#i think i am suffering without a slap

[clericofinfamy]

damian priest - raw, 18 march 2024.

posting this and going to sleep. thank you monday night judgement day for priest crumbs, amen. 🙏🖤💜

[starboye]

pairing: cyclops x male reader

request: Can I order a fic with Cyclops (from X-Men '97) x villain!reader? Porn without plot. All you need to know is that reader has time travel powers and took Cyclops back in time with him. Y/N told him that if he wanted to return to the present with his wife Jean (who is pregnant) he had to fuck him GOOD for hours. Reader tries to maintain a joking attitude, but he's just a crybaby. Cyclops has a huge cock and degrades reader a lot while slapping his face, calling him "slut" and "whore". Size difference too!!

warnings: SMUT, cheating, lil size difference, degradation kink, breeding kink, a lil physical, rough sex

"how much longer am I gonna have to fuck you slut" scott asks roughly thrusting upward into you "well if you wanna see your wife again you'll shut up and keep going" you spit out "who's the real one in control here sweet cheeks, the one getting his ass fucked up or the one fucking you up" scott asks wrapping his hand around your throat tightly.

"the one with the time travel powers" you say laughing "you think this is fucking funny" scott asks slapping you across the face harshly "seeing you suffer through this brightens my day" you reply smirking "oh I'll show you suffering" scott says before flipping you around, face pressed against the ground before scott reinserts his dick back into you forcefully.

he slams into with full force not holding back at all "fuck this tight hole" you urge arching your back to let scott get deeper "little fucking slut" scott says pressing your face even harder into the grass "yes all yours" you joke "I'll fuck the smile right off your face" scott sternly says, you laugh at his comment but he doesn't take that lightly.

scott turns you around into missionary and continues pounding your hole with no stop in sight, you could feel the tears brimming at the corner of your eyes as you felt you climax coming and without a second thought you came on your chest and stomach "okay you can stop" you huff trying to get up but scott pushes you back down.

"no we're not done till I've emptied my balls into you, by then you should be full and pregnant then I won't have to go back to jean" scott grins going quicker and harder than before, you could feel you legs going weaker and weaker till they felt completely numb "please I can't take it" you beg "where's that smile and cocky attitude from before, all fucked out of you" scott teases slapping your face before bringing it back to look at him.

"just look at how your pretty hole swallows up my cock so easily" scott says admiring the way your hole got all red and puffy "cum" you vaguely hic "speak up whore" scott orders "cum one me" you yell "fine I guess you can have it" scott says and shortly after he fills you up "but this doesn't mean were finished" scott says slapping your ass.

scott proceeded to fuck you for the next 4 hours, cumming in you over and over till you were filled to the max and it looked like you were actually pregnant and only then did he finally agree to get taken back to the present "I'm sure when we get back beast can find a way for you to actually get pregnant" scott says rubbing your belly, you took him back to the present and it would be a lie to say everyone wasn't shocked when they saw you fucked out at filled with cum and scott naked with a messy dick.

taglist: @mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m

[moncharrow]

You Failed to Dom Ellie, Now....

a/n: THE AI VOICE WAS SLUTTYYYYYYY GIRL. also small blurb. sometimes i am horny sometimes i am soft. shoot me a req for either mood :3

content/warnings: 900 words, smut, top! reader (failed), top! ellie (success), use of a strap (ellie wears, reader receives), refers to it as ellie's cock lol, afab gn reader, one (1) spank, mention of cellulite if that bugs u idk bae its a beautiful natural thing

After months of having Ellie fuck you into the mattress, you try your hand at dominating her. Nervously, you clamber atop her, the anxiety quickly fading as you fall into a familiar rhythm of bodies grinding and hot breath across soft skin. The foreplay is confident and Ellie fleetingly believes that this might be a new dynamic you can explore together, but she changes her mind the second she notices the way you struggle to please yourself.

Your cocky grin disappears, replaced by a bit lip and eyes endearingly pinched shut in concentration as you slowly slide yourself up and down the silicone strap. You let out a gasp, trying to angle yourself in a way that properly fucks into you, but for the love of god, it's nothing compared to what Ellie can do to you.

Your girlfriend slips back into her usual role, grasping at your hips and purring patronizingly below you. Her fingers caress your skin, making you shiver and twitch. "Poor thing. Let me take care of you." You smack her hands away, letting out a noise that you wish sounded tougher than the pathetic whine released.

"No! No, I got it. Lemme do this..." You grumble, your hand coming onto her bare abdomen to stabilize yourself, hoping that maybe you can find the leverage to get this going. Unfortunately for you, you forget how unbelievably ripped she is. Lean, taut muscle clenches under your spread fingers when your light touch caresses her. The realization is enough to make you weak and your elbows give out. You pathetically collapse on her chest, panting, whining because you just know you'll get made fun of for this until you die.

Ellie chuckles condescendingly and pets your hair. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "So how was that for you?" She jokes like she does every time you finish having sex, knowing it annoys you to no end.

"You're fucking mean," you grumble, hitting her shoulder.

Without warning, she harshly digs into your waist, the pads of her fingers leaving red ovals on your back that will become tender, plum bruises by sunrise. Ellie brings your body down onto her cock at the same time her hips slam into you, immediately finding your most sensitive spots. "If I was mean, I wouldn't do this for you, would I?" Her voice is sultry and deep, words rolling off her tongue like velvet, making you clench. Ellie plows through the resistance and chuckles at your reflexive reaction.

You try to backtalk her and defend yourself, fumbling over your words as the syllables and diphthongs melt together to become a garbled mess of pleasure. Ellie cackles, ramming faster into you as you admit defeat and bury your head into her shoulder.

"Nah...if- fuck- if I were mean, I would let you try to take care of yourself." She breathes heavily when the attachable base rubs deliciously against her puffy clit- you weren't the only one suffering from the lack of stimulation. She grunts, grinding into you and rolling her hips. She knows your body better than you do, like she has a map of your pleasure points ingrained in her mind. Her muscle memory forces out noises you didn't know were physically possible. "You don't know how fucking pathetic it was watching you. Nothing feels as good as me, huh?"

You can barely hear Ellie's dirty talk, the sudden intense pleasure making your ears ring and eyes cross, but you're brought back down to earth when she slaps your ass. She admires the reverb and cellulite on it as you whine. Perfect, she thinks.

"I think I asked you a question. You're not gonna try that again, are you?" She leans into you, face right against yours, and nips at your jawline. Hot breath fans against your ear and you shiver as she uses the low tone that drives you crazy. "Are ya, pretty?"

She slows down to hear your answer, the echoing slapping of skin gradually idling. "No," you sniffle, "I won't." Your body is completely limp against her, hands gripping Ellie's perky tits for dear life as you stare down at the way she bucks up into you. The dusky purple strap disappears into your pussy, pulling out with more milky strings every time. A bit of your cum is forming a ring around the base, and Ellie's pre soaks through the towel under her. You're both so incredibly turned on by each other, and releasing the tension is always animalistic and messy.

"And why won't you?"

You know that whatever answer you give won't satisfy Ellie, so you settle for lolling your head into the crook of her neck, kissing her clavicle.

"Answer me. You're so spacey today, focus." Another sharp slap on your ass wakes you up immediately.

"'cause you're better at it than me." Ellie grins, her tongue swiping out of her mouth to lick her lips. You see that she changed out her tongue piercing, and you make a mental note to try that out later.

It's when her eyes darken, flipping you over and pinning your hips down that you know what a bad mistake you've made in trying to dominate Ellie. It simply can't be done.

But at the end of the night, you wonder if you actually suck at topping, or if you just did it to have her pressing her tits into your back as she fucks you <3

and as a treat...

[starrynights-sunnyskies]

as the flowers bloom, my heart does too ⋆*·ﾟmisa x putellas!femreader, social media au, (6/-)

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when your relationship ends and all you want to do is hide and cry, flowers suddenly start to appear on your doorstep.

or; misa hating to see a pretty girl cry and suffer and going out of her way to cheer her up while staying anonymous

fic: see my masterlist 🤍

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albaps9: las mujeres más importantes de mi vida. mama, ale y mi chiquita ynn 💘 (pretend you're on here pls 😭) Liked by yourusername, alexiaputellas, marialeonn16 and 703 others

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yourusername 🙈 ↳ yourusername wait, you forgot la nala la mala ↳ alexiaputellas I was about to say! 😝 ↳ yourusername wouldn't be the first time she forgot🤭 ↳ alexiaputellas What do you mean??? ↳ albaps6 sigh i can never do something cute for you guys ↳ albaps6 yn shut the fuck up or i'll tell mami and ale about what happened on your birthday 😴 ↳ yourusername i'll put your moncler blouse on vinted if you do that ↳ albaps6 YOU have it??!!! i looked for that fucking thing everywhere ↳ yourusername 🤩 ↳ alexiaputellas I love you two crazies. liked by yourusername and albaps6 ↳ alexiaputellas But what exactly happened on your birthday? 😟 ↳ yourusername well duh, i turned a year older! liked by albaps6

marialeonn16 And still Yn is my favourite putellas 🤪 ↳ yourusername i like you

bff1 my second family!! 😍 ↳ albaps6 yeah you're the deranged cousin liked by yourusername

alexiaputellas My entire world in one picture 😊 ↳ albaps6 minus nala 🤣 ↳ yourusername wtf what about your girlfriend?????? ↳ alexiaputellas She's my entire universe. liked by yourusername ↳ albaps6 🤢

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marisabel_rguez: What's up? 🧤 Liked by sofie.svava, marialeonn16, bff3 and 12,377 other

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yourusername the sky ↳ bff1 i was just about to say that 😭 ↳ bff2 our friend group has four braincells in total, you both sometimes have none of those ↳ bff3 @/bff2 I wholeheartedly think you should give the two of us a little more credit than having only four? ↳ username1 oh hey y'all 🤔

yourusername i love seeing you in dark blue 😍 liked by marisabel_rguez ↳ yourusername oh and i'd say break a leg for the next match, but pls don't ): ↳ marisabel_rguez Everything better than your heart. This comment is no longer available ↳ bff1 yikes no, break her bed instead. This comment is no longer available

jennihermoso Siiiiii

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Text Message

m 💌 And aaaah you know what I love to see you in? Black! (or nothing) 😊 you somehow i knew this crossed your mind the second i commented m 💌 We know each other too well now, jajaja. you quick! think fast! what word am i thinking of? m 💌 Daisies? you ohhh valid, one of my favourites! m 💌 I know. you but no, cannoli of course m 💌 🙃😉🙂 you misa i will actually slap you m 💌 I'm stronger you i'm scrappy and grew up fighting with alba m 💌 Fair 😅 m 💌 I'm glad she forgave us faster than Alexia did. She's scary. you yea she looks all bark and no bite but she BITES. literally. still have a scar on my finger. m 💌 I need you to tell me that story one day. m 💌 So, do you bite too? Because I might be into that. you i think that you should know such things as my girlfriend 👋 m 💌 Aha... well, don't blame me. If we'd lived together I would have known 'such things' and more. you 😔 m 💌 I know. I miss you too. I wish we could live together though. you my work's here, love. i can't leave. and i don't think i can be without my family and friends just yet. i need them close. and you'll be busy all day and i know no one in madrid. m 💌 I know, I would never ask that of you. I just wish I could be around you more. Maybe I'm greedy or dramatic. I don't know. m 💌 I'll take the train to Barcalona as soon as I can. you no, my love. you already travel and work too much. i don't want you straining your mind and body, you have to take care of it. and you were here last time. i'll come when i can. m 💌 Alright, I know there's no talking you out of it, is there? you nope 😘 m 💌 Promise I'll see you soon? you promise! you i've got to run now. you better wear something dark blue next time i see you, byeeeee, i love you. m 💌 You better wear black or maybe just don't wear anything at all. Bye, querida, I love you more.

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yourusername: missing you 🌼🖤 Liked by marisabel_rguez, sofie.svava, ingridengen and 7,328 others

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bff2 amorrrrrr 🤗

sofie.svava a literal angel!! inside and out <3

janafernandez3 😍

alexiaputellas Muy guapa, laelia 💘

username1 Okay does that mean the anonymous flower sender has been you-know-who all this time? ↳ username2 WHAT, i'd almost forgotten about that! omfg! probably!! ↳ username3 what use does voldemort have buying flowers when he can't smell them

ingridengen Muy bonita 😚

liekemartens Liefie!!

salmaparalluelo The flowers!!?? ↳ yourusername 😇 ↳ ona.battle TELL US

username3 Okay 🔥

albaps9 hotshot 😎

username4 You? Who's you, ma'am?

marisabel_rguez Wearing black? ↳ yourusername yea, i was told i look good in it! ↳ marisabel_rguez Si, pero.... ↳ yourusername 🤫

bff1 ☺️

marialeonn16 My tiny laeliaaa 😊

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albaps9: hola, espwnt's biggest fans have touched down! (ft olga & yn 😗✌️) Liked by alexiaputellas, marisabel_rguez, jennihermoso and 783 others

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yourusername i'm still mad you stole my window seat ↳ albaps9 my luggage was lost for a day, so who wins?

marisabel_rguez 🤗🤝

marialeonn16 Missing you all!

alexiaputellas 🤩

alexiaputellas My favourite cheerleaders!

jennihermoso Oh great, now we'll definitely win with you clowns in the stands 😂 ↳ albaps9 😲 ↳ albaps9 be grateful we're here for you all!!!! ↳ alexiaputellas (They're only here for me, but sshh) liked by marisabel_rguez

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yourusername: 😊🇪🇸 Liked by alexiaputellas, liekemartens, marisabel_rguez and 4,398 others

liekemartens Next time we'll get you 😉🦁 ↳ yourusername you said that the last three times as well 🤭

marisabel_rguez Our good luck charm all day every day!

alexiaputellas My very own lucky charm since day one 🙂

albaps9 just a normal night of wag duties, hm? liked by 12 others

username1 lol ale and misa

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yourusername: 🖤 Liked by begovargas, alexiaputellas, sofie.svava and 1,293 others

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bff1 🖤 ↳ bff3 🖤 ↳ yourusername 🖤 ↳ bff2 🖤

begonavargas ily ❤️

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marisabel_rguez: Do you think it suits👔me? Liked by yourusername, haleyraso, bff2 and 16,352 others

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username1 the dad joke? no. the suit? HELL YES.

username2 🤤

username3 OOOOOh!!!

yourusername joooooder, dios mio! what the fuck!! This comment is no longer available ↳ yourusername WHY am i seeing this NOW? This comment is no longer available ↳ yourusername hostia puta, que es esto misa??? oye?? diga me! This comment is no longer available ↳ albaps9 oh now you've done it, you broke her 🤣 @/marisabel_rguez

↳ yourusername mami chula??? 😩📞 This comment is no longer available liked by marisabel_rguez ↳ alexiaputellas Callate, dios mio! You're embarrassing yourself. ↳ albaps9 you mean embarrassing you? 🤥 ↳ alexiaputellas Hmpf. Misa, I see that like. 🤨 liked by marisabel_rguez

username3 give me a gf who will drool over me like yn 😪

sofie.svava Looking gewd!

username4 Not Yn's fantasy coming to fruition 😂

username5 Yn's one moment away from saying i do lmaooo ↳ username6 At least Misa's already suited up 👀💍 ↳ username7 can you blame her??? ↳ username8 Looks like Alexia won, comments went ✨poof✨

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yourusername: recap of week 69 Liked by begovargas, albaps9, marisabel_rguez and 1,293 others

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albaps9 perdon?? como?? que???? 69-?? fucking hormonal teenager. what's up with you lately 🤣 ↳ albaps9 change the caption before ale sees it and the real fun starts

marisabel_rguez uuff 🤒

marisabel_rguez But don't lie...that was last week, no? ↳ yourusername oh yeah, whoopsies ↳ bff1 🕯escucha las palabras de las brujas de los secretos escondidos de la noche- 🕯

alexiaputellas The age I'll never reach because of the headaches you give me with captions and photos like these. ↳ yourusername disculpe 😇 ↳ alexiaputellas Sigh, you're happy, that's all that matters.

begovargas You cheek 🤣

janafernandez3 Prettyyyyy ✨

bff2 what was even the reason for that caption? 😆 ↳ bff3 It's time to buy a bigger freezer to put her in and help her cool down.

marialeonn16 How was the pizza? ↳ yourusername delish because it was made with love 😊

bff1 wiggle wiggle wiggle ↳ bff1 i still think my butt’s better

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↳ 5h ago: yourusername added to their story

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Direct Message

alexiaputellas Put your phone away, por favor YN. Safe travels, answer me when you get there and not earlier unless you need me ❤️

albaps9 vroom vroom go to your woman!!! 😊

marisabel_rguez Are you serious??? marisabel_rguez Wait if you left five hours ago, you'll be here so soon already?? marisabel_rguez Y/N!!! 😱 marisabel_rguez Fuck I love you so so so much, amor. marisabel_rguez And I love that sweater on you 😭 yourusername i know 😉 marisabel_rguez No, please don't text me until you're here, okay? I'd like to have you as my girlfriend for as long as I can. Be safe. Delivered.

