” Zayne sits you on your couch and then heads to the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water. His question reminds you of how royally you screwed up today and your mood sours even more. 

"Fine,” you mutter, trying to keep from snapping at him again. Zayne sits beside you and brings the glass of water to your lips, tilting it for you with his fingers on your jaw. You take deep gulps, the cold water soothing your entire sore body. Sinking further into the couch, your mind wanders back to your disastrous screw up. You’d called Matthew Zayne. It literally couldn’t get more mortifying than that.

Zayne stares at you and you know he doesn’t believe you, so you murmur again, "It was fine.” But as his intense eyes bore holes into you, your voice cracks under all the feelings you’d stuffed deep down today. 

He was here now and it confused you to no end. You’d wanted nothing more than to spend your day with him, but he’d pushed you away. Were you really that blind that you’d developed feelings for a man who did not feel even slightly the same way? 

Your eyes well up with tears at the thought and you try to subtly brush them away by pretending to scratch your cheek, but as always Zayne sees right through you. 

"Did he do something to you? Did he get you drunk?” Zayne’s voice is calm but hard and threatening.enough to scare you if it weren't for the way he softly gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his, using his free thumb to catch the tears before they can slip down your cheek

But through it all, you register the implication of his words. "Wh-what? No!” You exclaim, "Matthew was a complete gentleman.”

His eyes track yours, unwilling to let go of your gaze, "Then why are you crying?” 

You blink back your tears before more can fall onto his thumb. Your voice wavers as you stare into the hazel green ocean of his eyes, and you answer his question with a question of your own, "Why are you here Zayne?” 

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe.” Your chest constricts with unrelenting emotions, but your drunken haze makes you even more steadfast in your stubborn resolve. 

"Well I'm home, safe,” you avert your eyes, knowing if Zayne keeps staring at you with that intensity you’ll start to unravel and confess everything.

"Why did you take a cab home?”

Your eyes snap to his, "How did you know I took a cab?” And this time Zayne’s eyes refuse to meet yours, "Zayne? How long have you been waiting for me?”

Zayne doesn’t respond, instead brushing the tangles out of your hair. You try to get his attention by tugging at his tie, the alcohol making you feel much bolder than you normally ever would. 

You can see his adam's apple bob as he lets himself be drawn in, only slightly, towards you. At your pout, he sighs in defeat, prying your hands away so he can loosen the tightened hold around his neck, "I’ve been waiting for you…forever.” 

Before you can respond, he clears his throat and continues, "I got here at 9 and waited in my car when I knocked and you didn't answer.”

At your bewildered expression, he sighs and elaborates, "I just wanted to see you get back home safely. But when I saw you get out of that cab I needed to come check on you.”

Your brows furrowed as your sobering self tried to do the math in your head. Zayne can practically see the steam coming out of your ears and smiles lopsidedly, chuckling under his breath at how adorable you were being.

"You waited for 7 hours?!” You exclaimed, eyes wide. 

His grin deepens and you can see his eyes sparkling with laughter , "You are drunk. Why are you drunk?”

You purse your lips shut, unwilling to speak. With all the overwhelming emotions swarming your mind, you knew if you started talking now you would surely never stop.

At your silence, Zayne prods gently, "Talk to me, Y/N.” His voice is deep and commanding in a way that almost always gets you to listen to him. 

You zip your lips shut and turn away, doing your damn best to not give in. But Zayne’s touch, still on your cheeks, forces you back towards his eyes.

"Be a good girl,” he demands softly, his eyes searching yours for answers. 

Blowing out your cheeks like a child, you’re unwilling to give up the attitude, "I’m drunk because I was drinking.”

"Did Matthew take advantage of you?” Zayne’s jaw is locked and the intensity in his eyes is blinding, damn near dangerous. 

"No! Zayne, no. I went to a bar to drink alone, after our date,” you try to hide the embarrassment from seeping into your voice.

"Why? Did he do something to you?” His voice is still threatening, and you sigh at the unrelenting questions. You knew Zayne well enough to know he wasn’t going to let up, so it would just be easier on you if you told him everything that happened.

"Matthew was amazing,” you don’t notice the way Zayne’s eyes darken at your praises for the intern, "The date was fantastic. And after, we saw the sunset.” His expression is still unreadable and you start to fidget under his intense gaze, not knowing in the slightest what he was thinking. 

"And then he kissed me. We kissed. And that was it. I went to the bar and he went home. End of story.” 

Zayne’s fists ball so tightly his knuckles turn white, but he keeps his gaze steady. He doesn’t speak, and you’re scared of the tense silence that falls between you two.

"He couldn’t at least accompany you? Make sure you were safe?” You can tell Zayne is angry by the way his feet taps uncharacteristically erratically against the floor, "Driven you home?”

His questions make it impossible for you to forget about your horrifying mistake today and you just feel so incredibly bad for Matthew. The regret and embarrassment gnaw at your mind like parasites. And so against your better, albeit slightly still drunken, judgment, you finally blow.

"He left because I was thinking of you, okay? Matthew was a gentleman, he was funny, kind, and charming. And yet I was thinking of you the whole time. And so he left and I went to a bar and got drunk all on my own, okay?”

"You were thinking of me?” Zayne’s voice is an annoying mix of bewilderment, intrigue, and what sounds like mockery, which just infuriates you.

"I am always thinking of you Zayne! I thought about you at dinner, I thought about you when we watched the sunset, and I thought about you when he kissed me,” you burst, your drunken lack of inhibitions leaving nothing unsaid. 

Zayne’s face is unreadable again, but there’s a heat in his eyes that makes you tremble in your seat, "You were thinking of me when he kissed you?”