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a/n: happy weekend everyone, here are some flowers to brighten your days! 🌼🌻🌸🌼🌻🌸🌼🌻🌸

[faeriekit]

Despair of Your Discovery

Phic phight fill for @carelisswriting. I am so sorry.

(Relevant warnings are tagged below)

**********

“Oh my god,” Danny says, horrified. “That’s…oh my god.”

The plant looks very innocent amongst the rows and rows of lush green pots in Sam’s greenhouse.

It isn’t.

“You cannot tell anyone,” Sam hisses, and shoves the wicker harvest basket back over the bush, as if there was anyone safe to tell! “Not a word. Not a whisper.”

“This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

“I know!” Sam snaps, looking two steps away from a screaming freakout. “But what can I even do with it?!”

The answer seems obvious. “Get rid of it?!” Danny exclaims, throwing his arms out for additional emphasis. “Making sure there isn’t any evidence left??”

“By what, burning it?!”

Danny opens his mouth to affirm the obvious— only to realize there is another, equally as obvious problem with the usual method of extermination.

“...Put it in the trash?” Danny tries again, grimacing. He crosses his arms, taps his toes. “I mean. It’ll go out eventually.”

“And if someone sees it in the trash?!” Sam volleys back, eyes wide with furious distress.

Okay. There's a clear problem here. All they need is a solution.

Tucker wanders into the greenhouse; he probably found out that they weren’t in Sam’s room and figured out their second location pretty quickly. “Hey, Sam; hey Danny. I thought we were doing Doomed today?”

“We’re not,” Sam and Danny chorus.

Tucker frowns. His eyes go back and forth between them. “...Is everything good?”

“No,” Sam says, cutting off Danny’s: “Sam stole another plant from the school garden again.”

“Oh. Is that all?”

Sam throws herself over the wicker basket and grooooooooans.

“Apparently someone was experimenting,” Danny offers flatly. “It’s bad.”

“How can a plant be bad?”

Sam straightens herself up, makes dead-on eye contact, and lifts the basket.

“Is that WEED?!” Tucker yelps. Danny immediately darts over to slap a hand over Tucker’s mouth, and the basket gets slammed back on top of the plant.

“Don’t shout!”

“Shouting is merited!! Sam grew drugs!!”

“On accident!!” Sam shouts back, very, very pale. “They just left the sprouts in the garden shed without any light or water!! I had to do something!!”

“Saaaaaamm,” Tucker groans, which is pretty unmerited, considering that Sam is probably the person suffering the most here. “Sam, we have to do something!"

“I know, I know!!”

“We know you hate pesticides, but isn’t there…some kind of natural weed killer? Or something?” Danny tries, struggling to think it through. “You can’t hand-pull all your weeds in this greenhouse. It’s massive.”

Sam bites her lip. She doesn’t answer.

“Sam…”

“It’s a waste of plant life to kill it,” Sam whispers. Her two best friends groan out loud, angled in two different directions.

“Sam. It’s illegal. You’ve got to get rid of it.” Tucker’s logic is cold, and brazen.

“...Fine.”

The procedure for killing off a plant the organic way is apparently pretty simple; vinegar, salt, and sunlight. The plant is looking dead and crispy under the glow lights in Sam’s greenhouse in less than an hour; by tomorrow, it’ll be long gone.

“We can never tell anyone this happened,” Danny decides, for obvious reasons. Tucker nods solemnly.

Sam sniffles a little, mascara running. Danny gently rubs her back.

[sniigura-archive]

I am yours, but are you mine?

Adam x fem!reader

Summary: You wish Adam could calm his temper down, since you fear he has ruined everything. And they say you’re a bad decision maker.

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3

tw/cw/notes: COLLEGE AU, sub adam, overstimulation, bondage, rubbing clothed bulge against foot (footjob?), soft dom reader, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, ABUSIVE ELEMENTS, Anger issues, implied trauma, poverty mention, please tell me if i have missed smth!!!. TW Adam, misogynistic ideas and views, emotional abusive elements, breeding kink and pregnancy mention

Trying to get out off Adam`s tight grip sure was a hassle. The alarm you set was able to ring for a split second, before Adam turned it off. With the way he wrapped himself around you, you knew he hoped that it didn't wake you. Unlucky for him, you have been half awake for solid 30 minutes now.

Adam was laying on his side, while you were on your back. He was nuzzling his nose into your hair, while his legs and arms were wrapped around you. What a sap. His body hair was scratching you slightly.

“..We need to get up.” You didn't even know if he had classes for the day. He groaned like you just stabbed him.

“Jus` skip for the day. `S not like you’re failing any classes.” He mumbled into your ear.

“Don’t have any classes. I have an Obgyn appointment and have to work a shift.” You simple answered him.

At the mention of the doctor appointment he perked slightly up. Ah shit. You slapped his arm and dug your nails into his skin, remembering how unsafe you were yesterday.

“If you get me pregnant I’m going to make you suffer. I swear on that.” You gritted your teeth at him.

Adam simply chuckled at you, “It takes two to fucking tango, baby...Oh Adam, please Adam!” In the last sentence he pitched his voice higher and imitated your moans. “How could you expect me not to creampie you when you fucking beg so sweetly?”

“…I’m going to bit your dick off.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Yeah? Didn’t think you’re that damn kinky.” He grinned at you, “Don’t fucking worry, babe, we will pick you up some fucking plan b later.” You’re starting to take that shit like candy. Still, it made you relax.

“..Thank you.” You whispered out, cuddling up against Adam’s chest.

Adam’s hands started to wander across your body, petting you and massaging your body, you were still wearing the bathrobe without anything under it “Whatever you fucking want, you get.” He mumbled in your ear, before kissing your cheek, then your nose and finally your mouth.

What a man.

“I wanna get up.” You whispered out against his mouth. Adam sighed heavily and rested his forehead against your shoulder, “I lied, you will only get nearly fucking everything you want.”

You scoffed at his words, but you couldn’t help but still smile. You raked your fingers through Adam’s hair, your fingers massaging his scalp. You swear you could hear him purr.

“So I only get what’s best for you, basically?”

“ ‘M happy you’re such a smart fucking girl. You catch on sooo damn fast.” He kissed your shoulder, before sitting up. He dragged you up with him.

You both sat propped up against the bed, side on side. Adam’s big arms were wrapped around you, rubbing circles into your skin. He leaned his head on top of your own.

“When is your appointment?” Adam threw the question into the comfortable silence.

“Uhh, hmm, at 12 and my shift starts at 1.” You tried to wrap the over sized robe around you. Part of you knew that Adam already saw everything, the other part of you wanted to hide away.

Adam’s fingers danced across your naked thigh, “You trynna hide away from?” His lip brushed against your ear.

You jolted up, deciding that it’s time to get up. Before you could get far away, Adam grasped your waist into his hands and he pulled you towards him. He settled you between his legs, while wrapping his arms around you. He nuzzled your neck with his nose.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay in fucking bed with me for the day?” His voice was gravely since you both just woke up. It made pure pleasure pool in your stomach. He was really seductive, starting to kiss your neck.

“..Yeah, I’m sure.” Your voice was everything but certain. If he asked you one more time, you were sure you would never leave this bed again.

Adam gave your cheek a last kiss before unwrapping his arms from your mid section. He went to rub your hips, “When does your shift end?” You lean your back against his broad, naked chest.

“Depends on how well we get stuff done during the day. Like, 8:30?” It sounded more like a question than an answer, but Adam didn’t complain. You work at the only music store in town, something your ex used to marvel at since you could reserve him whatever he wanted.

“..Do you even know where I work at?”

Adam scoffed at you, “Of fucking course I do.”

…How though? But you also knew there were questions you didn’t really want the answer to. Let’s just blame everything on your ex and his big fucking mouth.

“Now,” Adam went to squeeze your tits through the soft material of the bathrobe, “flash me a fucking tit so I can get through the day.”

Oh, you hated him.

You went to elbow Adam’s stomach while you felt yourself getting flustered. Fighting through his arms you set yourself down at the edge of the bed. Looking to your left, where Adam was still propped up, he was smiling at you. Unlike you, he wasn’t flustered in the slightest.

“What’s your secret? How do you never get flustered?” You decide to ask Adam. He raised a pierced brow at you.

“Babe, you think I never lose my mind around you?” Adam sat up more, throwing one leg over the bed while leaning over to you, “Every time I see you, I have to do shitty breathing exercises so I don’t rip your clothes off.”

Your heart speed up to an unhealthy degree.

“I’m going to go into cardiac arrest because of you.” You decided on telling him, while trying to hide your face away behind your hand. Avoiding his golden eyes, you decide on looking away. Man, does he have many guitars and band posters plastered everywhere.

“Awww, my poor baby. Is your heart going crazy for me?” He cooed at you condescendingly.

“Shut up.” You told him, oh so intelligently.

Reaching out towards him, you placed your hand on his chest, over his heart. Feeling the strong and fast paced beating of his heart behind his chest calmed you down. So he is as nervous as you. Or he’s just excited.

Adam placed his own hand on your chest, over your heart. It thrummed against his hand. You made a fist on Adam’s chest,

“The heart is as big as a fist….” You mumbled out, remembering the fact from biology class in elementary school. Your fist looked comedically small on Adam’s chest, the thought of Adam having such a small heart made you smile.

Adam formed his own hand into a fist, over your chest. Shit, it’s big. Ah.

“..You got a big heart, huh?” You asked him, with a smile.

Adam moved his hand from your chest, to your own hand. He was able to completely wrap around his own hand over your fist. Your heart fluttered uncomfortable in your chest, like a flighty bird. He moved to kiss your hand gently.

“….Need that big heart, baby, to be able to pump my massive fucking dick full with blood.” Ah. Fucker.

“Alright.” You shook your hand out of his. Way to ruin a moment.

You moved to stand up, stretching out your arms over your head.

“You know, I never told anyone this, but my dick’s so goddamn big, when I get hard I get fucking light headed. I swear! S’cause all my blood goes into my big dick. Did I mention how fucking hung I am, yet?” He told you proudly, still sitting on the bed.

You scoffed at him, but you couldn’t help but laugh at his words. Making your way to your bag, you fished out your panties. Hearing Adam get up from the bed, you decide to focus on getting dressed. Damn, Adam properly folded your clothes into your bag. You didn’t think Adam knew how to fold clothes. Why’s he better at packing your bag than you are?

Slipping into your panties, you decided to see what Adam was up to. He stood a few meters away from you infront of the window, watching you with keen eyes.

Adam was a beautiful man, you could appreciate that much. The warm light from the window illuminated his broad form and light brown olive skin. It bundled up around his head, reminding you of a halo. His build made you think of that of a football player, who can’t say no eating out. He was rubbing his jaw while smirking at you.

He looked away for a moment, showing off his side profile. His roman nose shape fit him incredibly well. What it would feel like to sit on it?

While he was looking away, you took the opportunity to put your focus back on getting dressed.

Rummaging through your bag some more, you pulled out your jeans, tank top and sweatshirt. Throwing on the tank top and then sweatshirt, you jumped into your jeans. Literally. Adam was busy getting dressed himself. He seemed to contemplate which hoodie he should wear.

Poking his side, you stood behind him, while he stood in front of the closet. He startled a bit at your sudden appearance, but quickly relaxed again.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” You say, your eyes focused on the space below his nape.

It’s small, easily hidden by shirts and tops. There were delicate wings engraved into his skin, spanning across his trapezius. But at most it was 12 centimetre wide. With such a flashy guy, you expected the wings to cover his whole back.

Adam simply hummed, “I would ask you if you had a tattoo, but, babe, I saw every inch of that fuckable body. Can’t fucking hide much from me.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you dragged your nails down his back, over the scratches you left. Stepping towards his side, you took a good look at the marks you left on his neck. Damn, it’s like a painting.

“You sure you don’t want to wear a turtleneck?” You asked him, while gently grazing your fingers over the hickeys and bit marks you left.

Adam puffed himself up, like a peacock. His proud smirk stretched across his plush lips,

“Nah, I’m going to wear these like fucking war paint. You don’t want me to show off the evidence off our hot as hell fuck session? You marked me up pretty fucking good, baby. Didn’t think you were the possessive type.” He chuckled at you.

Were you possessive? You never truly thought you were overly jealous. Since Adam wasn’t your boyfriend, you didn’t really care. As long as he didn’t give you an STD or expose you, everything was cool.

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” You told him.

“Oh, and how well I fucking sleep at night. Especially when I dream of that sweet fucking cunt wrapped around my godlike dick.” He told you, with that sleazy tone of his.

Scratching your ear, you rolled your eyes at his remark. Because of him your eyes are going to be stuck like that one day. Pulling his a hoodie over his head, he made sure that his neck was visible. Asshole.

He put his hand on your back and let it wander downwards, towards your jeans packet. Slipping his big hand into it, he gave your ass an generous squeeze. Wrapping your own arm around him, you rested your head against his chest. He pulled you tighter against him.

“What’s for breakfast?” You decide on asking him.

Adam scratched his chin, visualising the contents of his fridge.

“Uhhh, you like bacon and eggs?” He looked down at you, “Don’t tell me you’re one of these freaky fucking vegans.”

What an obnoxious fucking guy.

“..Adam. Just make the damn breakfast.”

Seeing Adam actually stand at the stove and cook for you was unreal. You had your phone in your hand, reading through the messages your friends left. (“Dick so good you literally stood us up??” “u guys fink if i ask him @ practice for some tipps that he will give em to me?” “Bro…”)

Adam putting down a plate in front of made you look up from your doom scrolling, putting the phone into your jeans pocket, you looked at him sitting besides you on the kitchen island. Arm to arm. Yeah, when he said he doesn’t believe in personal space you immediately bought that. No other sources needed for that.

Mumbling out a quick thanks for the food, you took your fork into your hand and started to dig in. It was subtle, and you would have nearly missed it. Adam bowed his head slightly before he started to eat, his hands intertwined. It was a quick moment. He prays before he eats? Is he a christian? Why aren’t you surprised…..

Somebody should remind him off the whole chastity thing.

Simply continuing to eat, you were honestly surprised at how good the food tasted.

“You wanna be my trophy husband?” You asked him through a mouth full of food.

Adam laughed at the question, “Babe, I fear my taste is too expensive for you.”

You simply hummed at his words. That’s true. Sadly. Hopefully your degree pulls you out of poverty. Or you’re going to have to marry rich. Glancing at Adam, you wonder what it would be like to be married to him. Probably lots of sex. Together with many children running around, because that man doesn’t know how to pull out.

Adam finished his food before you did, his greedy ass. Shoving the last piece of bacon into your mouth, you thought about how long ago it was when you last ate meat. It’s too expensive. But simply breathing was also expensive.

When you got a full ride scholarship, you thought you won in the lottery. Well, no debt is better than nothing. But with the way the cost of living rises and you’re too tired to pick up more shifts, since if your grades slip you lose the scholarship, there’s not much for you to do. Expect eat bread and drink tap water.

At this point maybe you should just let Adam get you pregnant.

Adam took your plate and fork, together with his own, he put everything into the dishwasher. What a man.

“You know, usually it’s the woman who serve their men.” Never-mind, you hope he dies.

Scoffing at his words, you massaged your forehead, “Oh yeah? Aren’t you supposed to be a provider? As the man?”

Adam came up behind you, he placed his hands on your shoulders, massaging your tense muscles.

He leaned his head down towards your ear, “Want me to provide for you, baby? I’d keep your greedy pussy stuffed full while fulfilling all your other wishes and desires.”

God, why does that turn you on? You need some serious self reflection. Are you about to become a sugar baby for Adam? Without hesitation…..

Making eye contact with Adam was a pain. God you’re so down bad. The grin he worse was predator like. Yeah, being financially dependent on Adam would be a bad idea. What would happen if he was mad at you? He’d cut you off and you have to starve?

Be logical, be responsible.

You leaned forward, biting into his cheek lightly.

“That’s a yes, babe? What do you need from me to have you be fully fucking mine?…Want a proper fucking date, baby?” His eyes were soft.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, “Sure, and next we will get married with, like, 8 children.” (Accidental manifestation??)

Getting up from your chair, you stretched your muscles in an attempt to be casual.

Adam being this quite was a bad sign. Looking back at him, when you reciprocated his eye contact, with his yearning eyes, he chuckled bitterly and slightly shook whatever emotion he felt off. He grasped your shoulder into his hand and lead you towards the front door.

“…I think it’s time for us to go. Go brush your teeth and put on your jacket, I’m going to grab your bag.” He sounded…down. Sulky, even. And he didn’t use one swear word.

Who pissed in his coffee that he turns from number one lover boy to the saddest, most pathetic guy alive?

The amount of if time you needed to brush your teeth then to put on your jacket and shoes is all Adam needed to get your bag and brush his own teeth. He put the bag on the floor between you guys, while putting on his leather jacket with studs and slipping into his doc martens. Sexy.

Grabbing your bag and swinging it over your shoulder, you were ready to leave. You were stopped in your movements by Adam, who grabbed your shoulder and kissed you. While you were busy swallowing his tongue down, Adam’s fingers slipped under your bag strap and he took it off you. He put the bag over his own shoulder.

Putting his big, warm hand over your lower back, he escorted you to his car. The walk was quite. Which was uncomfortable, considering Adam is such a big talker. He really does love the sound of his own voice.

Were you going to talk with him about it?

Hell nah.

Avoidance till the end.

Maybe your ex had a point when he called you a gold digging whore behind your back.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you looked at Adam who seemed still pissy. Man.

“You wanna try something out tonight?” You decided on asking him, leaning over the seat.

You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, looking up at him with puppy eyes. It’s your attempt to surrender. To say sorry.

A small smirk appeared on Adam’s lips, “Whatcha thinking off, perv?” He decided on asking you. Fucker.

You dragged your finger across his chest, drawing heart patterns, “..How about you be the one submitting for once?”

Adam took your hand into his own, giving your knuckles a kiss.

“For you, baby? I’d do fucking anything….Except cuckholding that shit is the fucking worst.” His hand was on your thigh now, rubbing circles into your plush flesh.

You nodded at him eagerly. You were going to make him your bitch.

First the pharmacy was hit up, you waited in the car while Adam brought the Plan B and a water bottle. Next he let you out at your doctors office, he gave you a quick kiss, before confirming the time again 8:30 PM at your work place.

——————

Adam stood with Lute in the gym hall, watching the girls run their warm up laps. They stood a few feet away, to have their pretend privacy when discussing their latest sex adventures. Adam does more disclosing than Lute, if he’s being honest.

“How is it going with…Her?” Lute carefully asked Adam, knowing that he seems extra sensitive when it comes to you.

Adam shifted from one foot to the other, dragging his hand over his mouth.

“..It’s okay.” Was his simple answer.

Lute raised her brow at Adam, knowing that nothing is just okay with Adam. Either it was horrible or fan-fucking-tastic, but not okay. Never just okay. Lute put her hands on her hips, looking at Adam intensely, who voided her eyes.

“And she ditched our sleepover for him! In the middle of the night. She didn’t even do that for her shitty ex, we were always the number one priority!” Dymphna not so subtly whisper yelled at her girlfriend.

“I know…He really must be a sex god…” Monica agreed with Dymphna, while both off them looked over towards Adam. Those gossiping bitches.

“…Is that why you were late to practice today? You were having your own sleepover with your new babe?” Lute asked him.

Adam clapped his hands together, while walking towards the girls, “Alright, sluts! Enough with the warm up, let’s start with the pussy pounding!”

——————

The appointment basically washed over you like a fever dream. Since it was just to discuss birth control options, you didn’t need to spread your legs for your doc. Which was a relief conserving just yesterday Adam came deep inside you.

Once you repeated your medical history, she agreed that hormonal birth control wasn’t the best choice for you. Sure, you could try out different versions of the pill but honestly? You didn’t want to sacrifice your mental health for Adam’s dick. It’s good but not that good.

So the copper IUD it is.

Alright, she said she can insert it during your next period (which hopefully will come), in roughly 10 days.

She gave you a cost estimate, which you send over to Adam.

[Adam Godfree]: that’s it lol 12:30PM

[Adam Godfree]: you have paypal or smth 12:30PM

[Reader]: reader.XXX@Mail.com 12:33PM

[Adam Godfree]: send baby 12:35PM

[Reader]: You send too much. I will send it back once I’m at work. 12:35PM

[Adam Godfree]: naw keep it babes 12:35PM

[Adam Godfree]: it’s also for ur ripped thigights 12:36PM

[Reader]: Tights don’t cost 200$. 12:36PM

[Adam Godfree]: idgaf 12:36PM

[Adam Godfree]: you send it back to me i send even more 12:37PM

Are you………..A whore?……..….A prostitute?

Well 200$ is 200$ so you won’t complain…..You should really visit a church soon.

Work also passed through you, basically. Peter and you basically speed ran this whole shift. You were about to lock the front door, since you usually leave through the back door, when a guy ran to the door. Totally not creepy.

He was blond, sickly pale and shorter than you and he looked down right pathetic. Sighing heavily, you opened the door a bit.

“Sorry, we are closed.” You told him.

“I know! And I am sooo sorry! It’s just, I ordered something for pick up here. It’s for my wife! It’s our anniversary today! It won’t take long, I promise. Pleaseeee?” He pleaded.

Wife?? He looked to be around your age. In his hand he held the collection slip. Man, you really are a sucker. Opening the door fully, you let the guy in. You snatched the slip from his hand and made your way to the back, where you met Peter who did the last of the inventory.

“You really can’t say no, huh?” He decided on asking you, smiling at you sympathetically.

“Shut up. Where’s that damn microphone? Why can’t the others keep order? Why are we the only competent ones?” You were about to lose your mind, breakdown incoming.

Ah, there it is. Grasping the package into your hands, you made your way back to the cash register. Scanning the package, you told the blond twink with the reddest cheeks known to man his total.

“Oh, by the way, there’s a rumour going around that you left the last party with Adam?” Peter called out to you, from the back. Ah shit.

“…That’s crazy.” You said out loud.

Well, at least now you know it’s your face that gives your lies away and not your voice, by the way the blond guy grinned at you. The customer gave you the total, while you fished out his change.

“I know! That’s what I also said!” Peter said. Just, be quiet Peter.

“Adam? Adam Godfree?” He quietly asked you, while looking giddy.

You nodded shamefully at him, no use in lying when you’re so bad at it. You felt the guys eyes crawl all over you, checking you out. Doesn’t he have a wife?

“Well, Adam did always have an immaculate taste in woman.” His tone was charming, it made you uncomfortable. You put the change money into his hand, and he intervened your fingers.

“..I hope your WIFE…will enjoy this gift, for your guys ANNIVERSARY.” You told him with a strict tone of voice, while shaking your hand out of his.

“Oh, wait, no it’s okay! We-“ You couldn’t careless, you’re sadly a hardcore monogamist.

Walking across the counter, you grasped his shoulder and lead him towards the door, “Goodbye and visit us again!”

This time when he looked at you like a pathetic puppy, you didn’t open the door. You locked the door, for real this time, while waving goodbye at him.

Taking the broom into your hand, you did one final sweep of the store. Peter also finished up, you both checked everything one last time, before activating the alarm system and leaving through the back door. Peter threw away the trash, and you both made your way to the street.

Seeing Adam stand besides his car, by the passenger seat and Peter glancing at you made you want to hurl.

“..That’s crazy, right?” Peter laughed a bit at you, “Well, you did smell like Axe. I just thought you got back together with your ex…Again. This is…better? I’m happy for you.” He moved his hand while talking to you.

You avoided eye contact, “Yeah, yeah…Just keep quiet, please.”

Peter and you made your way further towards Adam. Peter laughed some more at you, while ruffling your hair.

Adam watched you two with sharp eyes, and when he saw Peter touch you, he glared at him like Peter was his Nr 1 enemy. Saying goodnight to Peter, you walked towards Adam.

Adam wrapped his arm around you, while throwing one last nasty look at Peter, he shielded you away from Peters amused eyes.

“..Are…Are you jealous? Of..Peter?” You giggled at Adam’s pouty face.

He grumbled something incoherent, before crashing his lips into yours. That shameless guy, devouring you in public. At least there aren’t any people around. Once he started to grope you, you shook him off you.

“Let’s get going, you voyeur.” You patted his big arm, while he still held on to your hips.

“Is it so wrong of me to want people to know who you belong to, baby?”

Giving him a light slap on the chest, you winded yourself out off Adam’s grip and opened the passenger seat door, getting into the car. Adam got into the drivers seat, starting the car with a simple press of a button.

He started the way to your apartment, with his hand resting on your thigh. He massaged your skin through your jeans and let his hand wander further upwards, towards your pussy. Alright, two can play this game.

Placing your own hand on his thigh, you dragged your own nails slightly over his jeans, towards his crotch. Softly gracing your fingers over his already hardening dick, you pressed your palm over his bulge. The car swerved slightly, when you did just that.

“Oh my god, Adam, drive normally please. I don’t want to die yet.” You told him, while removing your hand from his dick and placing it on his hand. You took his hand from your own crotch and placed his hand back on your thigh.

“Ugh, baby, sorry. You just make me loose my fucking mind. Cmon, give daddy a blowjob while he drives you home.” Adam kept looking between you and the street.

“Dude, I won’t risk our lives just because you’re horny. You will have to wait.” You scoffed at him, settling to look out the window, while Adam zoomed you both home.

Adam groaned at your words like you just stabbed him, and he pressed down harder at the gas pedal.

Once you arrived at your apartment complex, Adam parked his car. You then got out of the car, grabbing your bag. Adam snatched it up from you before you could put your bag on.

“Ah, what a gentleman you are. And people say chivalry is dead.”

“Don’t fucking worry, I’m hoping after this you will suck my dick real nice.”

You were going to bit it off, actually.

You don’t get why you like Adam. You’re down bad for him. He smiles at you, your pussy gets wet. He’s sleazy and an asshole and probably has a few STDS and you still invite him into your bed. You should really talk this over with your friends, maybe they can put some sense into your dick obsessed brain. You weren’t even into your ex that much??

Adam gave you a spank on the butt, while chuckling at you.

“Oh, I’m going to make you suffer.” You told him cheekily.

“Fuck, you promise, bitch?” Adam seemed more eager than you.

Maybe you like Adam so much, because he’s so into you. He can’t stop touching you, he borderline stalks you, he hates when other guys touch you or even look at you. He’s deliciously toxic. He wants to baby trap you. He sends you money. Dream man right here.

Walking up the stairs towards your apartment with Adam hot on your trail. Unlocking the door, you lead Adam into the small space which you call yours. A shitty studio apartment, stuffed full with trinkets and memories.

You both took off your shoes and jacket and man you were impatient. You needed him inside you stat. Before Adam was even done taking his jacket off, you were already caressing his chest. Stepping forward to him, you got on your tippy toes to kiss his neck.

Adam carelessly threw the jacket on the floor, he then grasped the nape of your neck and crashed your lips together. Lots of tongue, teeth clashing into each other and spit being exchanged. It was messy and lowkey nasty, just the way you liked it.

His hands moved toward your tits, squeezing and groping you. His hand moved under your sweatshirt and tank top, pinching your nipples gently.

You grasped Adam’s hoodie strings into your hands, tugging him towards your bed with it, while your lips were still connected. It was like you were tugging on his leash. That was a hot thought. Maybe you should collar him?

Sitting down at the edge of the bed, you tugged Adam down towards you. He placed his hands down besides your legs on the bed, but you gently pushed him away from you.

He furrowed his brows at you, his lips in a pout.

Giggling at his charmingly pathetic face, you pushed him down on his knees.

“What? Did you forget that you were going to be my plaything for tonight?” You asked, rather confidently. Yay for you! No shaky voice! Let’s see how long that will hold on.

“Oh, you’re so hot when you’re bossy with me, baby.” Adam grinned at you, the bulge in his pants was straining against the zipper and the jeans cloth.

Never-mind, one shitty compliment from Adam and you’re weak. Your stomach did flips, and you had to cover your face to keep your composure. Deep breaths, you can do this. You can top this 6’6 guy who is wider than a fucking closet. Oh, once again you bit off more than you could chew.

You put your foot on Adam’s chest, wanting to trail it downwards but he grabbed your calf and started kissing upwards, towards your knee.

“How many times can you cum in one session?” You asked him with a hitched breath.

Adam looked caught off guard by your question, but he quickly was able to catch himself.

“You wanna suck out my whole fucking life essence, huh? I dunno, I can give you a few for sure. Let’s see where my limit is, till I tap out.” He nuzzled his stubbly cheek into the skin of your shin.

Before you could even open your mouth to ask him something, the sound of a guitar riff ringed through your little studio apartment. Man. Blinking at Adam, with the way a scowl formed on his pretty face you guessed that’s his phone ringing. You recognise the guitar sound from one of his songs.

Adam fished out his phone from his back pocket, “What the fuck do you want!?” He nearly yelled into the offending object.

You couldn’t make out what the person on the other line is saying, or who it is. Is it a girl? Is he going to leave for another booty call? Does she give better head than you?

“How the hell do you break your fucking drum sticks?” Adam got up from his kneeling position, now he was towering over you.

Oh, it’s just Judas….Damn your ex really has great timing.

Adam smirked down at you, while he stood in between your legs. He placed his hand below your breasts, trailing it downwards while finally tugging at the waist band over your jeans roughly,

“Why don’t you get fucking undressed already, baby?” Adam held the phone, like, 2cm away.

So obviously Judas heard that bit. Adam rolled his eyes at whatever Judas was saying on the phone. Adam sighed heavily while scratching his nose. You covered your mouth to giggle at Adam’s despair. Whatever, you had to pee anyway.

Rolling yourself out of bed, you made your way to the bathroom, while Adam was swearing endlessly at your ex for being a fucking idiot. Adam could bash his head against a wall, first he has to talk to the useless guy he regularly cucks and now he couldn’t even look at your pretty face to cheer him up.

Well, at least he could snoop around. Your space consisted of a bed (too small), a desk and chair (old and ugly), and a few shelves with a closet (all mismatched with chipping paint). It was all stuffed full with trinkets, books and a few houseplants. Pictures of you and your friends were hung up all over place, obvious gasp were in between the pictures. When he took a look inside your half full trash can, he saw trashed pictures of you and your ex. There were no pictures of your family, or from when you were a child.

“I don’t give a fuck if you still miss your ex, go into the store and buy new fucking sticks and moongel. Or else I’m going to find out why your parents restricted your online banking.” With that Adam hung up on Judas.

Looking more around, Adam spotted a picture of you on the beach in a bikini. The point of view was from above, you were squatting on the ground while looking up from your sunglasses. A sandcastle was formed besides you. A beautiful smile was stretched across your glossy lips. There was a clear shot of your cleavage and your plush, milky thighs pressed together. Adam removed the picture from the pinboard and pocketed it for himself.

All across your room where little reminders posted, together with their dates. Some are from a few months ago, while others are only a few days old. He found one which said “Text back Adam!!!!”

On one wall he saw a dart board, he saw a shitty printed out pictures of a few professors he recognised from campus, while the one in the middle was a picture of Judas. Obviously cut out from a couple pictures, there were a few darts stuck in his face. Now that made Adam laugh.

He heard the toilet flush, so he knew he didn’t have long. Now, where do you store your underwear? Opening your closet, he rummaged through your box of bras and panties. He heard the door unlock, but it was hard to hear your footsteps. You’re a quiet walker. Right as you got around the corner, Adam pulled out a sexy thing which was baby pink, with little heart formed in the lace.

“Why don’t you wear this for me?” Adam let it dangle from his finger, watching your face get flustered.

Snatching the bra away from Adam, you threw it back into the closet and closed the door quickly,

“You call me a pervert while you’re the one going through my underwear?” You decided on asking him.

Adam was still kneeling on the floor, he was in between your closet and the end of the bed. You sat down at the end of the bed, Adam turned to face you.

“Want to start?” You whisper into the air.

“Hell yeah, babe.” Adam put his hands on your knees, rubbing at your pants.

“..You think we need a safe word for you?” You mumble out.

“Naw, babe, we just going to do it the old school way and use ‘No’ and ‘Stop’. I’m not into that fucking hardcore BDSM shit. Had a girlfriend who liked it rough, started freaking even me out. Like, who’s into fucking knives?” You really wish you knew which girlfriend that was.