Unable to bear his unrelenting repetitive questions anymore, you explode, "Yes Zayne! And when he kissed me I called out for you!” The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think twice about it. It takes you a second to realize what you’d just blurted out and you bury your face in your hands, wanting nothing more than to scream at the top of your lungs. Unfortunately it was 2am and you had neighbors that most definitely would not appreciate that. 

You feel his strong hands grab your wrists gently, prying your hands away from your face, wanting to see you, "You called for me?” His tone is as amused as it is intrigued and it frustrates you to no end, the shame weighing heavily on your mind. 

"Don’t tease me right now Zayne,“ you warn weakly, "I am always thinking about you. But you…” your voice trails off to a shallow whisper, "You don’t seem to think about me.”

Zayne is silent but his eyes are as intense as you’ve ever seen them, staring into your soul. The silence is thick in the air as you refuse to be the one to break it.

Finally, he speaks, voice clouded with indiscernible emotions, "Is that what you really think? That I don’t think about you?”

"Do you really think I waited for 5 hours, in my car, for you to come back because I don’t think about you?” Your breath catches in your throat at the pure and raw growl in his voice. 

Before you can respond, he continues, "I think about you every second of every day. I thought about you all day, thought about you on your date with Matthew.”

Zayne shifts so that he can cup your face with both his hands, drawing his face closer but not close enough, "I thought about him getting to hear your voice, getting to touch you…to kiss you. It drove me insane.” 

Your feelings churn in your stomach and into your chest, making it hard to breathe. The way Zayne is looking at you, his hands holding your face so possessively, threatens to stop your heart altogether. You’re drawn to him all over again, only this time it feels like he might be drawn to you too.

"W-why?”

Zayne doesn’t speak, and you watch as his eyes flutter to your parted lips as you pant out your breaths, eyes fighting to stay open amidst all the tension enveloping the two of you. 

"Why did you push me to go with him then?”

His eyes force themselves onto yours, as if unwilling to leave your lips, "I made a mistake.” 

His revelations quickly sober you up, and you’re left feeling vulnerable but bold. You softly grab a fist full of his tie, pulling him closer. You can faintly hear him groan under his breath, but he lets himself be guided towards you. Your lips are so close to each other that you’re inhaling each other in, and you beg gently, "Kiss me, Zayne.” 

Zayne wastes no time at all, threading his fingers from your cheek into your hair, pulling your face the remainder of the distance to his own. 

Your first kiss with Zayne is nothing like you’d daydreamed it would be. You’d imagined the patient and reserved surgeon to be soft, gentle, taking his time with you. You’d expected it to be passionate but reserved, like the handsome raven haired man himself. 

And while the passion was undeniably there, what you didn’t expect was the bruising claiming heat that came with it. Zayne’s soft lips marked you as his own, a lifetime’s worth of emotions evident in the way he molded himself against you. With every twitch of his lips, Zayne laid claim to what was his. He kissed you like you might disappear at any moment, as if this was all a dream.

And when his tongue swiped across the parting of your lips, asking for permission to enter, you gladly relented control and authority. After all, you were his. You think you had been for some time.  

You hadn’t expected your first kiss with Zayne to be like this, and yet it was everything you wanted and more.

When you shift yourself to climb on top of him and straddle him on your couch, Zayne reluctantly pulls away, hands still gripping the back of your head, "Y/n, we should stop.” But he can’t stop his hands from leaving your soft hair and resting on your hips, almost like a reflex. His words say one thing but his hands just can't seem to pry themselves off of you.

You’re taken aback by his words, unable to stop the insecurity and hurt that paints your face. Zayne notices instantly, one of his hands leaving your hips to stroke your cheek, hooking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into his hand, the whiplash starting to exhaust you as much as it kept you on your toes. 

"I want to,” he whispers hoarsely as you squirm on top of him, answering your unsaid thoughts, "I can’t even convey how much I've fucking wanted to. But you’re drunk. And the first time I finally take you...I want you to feel every second of it.” 

Your eyes flutter at his words, stomach clenching in anticipation. Having fully sobered up a while ago, before he even kissed you, you can’t help but beg a little, "I’m not drunk anymore. And even if I was… I want you. I’ve wanted you…forever.” 

Zayne swears, his eyes going full doctor mode, and you can tell he’s inspecting every inch of you to try and discern if you’re truly sober or not. You fidget nervously under his intense stare, to which his hands grip your waist painfully tight to keep you in place.

"Stop,” he grits out forcefully, as if in pain. You do your best to still in his lap, and that’s when you feel the unmistakable bulge of his erection underneath your parted dress that had ridden up to bunch at your hips, right against the pantyhose against your cunt. 

"Are you sure this is what you want?” He groans as your body presses deeper into his lap, "Because once…we start I won’t be able to stop.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine, the heated warning doing nothing but arousing you to your core. Through your hooded eyes, you nod eagerly at him, "M’sure Zayne. Won’t want to stop.” 

He smirks at you, a heart stopping smile that melts your brain and cunt simultaneously into a leaking mess, "You asked for it love.” 

Before you can even have the chance to physically combust at the affectionate pet name, Zayne whisks you into the air, scooping you under your exposed knees effortlessly. You yelp, clutching onto his neck as he carries you like a bride into your bedroom, navigating your apartment like he owned it. He bent down to capture your lips with his again, like he couldn’t physically wait to get you to your bed before claiming you again. 

You feel the cold press of your sheets against your spine as Zayne sets you down gently, and settles in between your thighs on top of you. His eyes absolutely devour you whole, raking up and down your exposed satin clad skin, "You look beautiful. I’ve been wanting to tell you all night.” His praise is throaty with desire and it makes you squeeze your thighs together against his body in anticipation. Your face heats at his words, and you run your palms up and down his abdomen, the material of his dress shirt feeling like silk against your burning skin. 

Zayne grins and chuckles, mostly to himself, but the sound catches your attention and you find yourself pouting in self-consciousness, "What’s funny?”

Zayne’s long fingers trace the outlines of your body under the satin dress, eliciting soft moans from you that please him to his core, "You just look so beautiful.” His fingers reach the bottom of your dress and begin to stroke the fabric of your pantyhose, inching up under your dress, so torturously slowly, "You wore this for him, yet I'm the one that’s going to tear it off you.”

Your body trembles at his words, the pool between your legs growing wetter. You can feel yourself growing impatient, only wanting his body to press onto yours, to suffocate your.

"Zayne please, don’t make me wait any more,” you murmur as you sit up on your elbows, pressing your forehead against his. You heartbeat is quick and your rapid breaths fan across his face. 

His eyes darken at your pleas, the hazel hues appearing almost a light brown, "Fucking hell Y/N, you’re going to drive me insane.” He sits up on his knees, loosening his tie before undoing it completely and discarding it on the floor next to your bed. You bite your lip as you watch him undo the top three buttons of his shirt, his toned chest on display under it. 

Leaning back down, he presses a bruising kiss against your swollen lips. His hands wander to the thin straps of your dress, gently tugging until they slip off your shoulders, letting him tug your dress down until your breasts are exposed. His tongue against yours is unrelenting, marking every inch of your mouth as his.

Detaching himself from you, he buries his face into your neck, his cold lips incredibly soothing against your lust burned skin. You cry out when you feel his teeth softly sink into the skin of your pulsepoint, as he suckles on you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. 

"Zayne,” you gasp out, his tongue and teeth working in tandem to have your mind filled with nothing but his mouth on you, "Please.”

He trails down your neck and collar, inhaling you into his lungs at every opportunity. You feel his smile against your skin as he reaches your breasts, your nipples pebbled from the lust. He voice is muffled against you, "Please what, my love?”

"I…” you’re too mortified to say the things you want him to do, so the silence overtakes you. Unhappy with your hesitation, Zayne bites into the supple flesh above your pert nipple, eliciting a string of moans and squeals from you. He’s instantly using his tongue to soothe the pain away, quickly replacing it with waves of raw pleasure. 

Zayne lifts his head, staring at you expectantly, "I can’t continue if you don’t tell me what you want.”

His unrelenting teasing drives you to the edge of madness, your arousal evident by the way it leaks through your panties and your pantyhose. But you’re stubborn, still refusing to speak. 

"Good girls listen to their doctors don’t they?” He places fleeting kisses onto your goosebump riddled areolas, careful to purposefully neglect your increasingly sensitive nipples.

"Should doctors really be this intimate with their patients?” You retort like a brat, wanting to dish back all of his incessant teasing.  

He smiles at you, thoroughly amused at your insolence, "I suppose not, but am I really just your doctor?” With that he captures your waiting nipples into his mouth. You cry out at the incredible feeling of his cold lips on your breasts but his warm tongue on your nipple, your lower body thrusting up uncontrollably into his crotch. 

He groans into your chest as you brush against his throbbing erection, restricted by the confines of his pants. Against the heat of your womanhood, Zayne hardens impossibly further, feeling like he might actually explode against the constraint. The sounds of your pleasure and your cries for him make it difficult for him to concentrate.

Switching to your other nipple, Zayne uses one hand to undo his belt, letting it fall to the ground with his tie. He undoes the button and zipper his pants, yanking them down with such feral urgency. When his cock was finally free, he broke away from your chest, hissing in relief. You look down and you’re met with the realization of why he was in so much pain. 

Zayne was large. In a way that terrified you to your very core. You could imagine that the restraint of his briefs alone would be uncomfortable, painful even, when holding something like that back. 

Zayne catches your stare and he grips your chin between his fingers, guiding you to his eyes instead, "It’ll fit baby, don’t worry.”

You fight to keep your lip from quivering, trying not to get lost in his green eyes, "Will it?”

"I'll make it fit, but first let me prepare you love,” he says Matter-of-factly, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose. The certainty in his voice turns you unbelievably on and you find yourself needing to please him. Your hand seeks out his erection, grasping it firmly into your fingers.

He groans at the slightest touch, knees buckling into the bed beneath you. You start with languid and deliberate strokes, feeling every vein pulse under your fingers. Your thumb finds his large engorged head, already leaking with pre cum, feeling every smooth surface of his cock under your touch. While Zayne writhes on top of you, you revel in his glorious manhood, everything about it utterly perfect and terrifying.

As you touch him, Zayne leans into the crook of your shoulder, laying claim to your sensitive neck. He marks every inch of bare skin he can find, leaving a trail of red and wet bruises in his wake. 

Your entire palm is wet with his leaking arousal, as he moans so closely into your ear. Gently, he pries your palm away from him, sitting back up onto his knees, smirking satisfyingly down at the marks he’d left, "God, I've waited so long to have you.”

You reach down to shimmy out of your pantyhose and black evening dress, leaving you in your black lace thong, naked, willing, and pliant before him. You see him gulp harshly, his eyes hazy with need, and you sit up to level with him, "So take me Zayne.”

A low growl rips from his throat, as he pushes you back onto the bed, setting your head against your wooden headboard. Zayne tortures you, kissing down your collar, your chest, your naval, and finally down the soft mound of your pelvis. 