Shaking your head slightly, to get your head back into the game. Only Adam matters right now.

Placing once again your foot on Adam’s body, just this time on his broad chest, plushy chest. Trailing your foot downwards, you dug your toes into his soft, thick stomach. Till you reached his growing bulge, you pressed the heel of your foot down at the bulge.

Adam hissed at the feeling of the pressure.

“Going through my underwear….very..naughty…?” Oh you’re such a bad dirty talker, Adam bit his lip to keep the laughter in.

“Oooooo, I’m so fucking naughty, please punish me mummy.” Adam got out through laughter.

You glared at Adam, you really were tempted to actually slam your foot down on his dick full force. You wouldn’t, but the fantasy of it calmed you down a bit. Rubbing at your face, in hopes of hiding your blush, you took a few deep breaths. Man, you’re a really bad sex haver.

“You’re starting to piss me off, you either get off with my foot or not at all.” You scowled at him.

Adam blinked at you with surprised eyes, “You’re fucking joking.”

You raised your brow at him, removing your foot from him, “Well, guess it’s time to go to bed then?”

Adam grasped your ankle into his hand, placing it back on bulge, “..Jesus, not so fast, bitch.”

Clicking your tongue at him, you looked into his hot eyes, with your own bored ones.

Adam moved his hand to wards the ball of your foot and pressed the heel back down on his hard bulge, even through the jeans you could feel heat emitting from him. Ugh, dream man.

His face was flushed, even the tip of his ears turned shades darker. Finally he looked like how you always felt around him. He was breathing heavily, while he looked down. He’s probably putting his pride away. Cute. You weren’t going to stress him. Flexing your toes slightly, you saw that you still wore your flower socks. You shifted slightly, rolling your stiff neck.

Adam ground the heel of your foot into his bulge, while still grasping the ball of your feet. He was biting his lip. He started to move your back and forth, dragging it along the arch of your foot.

“You’re soo good for me, Adam.” You tried to encourage him, or to get a sound out of his bitten lips.

“Ha…Shut up…Fuck.” Is all you got out of Adam, together with a half moan-half sigh. Hmm. Let’s try something out.

“I can’t wait to feel your dick inside me again, Adam, You always make me full so good…I have never felt so stuffed full. Especially when you cum inside me, I always hope it takes…..that you knock me up, finally..” God now you’re flustered again. Adam’s movements got faster.

“Shit, shit..Haaaha..I’d get you pregnant so fucking fast if you’d let me…” Adam spoke through gritted teeth, talking about his own twisted fantasies seemed to spurn him on.

“Yeah? You promise?” You asked him breathless.

“Fuck yeahhhh-“ He throws his head back and groans, “I’d move you in with me, would take care of you soo well. Have you be my little pretty housewife……All you have to do all day is be my…Ughhhh..be my breeding biiiitch…” Adam moaned out, the thought of that seemed to be his dream.

It’s also yours if your exams keep being so hard.

It took Adam only a few more thrusts of his hips to cum and soil his pants. You saw a wet spot form on his jeans. He let go of your feet, while his chest heaved. He continued to kneel on the floor while looking up at you. Oh right, you’re the one giving commands now.

Making grabby hands at him, to invite him into the bed, Adam near pounced on you. He picked you up by your hips and threw you into your pills of pillows. A surprised gasp left your lips.

“You’re such a fucking a bitch. If you ever tell anyone about this, I will fucking suffocate you with one of your pillows.” Adam said, while throwing a stuffed animal at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh at him, “I was so proud of you!”

He scowled some more at you, kneeling at the end of the bed, like a good boy.

Patting the spot on the bed next to yours, you watched as Adam laid down besides you. He was still flushed, but thanks to his darker complexion it wasn’t as visible. Lucky guy.

Throwing your leg over his hips, you straddled his lap fully. Grasping the edge of his hoodie, you tugged it off him. Exposing his soft torso, you gave him a kiss on the lips. It wasn’t your intention to have a deep kiss, but Adam grasped your hips into his hands and shoved his tongue down your throat. You moaned into the kiss. Once his hands started to wander, you stopped the kiss.

Grasping Adam’s hands into your own, your pressed them into the mattress by his wrists.

“No touching.” You murmured into his ears.

He whined at you, “Cmonnnnnnnn…” Once your hand left his wrists they immediately shoot back towards your skin. It’s like a magnet.

Grumbling at him, you decided to glare at him. Should you tie him up with your bed sheet or something? Wait…

“Wait! I have something…” Jumping off of Adam and the bed, you rummaged through your closet. Finally making contact with a mix of plastic and cardboard, you pulled out a pair of still packaged handcuffs. There was pink fluff on them.

Proudly showing those to Adam, you waited for his reaction.

“Pfftt, babe, if those fit, shit, who am I to say no to your cute face?” Adam laughed breathlessly at you.

Skipping over to him, you leaned over and stuck your hand under your pillow, feeling around. Pulling out your pocket knife, you pulled out the blade and carefully cut into the cardboard backing. Closing and putting the knife back, you pulled out the cuffs, together with 2 sets of keys. Best not to lose those.

You turned towards Adam, who stuck his wrists out. Carefully putting on the cuff around his one wrist, you locked it in,

“Is that okay?” You gently asked him.

Adam moved the cuff around and even stuck a finger through the loop, showing that he has enough room, “Never been better.” He leaned towards you and gave your cheek a kiss.

“Okay, that’s good. Just say the word and at will remove those ASAP! I will also cuff the other wrist, but, well…Hmm..I kind of want to sit on your face and I don’t know how well I can do that with your wrists restrained against the headrest….” You looked at Adam while speaking, and he turned happier and happier the more you spoke.

His hands moved towards your waist, picking you up while he laid down bellow your pillows. He placed you on his stomach. You took of your own sweatshirt and tank top, giving Adam a nice view of your tits. Since he wasn’t restrained, his hands immediately went to fondle your boobs. Tugging and pinching at the nipples.

“Take of your clothes.” You told Adam, while shimming out of your own pants and underwear. Ugh you already soaked through yours.

Adam buckled his hips up to take off his boxers and jeans. Yeah, he can’t wear these out anymore until they have been washed. Whoops. His dick was already half hard again, begging for attention. He kicked his clothes over the end of the bed. This is a problem for morning you.

Adam rubbed a hand over his cheeks and chin, “Take a seat baby, it’s aaaalllll yours for the taking.” He seemed more happy about this than you.

You laughed a bit at his antics, and then slowly but surely made your up, towards his face. Kneeling over his watering mouth, you got a bit nervous.

“What if-“ Before you could even finish your question, Adam pulled you down on his face by your hips.

He didn’t waste anytime in devouring you. His tongue licked a strip up your pussy, his tongue piercing made you nearly sob from the delicious sensation. His hand were rubbing up and down, on your hips, on your thighs, even over your stomach.

Once he was sure he licked up every drop he could, he decided to explore your pussy from the inside with his tongue. Sticking his tongue in your pretty hole, he sucked up every bit of your juices he could. You were divine.

You tangled your hands into his soft hair. You don’t get how it can be so healthy, shiny and thick with the way Adam uses Axe 3 in 1 shit, but here he was. One beautiful man. The beautiful man who was devouring you, like it was his last meal.

Adam wrapped his lips around your clit, and he sucked. Hard. You pressed your thighs tightly around Adam’s face, while your body bends forward. You were moaning and gasping at this point.

“Adam! Fuck! You’re….Ahh..You’re doing sooOhhooo good.” You praised him, since he did deserve that. Man is he amazing.

Looking back at Adam’s lower half, you saw that he was at full mast now. Reaching behind you blindly, you patted around Adam’s pubic area until you grasped his thick dick into your hand. Precum was leaking like crazy from his cock, coating the tip completely. You messily started jerking him off, coating him now fully in precum.

Adam groaned into your clit, causing pleasure to spike through your spine. Man, you were close. Adam probably knew that, since he was the only person to make you cum till now. Well, expect yourself of course.

“You’re the best and only one I will ever haaahhaaavee..Jesus, You hnng..got a magic tongue, haa?” You encouraged him through gasps and moans. Nothing seemed to make him happier then when you praises him.

Adam’s sucking and licking increased in intensity, while you felt his dick start to twitch in your hand. You focused on massaging his tip, and sweeping with your thumb over his piercing. He groaned into pussy. His hands never left your skin, bruseing touches were massaged into your thighs and hips.

“Ah, Oh fuck….’m cuhhhuming.” You called out.

You grinned down your clit against his big nose, riding out your toe curling high. Adam’s dick did one last twitch and he came all over your hand, and his stomach and chest. You breathed heavily and got off of Adam’s face.

Adam’s face chased chased after your pussy, between your spread legs. He gave your clit a kiss, which caused you to whine out in overstimulation, while your hips twitched. His lips attached to your thighs and he started sucking hickeys into the skin.

You dragged your nails into Adam’s scalp, massaging him. He continued lazily sucking more marks into your skin.

“You ready for the next round?” You decide on asking him.

Adam looked up at you with half lidded eyes, is it two and done for him?

Taking his face into your hands, you brushed a thumbed over his cheekbone.

“..I want nothing more than for you to fuck my brains out. Just gottta give me a hot second, baby.” He told you, his own hand covered yours while he looked into your eyes.

You hummed at his words, you took his hand moved it towards your breast. Letting him play and fondle with your tits. He sat up more to lick and suck at your one breast, while massaging the other. He left hickeys around your nipple.

His dick was starting to come back to life, full on hard and ready to go. You tugged him off you and pushed at his shoulder to make him lay down on his back. You sat down on his warm, soft stomach, trying to avoid his cum. Sadly for you, Adam came in buckets, so you couldn’t really avoid that. You took Adam’s wrists into your hands. You lopped the handcuff through your bed post, and put his last wrist into said cuff.

He was now fully restrained.

“This okay?” You decided on asking him.

“Fuckkk yeah, you’re so hot, babe.” Adam tugged at the cuffs slightly, to see how much they could take.

You kissed Adam’s cheek, then his neck and chest. You gave his nipple a light pinch with your finger, before sucking on the other one. You gave his nipple a light bite, the bar of his piercing clang against your teeth.

Adam tugged at his restraints while groaning. Hips buckled up into the air. You removed your lips with a pop. Gliding down, you rubbed your pussy against Adam’s hard dick. He angled his hips so that he could get more stimulation out of you.

You pressed down his hips back into the mattress, “Stay down. Don’t you want to be good?”

“….Wanna be good. Please. Hop on my dick.” Adam begged.

You never thought Adam would be the one begging for something, but you weren’t complaining. You aligned Adam’s dick with your entrance, and you started to slowly slide down on his dick. No matter how much you guys fuck, he always stretches you out. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Adam watched the way his dick slowly disappeared inside your hot, velvety cunt with intense eyes. He needed a lot of his will power to not start thrusting his hips upwards. Fucking you silly from below. He dug his nails into his palm.

You finally were all the way down, it took you a bit to adjust to his sheer size. Gridding down on his dick and pubic bone, you moaned at the amazing feeling. Adam hissed at the feeling of your fluttering cunt around him. Adam thrust his hips upwards, trying to get you to start bouncing down on him.

“Adam, behave. The more you move, the less you will get.” You told him sternly, dragging your nail across Adam’s hipbone.

He groaned at that. You stopped your grinding and simply kept his cock inside you. He was twitching inside you, while he tugged impatiently at his cuffs.You leaned forward, resting your chin on his chest, while smiling at him.

“Fucking move already you daft bitch, enough of the teasing.” Adam spoke through gritted teeth.

You laughed at the petulant whine in his voice, together with the pout. God, what a man-child. You needed him badly. You bit your own lip at his behaviour, trying not to laugh at him.

“Ask nicely and I might indulge you.” You told him with a smug smile.

Adam groaned heavily, you felt it vibrating in his chest, he threw his head back. His eyes were squeezed shut, “Pleeeeaasseee, baby, I want you throw my hip out with the fucking way you bounce on my dick.”

You snorted at his words, “How can I say no to those charming words?”

Sitting up, you started a slow rhythm of going up and down on Adam’s hard dick. Adam dug his toes into the bed sheet, happy to finally get some stimulation. Even though he felt overly sensitive, and he knew he wouldn’t last long, he still wanted to fuck you silly from below. As soon as he started thrusting upwards, you pushed Adam’s hips back down and continued your bouncing.

“Can’t keep still, Adam?” You asked him in between gasp.

“ ‘is your fault, baby, you’re too tight. Squeezing me ‘n shit.” Adam sounded winded.

You reached back, grasping for his balls, massaging them.

Adam’s lips left a broken mix of a gasp and moan. His hips shoot upwards, fucking into you while he came inside you. Shit, you thought he would like that, but that much?

You seemed as surprised as Adam, who was heaving heavily. He wet his lips with his tongue, while his dick went soft inside you. Biting at the inside of your cheek, you leaned over to kiss Adam. He pressed his tongue immediately into your mouth. You grasped his face into your hands, urging him to kiss you deeper. You felt Adam’s cum run down your stuffed full pussy.

You stopped the kiss so you could start once again to jump up and down on Adam’s thick cock. He got hard so embarrassingly easily, it’s enough when he sees your face. Finding a rhythm where you felt the pleasure start to build up, you ran your hands over your body, squeezing your tits, before your fingers found your clit. Rubbing circles into it.

“Fuck, baby, untie me. ‘M gonna rub that pretty clit for you. Make you fucking cream all over me.” Adam begged, while tugging at the cuffs. With all that tugging you were surprised that Adam’s wrists weren’t rubbed raw yet.

Laughing breathlessly at him, you shook your head at him. You continued your rhythm, wanting nothing more than to cum.

“Shit, Adam, you always feel so perfectly fitted inside me.” You moaned out.

“Yeah? You always..Ughh…make my fucking dick ache when I just look at you.” Adam started thrusting upwards, helping you chase your high.

That quickly started to approach you, but you also wanted Adam to cum once more.

“Adam, cum inside me. I want you…Want to make you into a real daddy.” That should hopefully be enough? Yeah.

“Shit, babe, already am a real daddy….You’d be a hot as fuckkkk MILF.” Adam’s brows were furrowed and his mouth was open, gasping into the air. Every time a moan tumbled out of his lips, he bit his lip. A shame, he had really pretty moans.

“Adam, I’m close…. Cum with me.” You quickened your finger which was massaging your clit.

You felt your high wash all over you, you dug your nails into Adam’s hips, while your toes were curling. Adam shoot up hot cum into your already full cunt, causing you to sob. You stayed like this for a bit, you both breathing heavily, while cum dripped out of you.

Sliding Adam’s dick out of you, you felt juices gush out of you. Yikes.

“Show me your cunt, babe. Pwetty pwease.” Adam whined at you.

You made sure Adam had a good view of your pussy, when you spread your folds apart. Showing him how his cum dripped out of you. Adam groaned satisfied. He leaned his head back into your pillows, seemingly spent.

Reaching out, you grasped Adam’s dick into your hands and squeezed his shaft.

Adam hissed, his hips twitching at the feeling of overstimulation.

He looked good like that, his face was flushed to hell and back, his lips were bitten raw, and there were tears forming in his eyes. You gave his dick a few kisses, feeling how it got hard under your fingers and lips.

You started slowly jerking Adam off, being mindful off how sensitive he was. He whined at the feeling. Rubbing gentle circles into his tip, playing with his piercing, you kissed your way down. From his tip towards his balls, where you also kissed them.

Adam felt himself cum embarrassingly easy, it basically took him 3 strokes from your hand and he felt the dam break. Adam’s back arched while he sobbed out, if it was from pain or pleasure he wasn’t too sure. You watched with curious eyes as Adam came, surprisingly though there was no more cum ejaculating from him.

Woah, a dry orgasm. You really sucked him dry. That’s cool.

“Enough, you cock hungry whore. Jesus, I know I’m the best you will ever have, but I’m fully spend. Fucking hell….” Adam grumbled out.

You nodded at his words, you leaned over to snatch the keys from your bed side table, and you freed him off his restraints. As soon as you put everything on your bedside table again, Adam wrapped his arms around you and slammed you into the mattress. The breath was slightly knocked out of your lungs and a surprised gasp left your lips.

Adam sprawled himself over you and trapped you between his huge body and the mattress. His head was resting on your chest. He nuzzled the soft skin there. You softly rubbed his shoulders and back, drawing circles into his muscles. Ranking your nails through his soft hair, he sighed softly, being completely content.

“..Cat got your tongue?” You asked him while laughing a bit.

“Shut up. Go to sleep.” Adam grumbled into your skin.