Zayne seems almost feral as he looks at your lace covered cunt and back up at you, "Did you really wear this for him?”

"N-no,” you whine, "I wouldn't have ever l-let him. He wasn't you.”

Zayne seems somewhat placated by your response, hooking his cold fingers into the waistband, his voice a low grumble, "That’s my good girl. No one will ever see you in or out of these, but me. Right?”

Your brain fogs over as he slips your soaked panties down your legs, his breath hitching seeing the string of clear slick clinging to your cunt. 

"Fuck.” He’s lost in his stares, in absolute awe of the meal before him, carving every single perfect centimeter into his memory. You squirm under his intense stare.

"Zayne please don’t make me wait anymore,” you wine, crying out as he bends down and his lips graze the apex of your slit. 

His voice is incredibly smug, "You are so beautiful when you beg for me.” You sigh in frustration as his lips and fingers continue to just barely graze your needy body. 

"Zayne, please,” your body thrusts into his, but he holds you back down, almost impatiently.

"Behave yourself, Y/N. You can do that for me, can’t you?” His voice is full of command, making you back down instantly, shivering at the suspense of his words.

"I didn't wait this long to have you just to rush all the things I want to do to you,” he all but purrs, as his lips find your soaking slit.

The room is filled with your lewd cries as Zayne’s tongue licks a stripe from your clit to your throbbing hole. As your doctor, Zayne knew the ins and outs of your body but you never expected him to know you like this. Like his tongue was designed for nothing else but to deliver you the most unimaginable pleasure in this world. 

Zayne groans when his tongue enters you for the first time, the quivers resonating straight to your core. His nose brushes against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, the vibrations of his own lust filled grunts bringing you closer to releasing all over his skilled mouth.

Your thighs clench against his face, and you almost worry you might suffocate him. You try to pry them away from him, but he only grips them with his strong hands, bringing them closer to his face, wanting nothing more than to be yours, wholly and irrevocably.

"You taste better than I ever imagined,” he moans out, staring into your eyes from between your legs. You blush at the filth of his words and the glistening slick smeared across his lips and chin.

"Did you – ahh hah – think about me often?” You tease between the sounds that spill out of your mouth uncontrollably.

He doesn’t answer, instead capturing your entire clit into his lips, sucking in earnest. You feel his smirk as you squeal out, hands digging into the fabric of your sheets and tugging hard. His hands knead your ass as he continues to eat, positively starved.

"Z-Zayne I-I can’t take much more,” you slur, your toes curling against his sides as he goes back to spearing his tongue in and out of you, using the tip of his nose to massage your clit, inhaling the smell of your arousal into his lungs.

"Yeah? Is my girl gonna make a mess for me?” He breathes into you, his hands reaching up to toy with your nipples. You cry in response, feeling the coil in your gut tightening beyond belief, the pleasure threatening to make you explode.

"Cum into my mouth love, let me taste you,” he whispers breathlessly into your cunt, slipping his middle finger inside of you, the wet sounds of his skin pounding into yours filling the room. You come done instantly, screaming as your back arches off the bed and you release all over Zayne’s waiting mouth, hands ripping at his soft hair. 

"That’s it baby, look at you cumming from just one finger,” he muses, working you through your orgasm with just his middle finger. You let out a stream of broken moans, unable to form any words.

"Fuck you’re this tight around just one of my fingers?” He murmurs before dipping back down to devour everything you give him. 

He laps up your spend eagerly and diligently, not letting a single drop go to waste. Refusing to relent against your twitching clit, Zayne devours you until the overstimulation lights your pussy on fire. He’s always had a sweet tooth and it looks like he’s found his absolute favorite dessert, unwilling to give it up any time soon.

"Such a messy girl,” he mumbles to himself, the clear strings of arousal sticking from your wet thighs to his chin. 

Your thighs tremble at the discomfort of overstimulation, doing your best to back away from him, "Mmm Zayne, s’too sensitive. No more, please.”

He relents reluctantly, looking utterly displeased with having his treat taken away. As he sits up, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans forward into you, tapping your lips with his thumb.

"Open,” he commands forcefully, bringing his soaked middle finger up to you. You part your lips obediently, welcoming the taste of you on his skin. His eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a deep heated moan at the feel of your tongue on him, tasting everything he got to taste. His cock literally felt like a ton of bricks needing to be pleased. 

Releasing his finger, you reach for his length again, "I-I want to make you feel good too.” 

Zayne presses his cold lips to yours, simultaneously undoing the buttons of his shirt. He pulls aways to shrug the clothing off his broad shoulders, giving you an eyeful of his glorious physique. He shivers, letting you jerk his erection up and down, but pushing you down when you try to get on your knees before him.

"Next time. We have all the time in the world,” he whispers, pushing you against the headboard, holding your cheek in his large hand, "But right now I need to be inside you.”

The smoldering fire in his eyes makes your mouth dry, and you nod meekly. The promise of a ‘next time’ is enough to have you ready for him again. Your cunt still quivered, recovering from your previous orgasm, but pooling at the hoarse need in his tone. 

As your head lays on a pillow against the headboard of your bed, Zayne lifts you from the small of your back and shoves another pillow behind you, so that you’re elevated towards him, served on a silver platter.

"Spread your legs for me,” he growls, the urgency in his voice leaving little room to protest. And so you obey, widening your legs for him, watching as he admires the area between your thighs like it was 

His hand reaches to cup you, clit caught against his palm and fingers toying with your hole, "Who does this belong to?” 