Yeah, your legs were sore. You were going to feel this tomorrow. You felt your eyes drift shut and lost yourself into the unconsciousness.

You woke up the next morning from your bladder calling for you to relief yourself. Reaching blindly around on your floor, you picked up your phone. 7am. Ugh. You had classes today. How annoying. Putting your phone screen up on the bedside table, you rolled out of bed.

As soon as your feet hit the ground, Adam jolted up, rubbing at his eye.

“Where you going?” He asked you with his gravely voice.

“Have to pee.” You mumbled out, stumbling into the bathroom. You thought for a second he would follow you, but he laid back down.

Once you finished your business and washed and dried your hand, you walked back into your room.

You saw Adam sit at the edge of the bed, with your phone in his huge hand. It’s funny, when it’s in your hand you struggle with reaching the full screen with your thumb, while in Adam’s hand it looked like a toy. He was scowling, badly and when he noticed you coming in, he glared at you.

He looked at you like he hated you.

Before you could ask him what was up, he slammed your phone into the corner of your bed side table. Shattering your phone completely. It was a sickening sound, cracking and grinding. The splinters of glass flew everywhere. On the floor, on the bed, on Adam.

You didn’t quite know what to say. What the fuck? Why would you do that? Get the fuck out of my apartment? A feeling of fear of curled in your stomach, paralysing you. It’s an old friend.

Adam stood up, slowly, menacingly. Taking a few steps towards you.

You liked Adam’s size, he was much bigger than you and that made him so attractive to you.

He was much bigger and stronger than you and that’s what terrified you so much.

As soon as Adam stood you were freed of your shock.

“What the fuck?” You spoke into the silence. Not really knowing what else to say. What is there to say?

Adam scoffed at you, crossing his arms in-front of his chest.

“Don’t worry your stupid little fucking head about it.” He simply answered. Wrong move.

“Are you insane? You smash my phone into pieces and won’t even tell me why? Because…Why? You’re the big macho guy who makes all the oh-so big decisions? Because I’m just a girl?” He was starting to piss you off.

You forgot how fast he was, in the blink of your eye he was in-front of you. He roughly grasped your jaw into his hand. It hurt.

“Yeah, that’s fucking why. I know girls like you, you act oh so independent but really you want a big strong guy, like me, to save you. You’re just a fucking woman, so I know it’s hard for you to grasp basic concepts, but you should kiss my fucking feet for even looking at a plain girl like you.” Oh what a fucker.

You gave him a shove to get him away from you, but he just grasped your wrist into his hand. It was a bone crushing strong. At least he wasn’t grasping your jaw anymore. The feeling of betrayal rise like bile in your throat, that’s what you get for trusting a man. It was a reminder for yourself to never trust a man again.

You laughed in his furious face, “Yeah, sure, and if you think I won’t use the birth control you oh so graciously paid for, to fuck other guys you might actually be the stupid one.” You wouldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. You wanted to hurt him, like he hurt you.

It seemed to work, you didn’t think he could possibly look even more pissed off, but he did. Adam reached his arm out, which wasn’t holding your wrist, and he slammed his fist into your wall. The thin material easily crumbled under the force of his hit.

Adam moved his hand towards you and you closed your eyes, while flinching. Readying yourself for a slap, which never came. Opening your eyes slowly, you saw that, that hand went into his hair, probably pulling at it from what you gatherted Adam.

So he’s a misogynist but not a woman beater, good to know.

The anger from Adam’s face seemed to have washed away, he seemed more preoccupied with your reaction. Your name fell from his lips, soft and worried. He lost the right to be worried about you.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.” Your heart was beating so fast and loud, you couldn’t hear anything else.

Adam dropped your throbbing wrist from his grasp, taking a step back. His eyes restlessly wandered all over your body.

“..I wasn’t going to fucking hit you. I would never do something like that.”

“Yeah right. You just break my phone AND wall in an unjustified fit of rage. Get your fucking shit and never talk to me again.” You were rubbing your wrist. Man this is going to bruise.

Looking around, you started to pick up Adam’s things and started throwing them at him. Fucker.

And that’s how Adam ended up with you slamming your door in his face, while he only stood with his boxers on in your hallway. His things were messily scattered everywhere. Great.

…….Was that a fucking a rat?

[cakerybakery]

The first time Adam was groped he thought it was a mistake. Why would he assume Lucifer meant to brush his hand on Adam’s ass?

The second time the area was crowded, Lucifer was short, he didn’t mean to rest his hand on Adam’s ass he just misjudged where Adam’s back was.

The third time Adam was just bewildered. There was no way that was an accident.

After a couple months he assumed Lucifer was just like that.

Then one day he didn’t. Adam had been leaning over the couch watching videos online with Angel and went Lucifer walked by and his ass remained untouched, he was offended. He was livid. How dare Lucifer snub his ass!

He abandoned Angel and stormed after Lucifer, cornering him in the elevator. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

No one fucking stops wanting him! He’s the first fucking man. His ass was perfect when formed and only gotten better with age.

Lucifer was obviously suffering from some sort of medical emergency. A broken hand. Sudden blindness.

“What? I’m going-“

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two, what are you-“

Adam boxed him against the wall. “Why the fuck didn’t you try to grope my ass?”

Lucifer at least had the decency to look sheepish. “You noticed that?”

“Yeah, I noticed you didn’t even try when you walked by. Are you touching someone else’s ass? Who is it? You want some scrawny twig’s ass?” He jammed his finger’s into Lucifer chest. “Huh, is that it? Who, the fuck, is it?”

Lucifer slapped the finger’s away, “that’s enough of that. I stopped because Charlie mentioned I should get permission before groping you and I hadn’t figured out how.”

“So there’s no one else?” Adam was relieved. He didn’t play second fiddle to no one. If someone was trying to take his fucking place, he kept angelic steel on hand for a reason.

“Are you jealous?” Lucifer was grinning, his tail had come out and was whipping behind him.

“What? Bitch, I don’t get jealous. I’m fucking Adam-“

“I’d like to be fucking Adam.” Lucifer interrupted without thinking.

They both froze. The back of Adam’s brain tingled in excitement. “Okay.”

“Oh shit! That worked?”

[envy-of-the-apple]

LOVE the new fic. The betrayal literally made me tear up.

I was just curious would Gojo have given up on Ms. Moon if she were married or maybe had a kid.

oh fu c k such a good idea whydidn'tithinkofthis- (this got so long i am so sorry)

in the fic, ms.moon is pretty traumatized after the gojo incident to have any real relationships after.

But maybe ms.moon gets into therapy, works through the issues of intimacy. You meet someone, nice, kind. You settle down, have a kid. It'll be nice for a few years...but when gojo comes back into your life. he'll shut it down quick.

Gojo's worse than his high school self now. He might not beat your husband up, but that might be a blessing compared to the tsunami he's about to havoc on your family. Using his connections, he'll make sure your husband never finds a job in the entire city, the entire region even. He might even dig up something your husband did in his past, a small drug problem he had with highschool-something that would get swept under the rug normally, but with Gojo's scrutiny, it's about to become a lot bigger.

You could stop it. With enough begging. After you'd cry your heart out, he'd shush you, wiping away your tears, saying that he'd forgive you for your transgressions.

You'd be expected to divorce your husband. Your husband would be pretty pissed with your flimsy reasoning of 'my childhood bully isn't done with ruining my life' but then he'd remember that there is a reason the Gojo family is so big. And they don't take kindly to competitors who stand in their way. You'd understand why he lets you walk away without a fight, but a part of you wished he would have pushed more, even if the result would have remained the same.

It's your child who suffers the worst through all of this. Maybe you had a daughter. Perhaps gojo would be a bit more tolerant towards her if she looked like you but she was clearly her father's daughter. In the past, you adored it, now it's another curse for you.

You have to keep her away, for her sake. Gojo is already more than upset that you dared to start a family without him. Besides, why would you want her with you? Why would you want her to suffer under gojo's whims?

A part of you has to admit that it's also for your sake. You don't want your daughter to see you like that. Weak, rolling under that man's thumb.

She's probably just a toddler when you have to leave. She's too young to understand when you say 'mommy's going away for a while'. Maybe you'd lie to her, say that you're going overseas and when she asks if she can come with you, you'd shake your head because talking anymore would be too much because Satoru's waiting in the sleek black car right on the curb. It doesn't matter what you say, she screams and sobs the entire time.

You don't touch your ex-husband, you don't even hug because you know Satoru's watching. You just ask him to take care of her before you walk into the car, getting into the passenger seat. Your daughter's still begging you to come back. You make sure the car is out of her sight before you start sobbing.

There's a hand on your thigh, squeezing, a mocking act of comfort. You're sure Satoru's grinning.

"Aw. Don’t cry, baby," you can barely hold yourself back from slapping him, though you doubted even pain would wipe that look off his face.

The hand drifts up your thigh, playing with the hem of your pants.

"Once we have our own kids, you’ll get way too busy to think about your old one.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for slapping my mother in law?

I (27F) am married to my husband Jay (26M) and we recently had our first child Lily.

Well the pregnancy was a very very difficult one. I was throwing up every day for over six months, suffered long bouts of insomnia, developed gestational diabetes, standing up too fast made me incredibly dizzy, my entire body just constantly hurt, Lily kicked me so hard I legit had tears in my eyes (which combined with full body pain was...not pleasant) and to top it all off Lily weighed ELEVEN pounds and I tore really really badly.

Yeah...ow.

I love my daughter to death but never again. Ever.

Anyways after that literal hell of a pregnancy, I've been more or less bedbound for several weeks now while healing from that entire ordeal. Which means Jay has been taking care of pretty much everything, keeping the house clean, making food, taking care of me and Lily, etc. Its a lot I know and I wish I could do more to help but Jay has been insisting that I rest and recover and that he's got this. He's been handling everything like an absolute champ. Honestly if I didnt have him I dont know how I would be doing anything.

Well this morning Jay's parents came to visit and meet their granddaughter. So I was moved to the living room so I could introduce them to Lily and socialize a bit while Jay cooked lunch.

Now Jay's parents are very traditional. They believe that men make the money and that its the woman's job to take care of the house, the cooking, and the children.

You can probably see where this is going.

I introduce Mother in law to Lily and we get to talking. (Father in law went outside to go smoke)

Thats when mother in law asks why Jay is cooking. More importantly why Im NOT cooking. I tell her I physically cant even stand UP without help so how am I supposed to cook.

She only scoffed saying that I was just making excuses. I am very used to her bullshit by now so I just roll my eyes.

Then Lily started crying because she needed a diaper change. Mother in law tells me to go change her diaper. Again I cant even stand up by myself, much less get up to change a diaper.

I call Jay and he happily comes to get our daughter. Mother in law starts yelling, telling Jay no that I should do it because its my job. She grabs Lily and shoves her back into my arms and tells me to get up and go do it.

Jay, my wonderful angel, tried to tell her that I physically couldnt move for weeks and to mind her own damn business.

She then started yelling even more saying that I was making my husband do my job for me, calling me lazy and a slut (What that has anything to do with this? I have no idea) she went off on a complete tangent about how it was a woman's job to take care of the home and the children, that SHE managed just fine and she had five small children, that I was completely emasculating Jay, that I was a disgrace, etc.

She just kept going and going while not letting me and Jay even get a word in. Until eventually she said that my daughter will probably grow up to be a whore like I am.

I think it was a mix of pure exhaustion and hormones because somehow I managed to stand up for a moment and slap her across the face before immediately falling back on the couch.

Jay looked shocked, Mother in law looked livid. (Father in law was just watching from the doorway, equally as shocked.)

Mother in law started full on screaming, calling me every single name in the book until father in law physically dragged her out of the house by her arm.

Now hours later my phone has been blowing up with messages from my brothers and sister in laws, telling me that I was an asshole and that I had no excuse for hitting their mother.

Hell even my friends think I was in the wrong for hitting her (completely ignoring how she was yelling, calling me horrible names, in front of a newborn baby no less.)

So AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[fallenangelkitten]

You Never Learn

Synopsis: You belong to August Walker. You know his rules and requirements, but you’re too much of a brat to listen.

Warnings: dom!august, brat taming, sub!reader, choking, nipple clamps, possessive, overstimulation, cream pie.

Note: I used to be fallenangelbb here on the Henry Cavill side of tumblr but deleted my account and have regretted it ever since. So here I am reposting my work :)

“The fuck are you doing?” August snarled as he walked into the bedroom. You had been so unbelievably needy and wanting. The overwhelming desire for him killing you. But he wasn’t there, and you were left with no idea when he would return. “I thought I told you only I could touch you. That includes you.”

You knew this, but you had no idea you would get caught. Your face flushed with fright, body stilling in place, leaving your little finger still connected to your sweet bundle of nerves. But somehow, your mouth watered in anticipation.

The glare he gazed at you with was poisonous, but you knew he was just as excited as you felt. You saw the gleam in his eyes and a smirk was dangerously tugging on the corner of his mouth. You felt your stomach clench as he took long strides towards you. “Stand,” he commanded. You knew better than to disobey.

As you rose to your feet, he grabbed something out of his closet- the closet. You heard the metal hitting leather, informing you before your sight had the opportunity. He stuck his hand above your knee, forcing your thighs apart.

August began putting his favorite set on you. It was black and silver, and never failed to make the room smell like leather conditioner and lust. He closed the latches around each of your legs, the soft strip sitting just below your bum and gently squeezed you. He closed the one around your waist that now connected to the ones around your thighs. The calloused pads of his fingers lingered on your skin, teasing you enough to earn a whimper.

“Hold out your wrists.” He wrapped the individual cuffs onto you; a clasp dangled from each one. You kept your wrists outward, unsure as to what else he wanted from you.

Without warning, he softly slapped each of your breasts and pinched your nipples, bringing both to a perky mound. He didn’t make a sound, but you took in a sharp breath and flinched under the sudden touch. He brought a clamp to your nipples, sliding the adjuster to whatever tightness he saw fit. It was painful, but it was the type of pain that could not exist without pleasure. You mewled, tears springing to your eyes and your arousal beginning to seep down your thighs.

“Stomach to the table,” he motioned to the coffee table by the small sitting area in your bedroom. With each step you took, the leather garter gripped at your skin.

The edge of the table reached perfectly to your hips. As you leaned over, you could feel his steel eyes burning into you. The wood was cool against your skin, making the metal pulling on your throbbing nipples even colder. He took his time coming over to you. He wanted you to lay there in agony. He wanted you to suffer.

You finally heard his footsteps nearing you. You realized he had ridden of his clothing when you felt his hard member brush against your exposed core- even the smallest touch causing you to cry out. He struck your right ass cheek with the whip you didn’t even notice he was holding, making you gasp. “Next time you forget who you belong to, you’ll have this to think back on.”

August struck you four more times before dropping it to the ground. He rubbed circles into your surely red, irritated skin. He reached for your wrists, grabbing ahold of the clasps on the cuffs and attaching each to the metal loop that connected all of the leather straps. You were bound. Now that he finally had you how he liked you, he plunged into you.

Beautiful groans left his body as he rammed into you with all of his force. His hands found your hips; he latched on to them, gripping you so hard you felt them beginning to bruise. You wailed as he continually hit your sweet spot. He held your legs shut together with his own, making the sensation of him completely pulling out and shoving back in unbearable.

He could feel you constricting around his girth. He let one of his hands abandon your hip and snake up to your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “You will not fucking cum unless I say, got it?” He barked, tightening his grip around your pretty little neck.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you choked out, your voice rough and muffled from the pressure against your windpipe. He kept your eyes on his, his assault on your body only growing rougher but the second. The sweat on his brow made his usually neat hair stick to his forehead.

Your vision was beginning to blur and your body was shaking. You came without even realizing it. You convulsed beneath him, making you receive a loud smack against your ass. “You never fucking learn, (Y/N),” he snarled, not stopping his thrusts. It was becoming too much. Your body was overly sensitive, and the shaking wouldn’t subside.

“I’m- I’m sorry, s-sir. I didn't mean to!” You pleaded, but he didn’t listen. He released your neck, only to return his hand to your hip. You cried out every time his tip hit your throbbing cervix. A sigh left you as he finally released his hot cum inside of you, but he didn’t stop slowly pumping in and out of you.

He growled when he eventually exited your body. You felt the mixture of your arousals dripping down your folds, but he quickly scooped it back up onto his fingers and shoved it back inside of you. He left you lying on the table as he watched from the other side of the room, ensuring that not a single drop went to waste.