But you can’t hear him through the searing pleasure of his touch against your over sensitive body, the blood pounding in your ears like drums. Looking at where his hand meets your body, you cry out at his ministrations against you, your thighs trembling in shivers. 

With his free hand Zayne grabs your chin, slipping his thumb into your mouth, harshly forcing your eyes to his, "Don’t look away. Be a good girl and answer me.”

Although his words are driven with lust, they remind you of the emotional turmoil you’d been weathering because of your feelings for the man in front of you.

"M’yours Zayne, always been yours,” tears well in your eyes and you hope he can understand the weight behind your words, behind all the lust and arousal filled craze. 

Zayne stares back at you, and his eyes hold an entire galaxy of emotions that match the colors of his irises: desire, devotion, awe…and love. 

"And I am yours,” his words strike your heart and you lean up to slot your mouth against his. As he kisses you, he lines up his thick length with your cunt, teasing your clit with his engorged tip, his pre cum mixing with your spend that still leaked out from your prior climax. You cried into his open mouth at his teases, your back arching off the pillow and further into his cock. At your movement, his head catches onto your throbbing and waiting hole, eliciting a deep grunt from him. 

He pulls away, groaning, "So impatient, you want it that bad?” You whimper, burying your face into his neck and latching onto his pulse point to save yourself from having to answer. 

"P-please…” you whisper into his ear. He groans, fishing through the pocket of his pants as he pulls them off of his legs. 

"Please what, love?” He smirks at you, pulling his wallet out, now just in his briefs pulled down to let his massive erection free. 

You gulp, staring at the way he stands so proudly against his naval, reaching comfortably to his belly button. His girth rivals that of at least three of your fingers.

The rustling of plastic snaps you out of your shameless ogling. Zayne places a condom packet between his teeth, tearing it with one hand. You gulp at the sight of him, but you protest, "I–i um,” you clear your throat, trying to work up the courage to vocalize what you want, "You don’t have to use that.”

Zayne’s dark eyes catch yours, and the edge in his voice is dangerous, a warning, "Don’t tempt me. I need to protect you.”

Your face burns as you try again., "W-what I mean is, well as my doctor you know I'm clean.” You do your best to stop your voice from wavering, "And I-I um I'm on the pill.”

Zayne’s eyebrows quirk as his irises darken with heat, "How come I didn't know that?

"I’ve been using an online service for a few months,” you say sheepishly, "S-so you don’t have to use that.”

Zayne catches on, a satisfied smirk gracing his features, "Is that so?” He teases his entire length on your slit, practically fucking you along the lips of your womanhood. Using his swollen tip, he taps your clit forcefully, eliciting a throaty yelp from you.

"Tell me what you want.” You shiver at the pure feral domineer in his voice.

"P-please Zayne, I want it. I need it.”

"What do you need baby?” 

You groan in frustration, but give into his demands, "I-I need you Zayne, need you inside. Need it so bad.” The way you can see his breath hitch in his throat fills you with confidence, so you lean closer until your bottom lip brushes against his, "Need to feel you inside, please Zayne.”

His jaw locks as he grits out forcefully, "I will give you everything.”

Zayne holds his cock with one hand, lining it up with your entrance. His other hand grips the wooden beams of your bed frame, "Can you take it Y/N?”

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not sure you can. Though you weren’t a virgin, you had never even seen a man so large, let alone attempted. But at Zayne’s expectant expression, you nod eagerly, "Y-yes I can, I-I can try.”

"Good girl,” he mutters, before sinking himself into you. The stretch is so much worse than you imagined it would be, practically splitting you in half. You squealed, clawing at his biceps as he did his best to enter you. Feeling so incredibly stuffed, you look down only to see he’s barely just gotten his tip inside.

The vein in Zayne’s forehead throbs as his jaw slackens, a string of swears leaving his lips, "Jesus you’re like a vice down there. I need you to loosen up love, or else I'll never be able to get inside.”

You pant against him, not knowing what to do but to watch the way he stares intently at your tummy. The heat and desire in his expression arouses you beyond belief, and you unconsciously squeeze your velvet walls in excitement. 

Zayne’s knuckles turn white as he grips the headboard for support, the veins in his forearms bulging as he groans out, "Fuck baby please. Are you trying to squeeze it off?”

"Sorry, m’sorry. S’too big,” you wail, hands gripping his shoulders for support. The stretch is nothing like you’ve ever felt, and you don’t know if you can take much more than what’s already inside you. "Z-Zayne it’s too big I c-can’t,” you pant, doing your best to relax and loosen up your muscles. 

"You can, you’re doing so good for me Y/N,” Zayne huffs out, pushing deeper into you, the slick from your forming arousal and his pre cum starting to make the stretch easier. The drag of his cock against your gummy walls starts to feel so torturously delicious, like your body was made to take him in. 

Finally, he eases into you, eyes unable to look away from where your bodies connected.

"If you could see how – hah – beautiful you look like this, spread out for me,” he grunts, being as gentle as he can manage, when all he wanted was to ram into your warm and tight cunt, squeezing him so tightly. 

"Been waiting for the day I could – shit – finally be inside you. Drove me fucking insane thinking about you and Matthew.”

His words are enough to have you leaking all over your joined bodies, the slick dampening his pelvis and your thighs. As he seats himself in you as deeply as he can, his tip brushing against your womb, he lets out a shaky breath of ecstasy.

"Is this what you – hah – thought about? When you were with another man?” His words are claiming, making butterflies explode in your gut and your cunt to flutter around him. You can only moan and drool as his body thuds into yours, over and over. 

"Sweetest little princess cunt I've ever felt,” he swears, languidly withdrawing from you before pushing back in, knocking the breath out of you. With your head leaning against the back of your bed frame you can see every second of his glistening length burrowing in and out of you, like it absolutely owned you. 

"Z-Zayne,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders, "Please.” You don’t know exactly what you’re begging for, but you can’t stop the words from coming. 

"Hah, if you want something you have to – fuck – ask for it love,” he pants, doing his best not to get lost in the pure pleasure of finally getting to be inside you.

His words send you reeling, the ecstasy increasing with each deliberate and hard drag. You fight through the fucked out haze, vision blurred from your hooded lids, "Hah - harder please.”

At your request Zayne stutters for a brief second, your cunt squeezing so tight he could barely move, "Anything for you.” 

With his hand clutching the frame, he uses his other hand to rub harsh circles onto your swollen clit. His pelvis smacks against your thighs and ass so hard that the bed posts knock into the wall repeatedly, the skin slapping sounds mixing with the sounds of the wood against the plaster. 

At the added stimulation your eyes roll into your brain, your eyelids weighing down heavily. Zayne leans in until his chest presses against your breasts, your breaths heaving in tandem. His eyes follow yours, forcing you to hold eye contact with every deep thrust into your soul. Against your will, your eyelids flutter as the pleasure starts to overcome your fighting consciousness.

You can vaguely make out Zayne’s smirk, as his hand leaves the frame to cup your chin in his palm, "Don’t tell me you’re already worn out, love.” His fingers flick against your clit.

You yelp out, nails digging into his back with one hand while the other hand smacks his shoulder gently. You pout, "You’re so mean to me.”

He leans down to kiss your shoulder, his pace never faltering. He chuckles against your skin, "But you can take it, right? You always take me so well.” The double meaning of his words makes you clench in excitement, the praise making your chest tighten.

He groans as you clench down onto him, threatening to make him blow, "Hah so fucking tight. You like that huh baby? You like it when I praise you?” He thumbs your clit with more intensity, wanting to see you come absolutely undone for him.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming, nodding eagerly in response to his words. Zayne’s thrusts only grow in intensity, as if he’s trying to reach your esophagus from your cunt. You’re a mess of uncontrollable moans and mewls, unable to stop your eyes from rolling back and your tongue from hanging out as he fucked you into oblivion.

"Look at you,” he grins arrogantly, voice husky with desire and raw possessiveness, "Going on a date with my intern just to end up with my cock stuffed in you.”

You whine at his words, simultaneously not wanting to think about Matthew but also being so turned on by the dominating undertone of his words. His fingers abandon your clit, much to your disappointment, to trace the bulge his cock makes in your tummy. His other hand pulls your chin down so you can watch him.

"Look how deep I am, love,” he grunts. You watch in awe as the small bump in your stomach  bulges and disappears with the rhythm of Zayne’s thrusts. With every withdrawal, Zayne’s impressive cock glistens with slick, the throbbing veins bulging enough to make you drool. Absolutely entranced, you fit your hand under his to stroke at his cock as it pushed through your tummy.

Zayne swears as you caress his cock through the bump in your tummy, throwing his head back to catch his breath. His hand goes back to paw at your clit, trying to stop himself from blowing his load into you right there.  

As the climax builds in your gut, you throb around his impossibly hardened length spearing in and out of you, to which he twitches inside of you. The sounds of your combined whimpers and grunts, the lewd smacks of his damp slick dampened skin against yours, and the bed slamming against the wall overwhelm your brain until you can only think about Zayne, his cock inside you, and the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.

"Zayne, I-I’m close,” you cry, hand abandoning your stomach to loop around his neck, digging your nails into his damp skin.

"Fuck – I know love, I can feel you trying to squeeze it out of me,” he grunts, body slamming into yours so hard that your body smacks against the headboard.

"I’m gonna – gonna cum,” you cry, nails digging into the taut muscles of his back.

"No,” he demands, and you do your best not to gape at him. He gasps through his next strokes, "Be a good girl and wait for me. I want to feel you finish all over me when I cum inside you.”

"O-okay,” you say, but you’re honestly unsure if you’ll be able to wait, the waves of pleasure crashing into you so roughly it threatens to overtake you right then and there.

"That’s my girl,” gripping your chin, Zayne leans in to kiss you again, his tongue claiming your warm and waiting mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body tenses as you try to quell the raging tides of the impending climax, moaning endlessly into Zayne’s mouth.

You pull away to breathe, your lungs needing as much oxygen as possible to withstand the ecstasy. Zayne’s hand grips the wooden beams above your bed again, his knuckles turning white as he watches the pleasure contort your beautiful face. 

"I-I can’t – ”

"You can, baby. I’m – hah – almost there, just hold on a little longer for me,” he grunts. The pleasure and pain of his edging threatens to knock you unconscious, but you nod and throw your head back as your eyes roll backwards again.

Through your fucked out haze you can vaguely see a strange icy sheen forming on the wooden beams of your bed’s headboard. You follow the path of luminous crystals and realize they’re forming from Zayne’s hand that grips against the frame so tightly his knuckles are pale and taut, as he comes closer to exploding inside you. 

Unable to shake yourself out of the pleasure, you can’t find the words to warn Zayne. You continue to watch in awe as the beautiful iridescent flakes frost over the dull old wood. His palm is covered in a layer of snow white frost, the tiny snowflakes dancing around his skin as it grips the furniture so forcefully. You realize he’s losing control of his evol, because of you. And the idea of that threatens to push you head first into your second orgasm of the night.

It happened so fast. As Zayne bullies himself in and out of you, thrusting as if his life depended on it, the wooden beams of your headboard cracks in his hand, the wood turning brittle against his icy evol, and shattering under the force of his bruising grip. 