[elswing]

in defense of elrond

it is ironic that elrond keeps accusing galadriel of being too blinded by pride while he's fallen equally victim to being blinded by his own frustrations. neither of them are being particularly rational about the situation because they're both hurt and feeling betrayed, and i think elrond's remark about how galadriel only sacrificed herself to save the ring instead of the company perfectly encapsulates that—because, yeah, that is a fair interpretation of it, but she did just tell him five seconds ago that she was only there to protect them, a fact that exists simultaneously with her possessiveness over nenya.

it isn't One Or The Other, just like both of their opinions on the rings, because in actuality they are both right about them. elrond has a limited perspective on it, but from his pov he is completely justified in hating the three feanorian crafted shiny magic jewels that everyone around them covets (🤨). all he knows is that sauron had a hand in making them and no one can possibly know how much influence he has over them because the true art of his craft is subtle. as in, you don't know it's happening to you until you're suddenly slapped with the consequences of it. it is equally fair of him to be suspicious of galadriel herself, because it is impossible to rely on whether she now believes herself to be free of his corruption when she never knew it was there to begin with. also, again, for emphasis—she knew sauron walked among them, she knew he'd helped make the rings, and she let it happen anyway. that doesn't exactly inspire trust, especially when it's the exact antithesis of the point she's trying to prove to elrond and she hasn't done anything to try and rectify that breach of friendship except offer an apology that does sound quite empty given she is still championing the rings.

on the other hand, galadriel is the one who spent time with sauron all this time. galadriel is the one who befriended him, and while even we as the viewers can't be sure which parts of halbrand were an act and which were genuine moments of connection, the main point is still clear: whether she wants it or not, they understand each other. even without their friendship, you can't spend thousands of years dedicating your life to hunting someone down without them becoming familiar to you in some way, and i think there is a specific manner of vulnerability that loss and grief gave her and it just tore her wide open for all sorts of habits and traits to take root. she became so devoted to her vengeance against sauron that the lines between identity and purpose began to blur.

i am not of the opinion that galadriel loves sauron (or vice versa, but that's a whole other post), as fascinating as their dynamic is to me. i do think that she is a passionate individual who was made for love and boldness, and losing everything she did was never going to mellow her out or slow her down. in her, vulnerability takes the form of rage, and it is there, in that twisted, not-quite-galadriel version of herself, that sauron was able to find a reflection.

there is no way elrond can possibly understand any of that, even despite suffering similar losses, because that's just not who he is. galadriel has the better intuition on sauron's manipulations, and she has a far better understanding of the depth of them, so of course her opinion should count here.

the issue is that they're both too raw and hurt that neither of them are willing to say "okay, so we BOTH have good points here. let's hear each other out instead of waiting for one of us to see reason and blindly agree with everything the other is saying"

i think it should also be noted that galadriel does end up being right about the rings' capabilities as a force for good, especially since the One to control them hasn't been forged yet. as unlikely as it might seem to elrond, her intuition isn't leading her astray here. we just haven't reached that point in the story yet (nor have we reached the point where galadriel begins to humble herself to the elves and seeks to redeem herself like morfydd mentioned, but i have a feeling they're getting into that now. after all, she did give nenya up to the guy who hurtled face-first off a cliff hoping to destroy them, so that's gotta count for something. baby steps!)

[adverbally]

I’m Never Gonna Dance Again

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Careless Whisper - George Michael” | wc: 795 | rated: T | cw: description of knee injury, brief discussion of surgery and recovery | tags: career-ending injury, ballet dancer steve, eddie is also a ballet dancer but that’s less relevant to the story, I am not a ballet expert but I did my best

———

Steve built his reputation as a danseur on his ability to jump: height, hang time, graceful landings, the complete package. So maybe it’s only fitting that the last step of his professional ballet career would be a jump as well.

A double cabriole derrière.

He’d done it hundreds of times in his career, on stage and in the studio. Throwing a leg into the air, twisting his body while his other leg comes up to beat against it twice, pushing it even higher, before landing on the bottom leg again. So simple he could float through it on autopilot, already thinking ahead to nailing the triple tour en l’air later in the variation.

Muscle memory takes over as he launches upward, raising one arm above his head with the other extended to the side, feeling the perfect point of his feet as his legs meet in the air, once, twice before gravity takes over again…

Steve hears the pop before he feels anything.

Then comes the pain in the front of his knee as it buckles beneath him. He can’t get up, he can’t even extend his leg, and he knows immediately that his days as a principal dancer are over.

It isn’t the injury itself that’s the problem. A fully ruptured patellar tendon, like his own, can be repaired. With surgery and physical therapy, he could be healed in a year, tops. Strength and range of motion almost fully restored, just a little stiffness in the joint.

But it would happen again. Repetitive motion, jumping and leaping and landing, had weakened the tendon in the first place, and resuming his work would put him at risk of another tear. He could strain other parts of his leg as he compensated for his weakened knee, and the potential cascade of more surgeries and less mobility… he needs to think beyond his ballet career and consider the rest of his life.

Eddie helps him with that, as he always does. Ballet had brought them together, from roommates at the conservatory to partners dancing for the same company. As much as he cherished sharing the stage with the love of his life, there is so much more Steve wants to share with him– walks along Lakeshore Drive, the stairs to the front door of their future home, maybe even a couple of toddlers to chase around.

Losing ballet would be okay as long as he still has Eddie, Steve thinks.

And for the most part, it is. His surgery is successful and he storms through his rehabilitation with a focus he never used outside of ballet. He keeps his spirits up, even once the cold weather sets in and the ballet season begins without him. He can walk without a limp, moving through the daily activities of his new life as if nothing had ever happened. He even tries a few simple footwork sequences under the close supervision of his physical therapist.

(When asked to jump, he refuses to try, not even a simple assemblé. It would be too painful to see how his technique had suffered in the months without practice, how the leaps that once came to him as easily as breathing are now far out of his reach.)

Everything is fine until eight months post-injury. That’s when the dreams start.

It’s usually Steve, alone on the stage, performing a solo to an empty auditorium. No music, only the slap of his slippers against the floor with every step. It’s often something he’s performed before, like Siegfried’s solo in the third act of Swan Lake or Albrecht in Act 2 of Giselle. Other nights, it’s his original choreography, made up while staring out the window on the El as he heads home from the studio. One memorable time, it’s a pas de deux of his own creation, with Eddie as his partner as they trade leaps and lifts and pirouettes as equals.

The dreams always feel so peaceful. There are no distractions, just him and his body and his breath, moving through variations, feeling the emotion behind each dance, doing what he does best. He hits every step perfectly. It’s like the endorphin rush of his best performance, every time.

And then he wakes up.

He has a moment, a fleeting thought of his rehearsal schedule for the day, wondering if his favorite practice tights are clean, before reality sets in. Then it hits him, and it hits him hard. He stumbles out of bed with his knee stiff from sleep, hoping he doesn’t wake Eddie.

Steve slips into the bathroom and turns on the shower. Then he braces himself on the vanity counter and cries as long and as loud as he wants, knowing the running water will cover up the sound of his grief.

[twyftwyt]

hey, guys, remember that one time i wrote a noah headcanon on manhandling? yeah, i’m bringing it back. enjoy the torture x

great heavens, what have i done…

ladies and gentleman 🦦

i’ll hop right in, cause i don’t wanna be a tease, we have enough of that in the eyes of noah sebastian.

now in regards to the manhandling thing, i don’t even mean it in a sexual way (but yes, i do but later on). i just imagine him opening and holding the door over your head so you can walk right under him. that shit makes him feel good and it makes you look even cuter in his eyes. i’m sure he loves to see his women in his shirts. someone mentioned wearing the band’s shirt and yes, i agree. seeing how arrogant he has admitted to being, i can totally see him making comments on you wearing his bands merch.

“look at you, what’s that say? turn around. bad who?” while smirking at you.

putting you in front of him in pictures so he can lock you in his arms. leaning on the door frame while talking to you (as a form of teasing, of course, this man will do just about anything to watch you suffer). getting things off counters that you have trouble reaching but i do believe he’d also enjoy watching you struggle to get it yourself. he’d deadass sit down and watch you climb the kitchen counter to reach the top drawer only to laugh at you. and i am sure he likes to fuck with shorter people. like putting things away in unreachable places so you have trouble getting them and whining for him to help you and practically having to beg him to give it to you? (don’t get distracted, i’m talking about the cereal he hid away)

now if we have to get a little spicy 🌶️

i can totally see him saying stuff like

“oh, you can’t take it? that little body of yours can take a little more pain?” while holding you down by the neck and slapping you all around

receiving texts in the middle of the day like

“missionary so i can wipe your tears from your eyes as i tell you how proud i am of you for being such a good little whore”

or

“you’re cute. i wanna train you to never cum without my permission”

or

“you’re too small and dumb to cum unsupervised”

or

“i think i’m just gonna use you as my little fucktoy tonight”

or

“oh, you feel embarrassed for what you did? then why are you so fucking wet, huh?”

or

“i’m the only one who’s allowed to do this to you.”

like he’d call you “dummy” and “silly” as a joke but he means it in a way that is “you’re not safe without my supervision”. and he likes to know you obey. and when you don’t, well…

let me tell you, this man reacts quickly and he reacts with violence, so you better do as he says.

oh yeah, and he’s definitely the “drop the attitude” type of boyfriend and he really, really wants to hear “and if i don’t?” type of answer, cause this man loves being tested. i just feel it in my bones.

oh yeah, and he will for sure smile at you while watching you beg for it.

yeah, this got a little out of hand and is not only “manhandling” but hey 🤷🏻‍♀️

[cleolinda]

(For our purposes, listen to it without the visuals first.)

I wasn't going to keep posting about Unreal Unearth, but something happened yesterday.

It's been five months since I first heard this song, and I'm still astonished by it. You know the tiktok skit about the Star Wars wedding music, and the guy is grooving along until the Imperial Death March filters in, and then he's kind of alarmed, like, wha—? And then he realizes it slaps anyway and he keeps dancing? That is "Eat Your Young."

It's the morning of March 17th. The EP with the first three singles from the new album has dropped. I've got my phone blasting the song on the bathroom counter, I don't understand half what the man is saying nor did I expect to, I'm cheerfully mumbling along in the shower, grooving along,

wait they did what for a war drum

Get some Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

What the fuck, this song goes so hard. That's the chorus. The conceit of the whole album is that it loosely follows Dante's Inferno, so this is the third circle of hell, gluttony. Hozier himself says that he wasn't specifically thinking of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal—

“I don’t know how intentional the reference to Jonathan Swift was in this. That essay [Swift’s 1729 satirical essay A Modest Proposal in which he suggests the Irish poor sell their children as food] is such a cultural landmark that it’s just hanging in the air. I was more reflecting on what I felt now in this spirit of the times of perpetual short-term gain and a long-term blindness. The increasing levels of precarious living, poverty, job insecurity, rental crisis, property crisis, climate crisis, and a generation that’s inheriting all of that and one generation that’s enjoyed the spoils of it. The lyrics are direct, but the voice is playful. There’s this unreliable narrator who relishes in this thing which was fun to write.” [Apple Music album notes]

—and I believe him. The song's not a suggestion, a proposal; it's an invitation to atrocity in progress. I also believe he probably wasn't thinking of Greta Thunberg's iconic speech at the UN Climate Action Summit, not specifically, but that's what I hear in the song, like the flip side of a coin:

You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words. And yet I'm one of the lucky ones. People are suffering. People are dying. Entire ecosystems are collapsing. We are in the beginning of a mass extinction, and all you can talk about is money and fairy tales of eternal economic growth. How dare you! [...] You say you hear us and that you understand the urgency. But no matter how sad and angry I am, I do not want to believe that. Because if you really understood the situation and still kept on failing to act, then you would be evil.

I feel like on some level, even coincidentally, "Eat Your Young" is the answer to the question, what would you sound like if you were that evil? Who would you be? I can think of a dozen possibilities just off the top of my head or looking around my blog, from something as petty as studio executives mangling trees to deprive striking workers of shade (while hoping they lose their homes), all the way up to the US school-to-prison pipeline. The National Rifle Association keeps politicians in its pocket while the US has more mass shootings than days in a year, Nestlé fucks shit up around the world as a way of life, even ChatGPT sucks up water while threatening jobs—and for what? And yet, I promise you most of these things weren't the inspiration for an Irishman’s song—some of them hadn't even happened yet. There's just that much fresh You Would Be Evil to go around. I am certain that Hozier wrote the song partly about (as one article puts it) "Ireland's housing crisis: Millennials, a generation sacrificed," given that time back in the day when he helped occupy a building—a housing crisis happening in multiple countries. There's so much of the world I'm not touching on. I can stuff a paragraph with links and it's utterly inadequate.

I haven't even mentioned war.

There's an overwhelming sense this decade of the future being fed into a meat grinder. That sense is in this song. What would it sound like to be in the head of someone who didn't give a shit about anything but profit? Well, it might sound like this.

And if you haven't heard it, well—I'm going to sound absolutely out of my mind after saying all that, but "Eat Your Young" has a beat and you can dance to it. It's sexy. And I'm certain that's on purpose. You get seduced into the sound of it, as if by something demonic, something that enjoys sucking down the future and is not going to stop. And the sheer fucking catchiness of the song keeps you listening to it—thinking about it—when maybe you push away the dry headlines we get everyday. If you let this song stay in your head, it becomes a lens. Five months later, I still think about it when I read the news. Maui was on fire and tourists stayed. Within days, the prospect of developers swooping in to buy up land reared its head. If there's something still to take, there is ground to break, whatever's still to come. Get some.

I was born in 1978 —I'm late Gen X. In my forties, I'm young enough to worry about the future still; I’m neither so rich that I can just plan to retire to Mars, nor so old that I can know I'll be safely gone before the world might go up in flames. But I'm also not my nephew, whose school year just started back up, or the neighborhood kids who race him home down the sidewalk in the afternoons. Yesterday, he had his very first mass-shooter lockdown drill. He’s six.

I think music can put the feeling back into numb fingers, and I think that's why "Eat Your Young" works so well—Hozier calls the song fun and playful, and I think you have to have that, something you can live with rather than just switch off for your own mental survival. We need music to feed spirit at protests; we need something to keep our feet moving. Don’t give up, don't close your eyes and slip away. Those kids, they have dreams we could try to steal back for them.

Since I mentioned Maui:

Why Hawaiian sovereignty has undeniable context for the Maui fires

The Climate Crisis and Colonialism Destroyed My Maui Home. Where We Must Go From Here

How You Can Donate and Help Support Maui Communities Right Now

The Maui Strong Fund

[mysteria157]

Chapter Two

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

**While I personally do not think this chapter is too dark and angsty, I AM NOT YOU, so please be sure to read the CWs before proceeding.**

CW: Profanity, Physical Abuse, ANGST, Emotional Manipulation, Naobito being a piece of shit, Hitman duties (idk what to call it), Blood and Violence, Depressive Thoughts, Obsessive Coping Mechanisms, Comfort, Toji being down bad.

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

Toji hasn't always been cold and calculated. Beneath that harsh exterior is a boy who was made to feel like he never belonged in this world.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting!

This fic is going to have dark elements as I've stated before. We all know that Toji suffered abuse from his family growing up and that's largely a reason why he acts the way he does. So I really wanted to explore that in my fic and specifically in this chapter.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

Previous Chapter | Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Next Chapter

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

look at you.

still standing

after being

knocked down

and thrown out

-Alex Elle

*** Toji ***

The first time Toji tastes freedom, it’s a decade into his bleak existence, amidst the sweltering summer heat. The thick, humid air clings to his grimy skin and makes him feel more uncomfortable than usual. His room—or he supposes it’s a small house—is nestled among overgrown trees and an unkempt lawn. 

To an outsider, his ‘home’ looks to be a greenhouse shed but with poorly painted walls and small windows. However, within the compound, it represents the dwelling of the man who tainted the revered Zenin bloodline. While they cannot exterminate the one who is responsible for polluting their family, they can make it seem like he never existed, to themselves and the outside world. 

He’s far from the main house, but it’s quiet, and even though the breeze always feels nice between his matted hair, it always carries the undercurrent of trash from the large garbage can that rests against the compound walls next to his abode. It’s all he smells no matter the season. The garbage can is one you would find outside restaurants or large establishments, and when it’s trash day, a large truck parks on the other side of the compound, reaches long metal prongs over the white brick walls, and pulls the can over to dump it. 

On trash day, it would be so easy for Toji to jump those walls, to hop on top of the plastic lid of the garbage can and let it carry him over. But like many things, fear and hopelessness hold him back. His entire family has never offered him a kind word or a smile, but they are nothing compared to his uncle. Naobito is the head of their family, feared by many within and outside of the compound. His position requires him to be good at many things, and if there is one thing Naobito is especially good at, it’s making Toji realize his insignificance. 