Zayne shields your body with his own as frozen wooden splinters fly everywhere, his thrusts stuttering as the sound of cracking wood pierces the air. You can tell he’s scared, constantly worried about losing control of his evol around you like this. His hands clasp together, massaging his wrists and trying to calm the unpredictable storm of his evol. You can feel him about to pull away, to get away from you and keep you safe.

You hug him close to you as he tries to pull away not wanting him to stop, not caring the least bit about the splintering wood falling into your hair. The worry and disgust with himself is evident in his eyes, and it tears at your heart so you do your best to comfort him, "S’okay Zayne, it’s not a big deal, I promise.”

But his eyes are far away, thick with emotions that make your chest lurch. You hold his face in  your hands trying to get him to look at you and not the splintered mess of furniture above you. You lock your knees around his waist. "Zayne baby,” you soothe gently, "Look at me. Look at me please.”

His frantic eyes meet yours under the guidance of your palms. You watch as the storm in his eyes calms down ever so slightly when they meet yours. You brush your thumb against his cheek, whispering, "Don’t stop, please. M’so close. I need you.” 

But Zayne is hesitant, only filled with worry for you, his thrusts halting altogether but still thick and solid in you. His jaw clenches down, "Did I hurt you?”

"Not at all,” you reassure, hand stroking his anguish laced face, "I don’t care, please make me cum Zayne, want to cum for you s’bad.”

Zayne continues his thrusts slowly, trying to shake away his anger at himself, "Hah – I'm so sorry Y/N, I'll buy you a new one, okay?”

"Y-yes whatever you want, but please just fuck me,” you plead, not wanting your climax to slip through your fingers, "Please don’t stop.” 

Your begging is enough to have Zayne going feral again, slowly regaining the vigor in his thrusts. His hand dusts the wooden fragments away from your hair. Your head sinks deep into the pillow, and falls back to peer at the gaping hole in your bed frame, slightly in awe of his sheer primal strength. It honestly turned you on unbelievably, edging you closer and closer. 

"Zayne I c-can’t wait anymore, m’sorry m’cumming,” you wail, your nails digging through his back as the ecstasy explodes in your body, from the tips of your curled toes to your fucked out brain. Your walls flex against Zayne’s vigorous thrusts as he continues to chase his own high, briefly forgetting about the furniture he’d ruined in his brief slip of control. 

Your eyes pull away from the snowflakes melting on the splintered headboard and fixate on Zayne’s eyes as your vision spots with fireworks, his cock pistoning in and out of you relentlessly. 

He lifts your thighs up until they press against his chest, your muscles aching in protest. Your ankles rest on his shoulders as he drives himself into your guts at this angle. He leans down and your body screams at the stretch in your muscles but he hits you so deeply like this you can’t feel anything but pleasure. He hits your g spot at every thrust, your body barely recovering from the previous orgasm as he steers you straight into another. 

"Sh-shit,” he groans, his eyes hooded as they bore into yours, "Squeezing me so fucking tight, are you trying to milk me? If you keep clenching down like that I'm gonna – fuck!” He swears at your nails digging into his broad back, dragging deep scratches into him as he fucks you roughly through the pleasure. 

"P-please Zayne I want to feel you,” you cry, "Cum inside me, please.” As Zayne pounds into you with no semblance of mercy, stars blur your vision, your body doing your best to accommodate him and the endless waves of overwhelming ecstasy. Your wet release splashes against your skin with every thrust of his hard muscular body. 

"F-fuck I'm gonna cum so deep inside you baby,” he groans with his eyes intently staring into yours, "This pussy is all mine.”

"You’re mine,” his voice is intense, a primal growl of urge and possessiveness, claiming you as his with both words and with his body. He bends back down, pressing a wet open mouthed kiss into you, tongue intertwining with yours needily. Both his hands threads through your hair, tugging gently as he rocks into you. He groans into your mouth, body shuddering as he finally releases into you.

Zayne rips away from your lips to rock onto his knees before you and carry you onto his lap, wanting to be able to hold you as close as possible as he emptied rope after rope inside of you. The angle allowed him to literally fuck his spend up into you. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands around his neck, unable to even squeal at the sudden movement, only able to drool out against the crook of his neck. 

His spend is so deliciously hot inside of you, as your pussy quivers at the warmth, squeezing him even more. He forces his tongue into you again, wanting to be attached to you in every way as he pumps every thick rope into your waiting womb. As he tugs on your bottom lip, body still pressed on top of your legs, cock hitting your sweetest spots, you release all over him again.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your cunt pulsates uncontrollably, pulling more and more of his essence into you. Zayne’s thick muscles shake under you, the waves of his orgasm rocking his entire body into yours.  

You pant as his bounces slow, his unending stamina finally coming to a halt as his sweaty chest heaves against your trembling breasts. He presses gentle kisses to the deep hickeys he’d marked onto your skin, using his broad hands to caress your bruise splotched throat.

The sound of satisfied pants and soft moans blankets the two of you as you snuggle into him, never wanting this moment of post sex bliss to end. Your collective spend begins to leak down onto Zayne’s lap, your poor cunt physically unable to hold the copious amount of spend inside of you. 

As his member softens it begins to slip out of you uncomfortably, so you squeeze in an effort to keep him in you as long as physically possible. 

Zayne swears, his eyes heated and his gentle grip on your throat tightening just slightly, as he warns you darkly, "Behave. Unless you want me to take you again.”

And though the idea of him bringing you to orgasm again, and many times after, sounds like heaven on earth, you don’t think your poor cunt can possibly handle any more pleasure for tonight. He chuckles when you ease up, stroking the curvature of your naked spine with his icy fingers. 

"I’m sorry about your bed, my love,” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, falling softly backwards onto the bed and guiding you down with him until you rested on top of his hard muscular body, his softening erection still nuzzled deep inside you. He’s careful to lay the two of your joined bodies away from the destroyed headboard, holding your head protectively against his chest.  "I will buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

His free hand roams every inch of your body, from twirling the strands of your hair to gripping the supple flesh of your rear. 

"S’okay Zayne, it’s not necessary,” you murmur sleepily, tracing the contours of his taut muscles, "I don’t need a new frame.” Honestly the idea of Zayne breaking your bed in pure primal lust was enough to have the heat collecting back in between your thighs. 

"I would rather you take me on a date,” you smile into his skin, "Since you ruined the one I had today.”

Zayne chuckles, the sound so warm and beautiful to your ears you think you might melt right into his solid frame, "I suppose I did. Will you let me take you out tomorrow?”

You lean up so that your chin rests on his chest and you can peer at him through your lashes, giving him your best begging face, "Only if you beg.” 

He looks up at you, the amused lopsided smile on his face just begging to be wiped off, "Please? Let me take you to dinner.” He lifts your chin off his chest with his index finger, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He smirks when you shiver at his fleeting touch, watching you bend to his very will.

"And then after…” he trails off, fingers leaving your face to trace against the side of your exposed breasts, and up to your hard nipples. You bite your lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of moaning out. 

As he incessantly fiddles with your skin, you finish his thought with a joke, "After you can come destroy my new bed frame too.”

Zayne’s eyes darken with mischief and amusement, "You shouldn't write checks your body can’t cash, my love.”

The filthy promise in his words coupled with his cold fingers pressed deliciously into your pebbled peaks rip the whimper you’d been holding back out of your lips, your cunt clenching in anticipation despite your crippling exhaustion.

But it seems Zayne knows your body as well as you do. "But for tonight, just sleep,” he mumbles into the top of your head, pressing his lips into your hair. 

"Mmm stay here with me, please,” you murmur into his chest, letting the sleep take root in your pleasure numbed mind. 

"I'll be here when you wake up,” he reassures, his voice falling deeper and rougher with exhaustion and hands shifting to cover your bodies with your comforter. His hands then wrap around your waist, holding your body against this, as if scared you’d disappear from his arms. "I won’t ever leave you.” 

Your heart flutters as the unconsciousness claims you. "G’night Zayne,” you mumble, kissing his chest.

"Good night my love.”

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[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner drabbles since I need to get back into writing it.

Robber, bursting through the door, gun already pulled out and shouting: EVERYBODY PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP AND OPEN UP YOUR WALLETS

The whole God damn Batfam just looking up from their respective places in the diner:..

Danny, behind the counter, tired as hell from basically taking over feeding them all: Take the fucking shot.

---

Nightwing, laying dramatically over the breakfast bar as Danny walks in, a rose between his teeth: Hi~ I need to place an order

Danny, woke up 15 minutes ago: It is to early for this (it's 7 pm)

Nightwing, watching as Dany just turns around and leaves the diner: Wait no.

---

Bart/Wally/Berry, finally done helping their respective Bat with Gotham Things ™️, stumbling upon the Diner:Sweet, no need to run back home on empty!

Danny, seeing the one that he has seen Clockwork scream about walk into his diner: shit I gotta make a call.

(15 Minutes later)

Bart/Wally/Berry crying into a massive plie of pancakes as Clockwork reads them yo filth.

---

Wes, grumbling as he is kicked out of the diner for the fifth time this week: God damn it Fenton! Stopping hiding your ghostly existence! The people demand the truth!

Bernard, there because Tim recommended it, trying and failing to hit taking him there for a date, head snapping over to Wes like a horror movie: I sense a conspiracy theory.

---

Cass, squating on a bar stool: *pouting face*

Danny, squinting at her: No.

Cass, looking up at him with the most hurt expression: *kicked puppy look*

Danny, feeling terrible:Okay! Okay I will get Cujo to come over! A-and I will throw in Ellie!

Cass, breaking unto a smile: and hot coco?

Danny, fully broken by her: Sure, why the hell not.

---

Tucker and Sam, finally coming into the diner: honestly? Not as bad as I thought it would be.

(A Bat getting chucked through the door, and Rouge following after)

Tucker:Holy...is he okay?

Sam: I take back what I said.

Danny, looking at the property damage:Nope...nope this is normal, Red Hood your tab just doubled.

Jason, fully concussed: Sure thing...babe...

---

Based on an idea I have for later on, Jason and Danny are in the middle stage between friends and Dating and Jason finally gets to meet the other two of the everlasting trio...

Sam, has a baseball bat in hand that is starting to sprout out branches: You hurt Danny and you'll end up dead again, and this time you won't have the hands to dig your way out.

Tucker, with sparks flashing in his eyes and a grin on his face, his PDA blinks with info that no civilian should have: Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, I know all about you, mess things up with Danny and your Pride and Prejudice Self insert fanfiction gets shared with your family, as well as your Wattpad and Tumblr accounts will be sent directly to the Justice Leauge.

Jason, crying a little bit:Danny your friends are terrifying.

Danny, walking out in a pink apron:Oh shit...ugh, Sam! Tucker! I told you dont do that!.

---

Vlad, being a creep to Danny: Oh little badger...truly looking forward to seeing you begging for your life once more

Jason, equidded with Fenton works guns: Anyway I started Blasting.