“You think you can just leave? Where would you go, boy? No one in this city wants to take in another child. Especially one of low birth.”

“Insignificant.”

“Useless.”

“A stain on something we have worked hard to uphold.”

These words echo in his ears day after day, month after month, year after year, ever since he could comprehend words enough to know their sting. He’s always felt small, always believed the only purpose he has is to breathe and do nothing else.

But today is trash day…

Maybe it’s the hunger that has been gnawing at his stomach for the past two days or the discomfort of dirt clinging to his skin beneath his sweaty yukata. Maybe it’s the sting on his cheek from his uncle’s morning slap, the mocking reminder for the millionth time not to dare do anything besides what he is told. Maybe staring too long at the garbage can and feeling his heart jump when the truck parks on the other side of the walls is a sign; a fleeting feeling within him, his own body telling him to do something before he withers away. 

It all sparks a sudden surge of strength, propelling him to climb on top of the plastic garbage lid as the metal prongs dig into each side of the can and lift him and the trash. Adrenaline helps him dig his fingers into the plastic of the lid as gravity pulls him over the walls of the Zenin compound.

He’s prepared to be tackled and dragged by his hair back inside before anyone can see him. He’s ready to fight back with the remains of his strength if he needs to. But as he slides off the garbage lid and his feet touch the cobblestone ground, only silence greets him. The trash collectors don’t see him and they drive away without turning back and he’s grateful. He’s so grateful, he can hardly breathe.

The compound isn’t in the middle of the city center like he once thought. From the many festivals and jovial sounds he would hear on the other side of the walls, he expected bustling laughter and sounds of merchants advertising their goods. But it turns out, the compound is perched on a hillside. He guesses it makes sense for one of Japan’s wealthiest families to be tucked away for safety and overlooking the world to feel more powerful. 

Even though he can see what looks to be a village a walking distance away, the compound also overlooks the city and a large river that Toji doesn’t know the name of. He’s never been taught anything, never learned how to read, never learned basic arithmetic or history. He knows nothing other than the fact that he lives in Tokyo, to eat the rancid food he is given and not talk back when his uncle visits him to teach him a lesson about whatever is bothering him that day.

Laughter echoes in the distance, the unmistakable laughter of children—maybe some his own age. Some who won’t sneer at him as if he’s a piece of shit stuck to their shoe. 

His legs carry him towards the village, the sounds of the breeze dying down to be replaced with yelling and laughter and normalcy he’s never heard before. Vaguely, his mind screams at him to go back home so he doesn’t suffer later, but he squashes it down. He will do anything to see faces besides the angry ones of his family, to breathe in scents beyond garbage and contempt, and to taste flavors other than the remnants of meals prepared by the Zenin’s esteemed live-in chef.

Ignoring the persistent growl of hunger in his stomach, his mind focuses on absorbing the sounds of the bustling marketplace that he finds himself in. Vendors haggle with customers, offering a variety of goods—fresh produce, meat, and fish—all waiting to be transformed into dishes that Toji wishes he could eat. The uneven cobblestones are ragged beneath his feet, not smooth and pressed down like in front of the compound. These stones protrude from the soil they are rooted into and catch on the thin shoes that barely protect Toji’s feet. But he navigates the crowds seamlessly, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sights around him even though the brush of people against his body makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

An elderly man dozes off beside a vendor stand empty of customers. A woman, younger but with a haggard face, stands guard at the makeshift register, casting a cautious glance in Toji’s direction. He can feel her disapproval and with her gaze, the weight of his disobedience settles upon him—he should be at the compound, under his uncle’s hateful eyes. Hastily, he averts his gaze and quickens his pace, disappearing into the crowd with newfound urgency.

His ears pick it up before his nose smells it—the sound of sizzling and the smell of dough. Toji can’t help but gawk at the long rows of metal scoops, each containing batter with octopus, pickled ginger, and tempura. The sides bubble and cook, frying from the yellow of fresh yolk before the vendor’s deft utensils turn over each ball of dough, revealing perfectly cooked Takoyaki. He’s tasted it before, albeit soggy and half-eaten, but the memory now stirs a desperate craving within him. He could have it now; fresh and untainted by someone else’s bite. But the lining of his pockets holds nothing but lint; he’s poor with not a penny to his name. 

The vendor sets her utensils to the side, pausing in her efforts to catch Toji’s wary attention. When his gaze meets hers, he’s stiff and ready to flee. He’s sure the Zenin family’s influence looms large over the city; she could easily summon someone and report his escape. He’s not ready to go—he won’t. As he edges backward, his thin shoes slip on the uneven cobblestones, nearly causing him to stumble. 

But whatever look is in her eyes softens, replaced by something unfamiliar—a warmth that unsettles him, makes him almost nauseous, quelling his hunger while stoking the flames of fear in his belly. Her gaze sweeps over him—his disheveled hair, grimy yukata, the smear of dirt on his cheek. Instead of scowling or sneering and spitting at his feet, she smiles. Soft and warm without any pretense behind it, a genuine smile that makes Toji relax and the fear dissipate. She plates a dozen takoyaki into a long paper bowl, tops them with Kewpie mayonnaise, bonito flakes, and powdered seaweed, and shoves a pair of chopsticks into one perfectly rolled fried dough ball before she slides the bowl over to him.

“Eat up before it gets cold, honey,” she says kindly and the tone almost makes the breath in his throat catch.

Snatching the bowl, Toji’s actions mirror the desperate way he consumes the food that Naobito tosses at his feet after withholding a meal for days. Along with an education, he was never taught manners. His cousins know which forks to use for every dish, he knows to use his hands and savor anything he can get before it’s taken away. He offers the vendor a brief nod, eyes shy and looking away from her for as long as he can muster before he ducks away from the stall.

The takoyaki melts on his tongue and he can taste every speck of seasoning that she added. Ignoring the wary glances directed his way, he licks Kewpie off his fingers, uncaring of the bonito flakes that cling to his chapped lips. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten—delicious, warm, fills his belly, and when he finally wipes the bonito flakes from his lips some tears collect with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the sadness that climbs up his stomach and nestles in the back of his throat. He can’t—what use would it be to cry over a life that will never change? Over a meal for once prepared for him and not someone else?

He stuffs the remaining takoyaki down his throat to push down the urge to sob, savors the taste for as long as he can, and sucks the seasoning from under his fingernails just as he feels something bump into his feet. When he looks down, he can at least recognize that it’s a soccer ball. The dirt turns the white patterns on it almost black, and it looks well-used.

“You gonna give that back, or just stare at it?” a voice demands.

Toji collects the dirty soccer ball and looks up to find a boy who might—hopefully—be his age. His black hair is short and his eyes hold an expression of boredom and grit that reminds Toji a little of himself. He holds out his hand and gestures for Toji to hand over the ball with so much impatience that Toji glares, tossing the ball back without a word. In truth, he’s struck silent because this is the first time in his life that he’s seen another kid his age who doesn’t look down on him from the encouragement of family.

The kid purses his lips, a bushy eyebrow lifting as he thinks something over in his head before he meets Toji’s gaze. He tosses the ball from one hand to the other, back and forth with a practiced air that Toji wishes he had. He’s skinny but his cheeks are full and his arms aren’t bony which shows he’s well-fed. He doesn’t wear a yukata but his shorts and shirt are freshly washed and free of stains from constant use—just dirt off the ground from playing. 

Envy, it’s the only thing that Toji can feel in this moment. Because this kid gets to eat food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He gets to wear nice clothes, play with friends, and breathe air that’s fresh and smells of takoyaki. It’s not fair. It’s not—

“You wanna play?”

Toji’s eyes widen at the unexpected invitation. Play? With another kid? He’s seen his cousins play with each other in the large expansive fields of the compound but he was never allowed to join. He’s familiar with games he’s made up on his own—counting how many times a bird chirps before noon or how many different animals he can imagine in the clouds—but playing with someone else?

“It’s nothing crazy, you don’t gotta think so hard about it. You comin’ or not?”

Toji hesitates, his fingers bending the sides of the now-empty plastic bowl in his hands. He really should head back to the compound because it’s been over an hour. Someone has to have tried to come to his shed and bully him by now. He has to go back. He has to.

But—

“Okay,” Toji replies instead and follows the kid down the cobblestone street.

***

It’s dusk when he finally reaches the white brick of the compound walls again. The evening breeze is thankfully not as sticky as earlier in the day and glides through his hair to cool the sweat on the back of his neck. His skin is dirty from the people he brushed against in the alleyway, from running in fields with a speed he never knew he had, from kicking a soccer ball and falling into the grass to play with a friend he can now call, Shiu. His fingers are tacky from the Kewpie that he licked off hours ago as well as seasoning from the Yakitori chicken skewers that Shiu conned off a vendor.

He never knew he could have so much fun. He’s never been able to experience it once in his life and having to say goodbye to Shiu, to lie and say he would be back in a few days, makes his stomach curdle with sadness and his eyes sting with tears that he’s too elated right now to let fall.

The compound walls, once towering and frightening, now seem conquerable. With a full belly and a newfound sense of strength, Toji takes a running start, vaulting over the barrier and landing with a thud in the neglected grass. He falls to his knees and plops into the cushion of the ground, rolling onto his back with a huff. 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he giggles, it’s light and unexpected, mingling with the night air, and helps his lips curl into a rare smile. He gazes up at the starry sky, stars that he wishes he had names for but still uses their presence to create warriors and animals to tell himself stories on nights when he can’t sleep.

“No matter what I tell you, you still never listen.”

The sound of his uncle’s voice shoots an electric jolt of fear down Toji’s spine, propelling him to his knees before he can draw another breath. He can’t have his back on Naobito, he needs to have his eyes on every movement even though it won’t make a difference.

His breath is lodged in his lungs, forming a tight knot that constricts his chest and parches his throat. The sight of his uncle, the sound of his voice, and the scent of his overpowering cologne, make him break into a sweat immediately. It’s a Pavlovian response and his body yearns for some sort of survival instinct that has long since been beaten out of him. But he tries, god does he try to defend himself every time.

Toji sits back on his haunches, shooting an ineffective glare up at his uncle that does little to penetrate the unnaturally smooth texture of Naobito’s skin. Toji can’t run, where would he go? To the other side of the compound where another member of his family can grab him by the hair and drag him back to the underbrush? To the front gates that are always locked and manned by security guards who control who can enter and exit?

“I’m guessing you ran your mouth to everyone you saw. Told those commoners that you’re a poor, neglected boy trapped in the clutches of the Zenin family.” Toji should have done that, but he was too caught up in good food and having friends like a kid should. He shakes his head at his uncle, unwilling to form words that bubble with the now overwhelming queasiness within him. “Oh I’m sure you did, didn’t you?” 

Toji shakes his head again, more eager, more insistent even though his heart begins to race in his chest. What’s the point in trying to prove himself to someone who’s already made up their mind? It’s useless, Toji knows that, but he continues to be honest, shaking his head over and over, hoping that maybe just this once, his uncle will believe him.

Naobito scoffs, his peppered mustache twitching with the movement of his mouth. The raven hair on his scalp is always gelled and brushed back no matter the time of day. He exudes wealth in tailored suits and eloquence with a nasty edge that cements his authority within the family. He’s a mean man, a rotten man. A man who subjects Toji to torment no matter the time of day. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities are on their way here right now. Ready to arrest your family, to haul away your catatonic mother so she can’t defend you.”

Naobito’s words are a sharpened tool of manipulation, Toji knows the pierce of it against his skin. But the thought that his own actions would endanger someone else, makes him start, to open his mouth in a plea.

“I didn’t—”

But before he can say another word, a searing pain grips his scalp, forcing a hiss of agony from his lips as Naobito yanks him by the hair through the thick grass and drags him away. Knotweed scratches his face and scrapes against his ankles as he kicks desperately, trying to find purchase on the ground before his uncle can do anything else. 

His heart pounds in a recognizable rhythm, adrenaline coursing weakly through his veins, its effects dulled by the overwhelming fear. His fighting doesn’t matter. Toji knows the routine all too well—the sensation of the wooden floor beneath his back when he falls onto it, the sting of a slap across his face, the ache of a knee to his gut. 

Toji hasn’t sobbed in front of his uncle in a long time, but he can’t suppress the wretched sound that escapes him as the yakitori and takoyaki resurface and leave his mouth bitter. It feels like the worst punishment he’s ever received, the consequence of eating wonderful food that was never meant for a peasant like him. He took it in, and now it’s on the ground. 

He shouldn’t have jumped the walls. He shouldn’t have even thought about it.

Stupid.

Worthless.

Insignificant.

“Now what did we learn?” his uncle’s bored drawl cuts through the air, indifferent as his own flesh and blood cries in front of him. It’s just another day for him and he enacts punishment based on ideals that have been hammered into him by his own father and the father before him.

Naobito pulls a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away specks of blood from his knuckles. His perfectly groomed hair is now disheveled, falling over his eyes, glowering with disdain down at his nephew. Towering over him, Naobito radiates dominance, his imposing stature a constant reminder of Toji’s weakness. Toji hates it. He hates Naobito. He hates his entire family. He hates that his very existence brings so much distaste to those who should be protecting him. 

His ears are ringing and his face hurts, and large, calloused hands grip Toji’s cheeks, squeezing them painfully and forcing his gaze upward to lock with evil eyes. His charcoal irises hold no depth or uniqueness and they’re devoid of warmth. Pure hatred, it’s all that oozes from his uncle’s gaze. He’s endured that hateful look every day for the past decade, yet it feels just as fresh as the day before, just as painful to the inside of him. 

Toji chokes on a tight breath, groaning against the pressure of nails digging into his skin. He’s devastated by the stench of sweat, dirt, and vomit, and he’s so tired. All sense of strength that filled his hollow bones on the other side of the walls evaporated as soon as the sound of his uncle’s voice shot into his ears like a rifle.

“I said,” Naobito begins, voice low and filled with venom. His breath smells faintly of whiskey, but Toji knows he would inflict this pain upon his nephew completely sober. “What did we learn?”

Through the delirium of it all, beneath the horrible smells around him and the pain that radiates from his stomach up to his hairline, he registers the tremble in his body. He’s shaking, quaking in the grip of a family member who has done nothing but terrorize him as early as he can remember. Toji wants to spit in his face, wrap his hands around his pale neck, and squeeze until the life leaves his body.

But he’s not strong enough. He will never be strong enough.

So he does what he’s been conditioned to do, what he knows will appease his tormentor.

“I’m useless,” Toji whispers, tears finally welling in his eyes, shame gnawing at his gut. No child should ever have to utter those words, yet Toji speaks them daily.

Naobito hums in satisfaction, sickly sweet, eliciting a sharp twist in Toji’s stomach. If he throws up, he hopes it gets on his uncle’s finely pressed suit. He hopes the stains never come out, hopes he has to throw it away and spend more money for a new one. 

“And what else? You are…?”

The pucker of Toji’s lips quivers as they curl to form the words and his vision swims. The sight of his uncle becomes hazy, and Toji is thankful that he can’t see his face if only for a moment. 

“I’m…insignificant.”

Even though his uncle’s features are a blur, Toji can still see the whites of his teeth as he smiles. It only makes the tears fall quicker and scalding, dripping down dirty cheeks and onto his uncle’s fingers that still dig into his cheeks. He recoils in disgust, shoving Toji away as if he’s been burned. The fingers are gone, free from their biting grip, but Toji can still feel the indentation of them on his cheeks, branded and there to stay for as long as he lives.

Clutching the wooden floor beneath him, Toji’s nails try to burrow into the hard surface and he desperately wishes the floorboards could open up and swallow him whole. Tears stream down without reservation, smacking onto the dark wood next to his dirty fingers. Since his birth, he’s known not an ounce of happiness, not an ounce of peace or love, and is always the subject of his family’s wrath. He’s just come to accept what he’s forced to repeat day after day. Of what he is.

Insignificant.

Useless.

And that thought, the terrible and ever-present thought that his life has no meaning, only makes him cry harder. They’re harsh sobs that rattle in his chest and make him hiccup with every inhale, and he can’t stop them. Finally, his uncle has taught him a valuable lesson.

Somewhere in the distance, he hears Naobito scoff as he stands on his feet and readies to retreat and leave Toji in his misery. The routine will continue in the morning—cold water through a garden hose to shower him down, leftover breakfast from the main house, and another dusty yukata to wear.

Toji knows it like the back of his hand. And like so many times before, Naobito rolls his eyes, stuffs his dirty handkerchief into his pocket, and utters the same words.

“Stop—

***

“—fucking sniveling.”

It’s the third time Toji has to say it in so few minutes and his patience is wearing thin. They always get like this, it shouldn’t surprise him, yet his annoyance refuses to morph into practiced indifference, despite his years on the job. A part of him recognizes the fear in the man’s voice and the tears that run down his cheeks. He held that same emotion and cried many times through years of beatings.

But that was a long time ago, and this is different. This isn’t a man who has spent years under the abuse of his family, this is a target, successfully hunted down by Toji. Right now, it’s just another Tuesday. Another contract. Another paycheck. 

Toji doesn’t give them names; attaching emotion is pointless in a job he is always eager to finish so he can get paid. But he needs something to keep his mind focused; so he uses adjectives or random words to effectively detach himself. His current target’s name? Greasy.

The moniker suits him, evident from the persistent shine on his bald head, the stain of sweat that builds at his collar, and a dingy button-up that hugs his beer belly. His beady eyes are filled with tears, his lower lids red and swollen and a thin chapped lip split down the middle. He squirms and wiggles in his chair and every part of him seems slimy, reminiscent of a snake fresh from its egg. And Toji hates snakes. 

What the hell is he again? A stock broker? Hedge fund manager? Toji doesn’t really remember nor does he really care, it’s not relevant anyway. His career is but a small stepping stone for figuring out the best approach for reconnaissance.

It takes Toji a week to track Greasy’s movements in the vastness of the city that is part of America. Despite Toji’s skills in navigation, everything is unfamiliar. But he adapts quickly—he has to.

Greasy works a typical nine-to-five and has a corner office in a nice skyrise downtown that he spends most of his time taking personal phone calls inside of instead of working. Toji knows because the building across the street is empty and just as tall with large glass windows that are blacked out to those on the outside. On the 42nd floor, Toji has a perfect view of the back of his target and watches every day to note every detail of his routine.

For lunch, Toji stealthily follows Greasy to the same 7-Eleven at 12:35 PM, watches him purchase the same cherry slushie and tuna melt for ten dollars, and grimaces beneath the cloth mask that covers his mouth as he watches Greasy scarf down the food like the pig he is on the journey back to the office. At 5 PM, Greasy walks from the office to the train station, takes the Red Line to another city, and arrives home thirty minutes later.

The routine is as mundane and uninspired as the man himself. Yet, it’s the days marked by suspicious behavior from his client that pique Toji’s interest. Those are the days Greasy indulges, presenting the perfect opportunity for Toji to strike.

On Monday and Wednesday, Greasy tells his wife he has to work late and clocks out at 4:45 PM, riding the same Red Line but exiting the train at a stop before his usual. He climbs into a shiny Mercedes, kisses a much younger blonde woman, and disappears until 11 PM when his client reports that he’s arrived home. Like many others of his kind—seedy and grimy and consumed with themselves—Greasy remains oblivious to Toji’s presence. The last thing on his mind is his wife and children as he indulges in infidelity.

He’s climbed the ranks of his job but failed to realize the ease of it is from his wife’s influence. He’s too selfish to recognize that cheating on a governor with a dark side would not only incur her wrath but also put her in the spotlight due to his carelessness. He’s too conceited to realize his mistress only fucks him because her house and car are being paid as long as she continues to entertain him. He’s stupid in the best way for a mission like this, and ignorant of the world around him. 

It turns out, Greasy has been fucking on the side for half of his marriage. And he’s been taking a little bit of his wife’s money that she earns as a politician to fuel his alternative lifestyle. His wife is easy on the eyes, gave the loser two kids, and remained faithful even though her husband slept with anything that had a pulse. The only things Greasy gives his wife in return are two children and an STD. She’s angry, distraught, and filled with rage. Rightfully so.

Thanks to the help of the department in his organization that handles all things technological, Toji is able to SIM swap the mistress’s phone and send Greasy a message to meet her in a different location. Specifically, one of the many random establishments throughout the city that have been bought by his organization under the guise of something else. 

Greasy walks into Toji’s trap, ignorant and vulnerable, and now here he sits—tied up and squealing. This contract is so easy that it’s almost upsetting. He doesn’t usually like to get his hands dirty, but mental stimulation would have been a nice distraction.

Toji doesn’t get it—cheating. He’s always been one to stick with a woman and take what he can before he moves on to the next. While his intentions are never worth a gold star, he does things one woman at a time. Cheating seems…exhausting. And he’s been exhausted for most of his life to stay away from it if he can.

He’s not one to be tied down anyway.

At least he thought so.

“Earn me.”

Your words echo in his mind, a precursor to what might become a throbbing migraine because he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. You shouldn’t be in the dark, bloody recesses of his thoughts focused on killing. The room will only stain your smooth brown skin and ruin you, consume you, and corrupt you in ways beyond repair. He can’t afford your gaze to turn into anything other than teasing or annoyed when you look at him.

“I s-swear. I’ll do-do wh-whate-ever you say just—“ 

Whiny. Sobbing. Annoying.

“Shut up,” Toji grumbles, using the muzzle of his Glock 43 to massage his temple.

He’s tired, his brain now pulsating and being fueled by the stench of Greasy’s body. Despite the amount of money that he can get from revenge contracts, they are typically handled by those ranked lower than him. Revenge contracts deal with anything personal: infidelity, a family member that is despised just enough to warrant making them disappear, two legal companies doing whatever they can to take the other down. Anything with a vendetta.

They are driven by anger, hatred, and bitterness. Heavy and unnecessary emotions that Toji has to deal with before he can complete the job. Clients often demand specific proofs of guilt, from signed confessions in blood to videos of their target with tearful apologies to a picture of a severed finger if they are demented enough. To the client, it’s freeing. To the world, it’s insanity. But to Toji, it’s tedious and he has no choice but to get it done.

He pulls out his phone, ignoring the absence of notifications from you, and dials the burner number provided to all clients.

“Is it done?”

Most wives would be a sniveling mess under such circumstances. But not this one. She’s been wronged to a degree that her sadness washed away a long time ago and all that was left was rage, revenge, and unyielding determination. It takes a special someone who has been really hurt to stoop this low into darkness.

“Not yet, honey. Doing what you wanted remember?” 

Toji sighs, putting his phone on speaker as finally rests his gaze on the disheveled and pissy state of Greasy. His other hand steadies the gun aimed at Greasy’s dick and the hiccuping words flow once again. He’s so goddamn loud. Toji needs Ibuprofen, food, a fucking text from you (but he’s not thinking about that right now), and some sleep.

Greasy has already exhausted the usual litany of cries, but Toji endures the same performance again for his client on the phone.

“I’m sorry!”

“I won’t do it again!”

“Please give me another chance!”

Blah, blah, fucking blah.

In the early years of Toji’s time in darkness, he watched this performance firsthand. It’s a feeble attempt to cling to life, words uttered in desperation on the precipice of death, holding little substance. Once the adrenaline dies down, old habits resurface, seeping through the cracks formed by fear. And Greasy’s wife won’t be willing to pay such a hefty price a second time.

Removing the phone from speaker, Toji presses it firmly to his ear to drown out Greasy’s heightened cries. “You get all that, honey?”

“…yes.” 

Mrs. Greasy sounds a little unsure, but she can’t back down now. That’s the other irritating thing about revenge contracts. Deeds fueled by emotion are unpredictable, and in a business like this, you need to be absolutely certain of what you agree to. She could back down, but then that means she knows about this little business and Toji’s organization will have no choice but to come after her.

No, he needs this signed and sealed with a deposit in his account by the end of the night.

Toji waves the gun dismissively, rolling his eyes at Greasy’s flinching. “You wanna stay on for the rest?” It’s a courtesy Toji always extends, twisted though it may be, offering some semblance of closure to his clients.

Greasy’s face is a mess of mucus and sweat, and the front of his pants is wet. It’s fucking disgusting, but there’s a part of Toji that revels in the sight. Perhaps it’s the years of desensitization, but Toji relishes seeing those who deserve to get their due. Rotten people. Terrible people. And while cheaters aren’t inherently evil, they seldom learn until their world crumbles around them.

“Just get it done,” Mrs. Greasy replies firmly, though a tremor in her voice betrays her fear. She should be afraid and drowning her worries in bottles of wine tonight. It’s one of many logical responses to ordering the death of a cheating husband. She hangs up without another word.

Normally, Toji has a few words before he pulls the trigger or tightens the noose or whatever nefarious thing he’s ordered to do before his target goes limp. But the throbbing in his head has blossomed into a migraine just as he expected, he hasn’t eaten in ten hours, and he hasn’t heard from you since last night.

To put it quite simply, Toji is pissed off.

So he cocks his gun and does what he needs to do.

Despite the deafening roar of the gun, the ensuing silence is gratifying to his head. He doesn’t bother with the mess, that’s someone else’s job and he shoots off the text to the appropriate party. In a few hours, Greasy’s body will be dealt with in whatever way the cleaning crew decides. A death certificate will be signed by a coroner and an autopsy report will be forged by a pathologist—two of many on his organization’s payroll—and to the public Mr. Greasy will have been a loving man killed by his own heart. It’s almost poetic how efficiently things are run.

Thick red droplets splatter the grimy concrete, falling in a rhythmic cadence Toji knows all too well. Scenes like this are etched into his psyche, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts like a relentless generator. The instinctual response is to recoil, to scream, to flee at the sight.

But Toji has learned to numb himself to the gore and violence of his profession. To reach the level he has attained, to gain that notoriety, he had to confront the brutality without flinching. He had to absorb it, dream about it, and recall it with clarity when necessary, sketching it on a canvas as if it were fresh in his mind. 

Despite the beating he received, the small taste of freedom Toji savored at ten years old was just the beginning. Sneaking out became a routine and it didn’t take long for him to learn from Shiu how to swindle, scam, and steal. Every time he scaled the walls of the compound, Naobito’s wrath got longer and more painful. As if to teach him a lesson, as if the pain would make him fall back in line. 

But his uncle failed to realize that he took that hope from Toji long before he decided to seek more freedom. He had taken everything from him. He had nothing left to lose.

On the day that he learned of his mother’s passing, he leaped over the white brick walls and never returned.

The streets became his domain, cobblestones his makeshift bed unless a caring vendor offered him a room for the night or Shiu was able to convince his parents to let Toji sleep over for a few days. They ran the streets together with other kids their age, and as they grew, so did the prevalence of crime.

It didn’t take long for Toji to get mean, to embrace the cruelty that always radiated from his uncle’s pores. Survival demanded ferocity and each fight he got into honed his strength and capacity for violence until it simmered perpetually beneath his skin.

Despite the bloodshed ingrained in his past, Toji shies away from memories of his first kill. He was too young, too naive, and too angry. He refuses to conjure the face of his victim, to entertain the image of the man he eliminated in defense of an older woman who was being attacked. He pushes that memory down into a dark corner where he can never see it. He refuses to remember more.

But Toji does remember how cold it was that night—the rain, the tremble of his hands around the gun, the precision he summoned, the hollow emptiness that followed. Naobito’s influence had carved out any trace of emotion, leaving behind a vessel capable only of detached efficiency. It’s so ironic that it’s laughable. He became the very thing he feared.

When larger and more menacing gangs began to cast their shadows, Toji realized it wouldn’t be long until he would have to fall into one just to survive. He remembers a member from one of the more vicious gangs recruiting him. Not Yakuza, but just as structured and disciplined with a hideout, hot food, and warm beds. How could he possibly say no? 

In a year, Toji ascended the ranks, earning his place as Wakagashira—second in command—at the age of seventeen. If someone needed to disappear, Toji was the man to get it done. Morals were luxuries he couldn’t afford; his survival depended on their sacrifice.

Those efforts paid off. He moved from the local hardcore gang to a legitimate organization that gave him a mentor who showed him how to read, encouraged him to get his GED, and taught him how to be disciplined and mature. He began to get paid for his work and his world changed. 

He no longer had to think about his next meal; it was always within reach. He no longer endured cold showers from a garden hose and the leaky roof of his shed; he had comfort and a cheap apartment. He no longer sought affection; it was thrust upon him by every woman his age who could breathe the same air as him.

Everything that he has earned in his life, has been by his own hand, his own skill, his own diligence. 

But no amount of money and comfort can wash away the brutal beginnings of his life.

Toji swipes his finger on his phone screen, a new ritualized distraction that gives him satisfaction when he watches a row of orange jewels disappear. He’s reached level 150. And while he can’t make any money playing Candy Crush, it still fuels the addiction that he used to harness when he places bets. He has yet to admit freely that he’s a gambler, but you’re no idiot. His determination to win as many games of Spades on the 4th of July at your uncle’s was the first giveaway. 

“Jesus. You always this messy?” a voice from behind him calls out, prompting Toji’s hand to instinctively fly to the gun on his side as he whirls around. His breathing halts in reflex, ears straining to capture any subtle sound to give him an advantage. Yet, the sight that meets his eyes—a group of people clad in grey jumpsuits, their insignia faded—elicits only a frustrated exhale. “This how you do things over in Japan?”

There’s an undertone to the comment that Toji recognizes, but doesn’t bother to acknowledge as he walks past the crew and out of the warehouse. There’s no point entertaining them. No matter the contract, the cleaning crew always complains. New recruits in the organization, no matter how promising, have to work their way up and show they can handle any job. So Toji knows what it’s like to complain during cleanup.

But it is true, this isn’t how Toji does things. He’s quick and precise without leaving a mess, silent and stealthy—a reputation that has elevated him within the ranks. He’s heard the whispers, and seen the way those of lower rank either tense up or shine their eyes at him when he’s near. His boss boasts of him as Japan’s notorious hitman—nameless yet highly sought after for his efficiency. The Invisible Man.

With his years in the game, Toji can call the shots on how he does things. He only kills scum. Scum lower than himself. Raised in squalor, abused by those meant to care for him, he knows evil intimately. Each bullet he delivers to his targets brings a semblance of peace, and a sense of justice to his troubled soul. 

There was a point in his life when he wasn’t so troubled. Somewhere beneath the layers of filth and pain lies a man sheonce knew—a man of tenderness and warmth, embraced for a fleeting moment. A brief, yet exquisite time filled with the gentle caress of her hands, the comforting cadence of her voice, and the birth of a son, a fragment of her very soul. She was able to push through the anger he gave, wrap her hands around his, and never let go.

But like all things in Toji’s life, he’s constantly reminded that he is nothing. That he deserves nothing. And the world made sure to take her away to reaffirm that devastating fact. Six years of barely holding himself together in front of a child who needed him, made him realize he needed to do better. 

He’s not ready to give up his career just yet—he’s not sure if he ever can. However, one thing he is sure he can do is provide his son with a better life. He’s not the best father, he will admit to it, and he always has enough connections to give Megumi protection from his family and the dangers of his job. But it’s not enough anymore. He needs to be more involved, more attentive, more of a parent to fill the hole left by his mother. He can make sure his son has a childhood worth remembering.

Not like his own.

America is big, which means more opportunity, which means more money, and an entire continent away from the echoes of his past.

He should forge a future worth pursuing—a future where his kid can have simple joys he never got to experience; maybe a dog, a nice private school, and a father with a convenient job. Retirement flits through his mind more frequently these days, but he knows that truly getting out of the business may be next to impossible. A small part of him longs for that freedom again, a chance to escape all the shadows of his past. However, as his phone buzzes with yet another notification, he’s jolted back to the grim reality that he lives in.

Unknown: Not your usual leftovers but you still got the job done. You should have your payment later today.

Toji: Good. No more revenge contracts. I mean it.

Unknown: I have another if you’re interested, a classic one and done. Want to get you situated in the new market before people start demanding you.

Toji: Gimme a week.

Unknown: I can do that.

***

He’s downed three Ibuprofen, scarfed McDonald’s, and washed away the remnants of blood and frustration from his skin. In the bathroom mirror, his chest is flushed from the vigorous scrubbing, his scars appearing more pronounced against the backdrop of crimson. Each scar serves as a stark reminder of his tumultuous life, where every gain is intertwined with bloodshed and agony. 

Under the dim glow of the streetlights outside your uncle’s house, you likely didn’t notice the scars that mar his skin, a fact for which he’s grateful. It would only be more that he would have to lie to you about and he hasn’t thought of the story that he will tell you when you finally ask him.

He has no idea what sort of card he’s pulled to have you in his life. You deserve someone accomplished—a doctor, lawyer, or politician—certainly not a man who deals in bullets and bloodshed, someone like him. Men like Toji don’t deserve the kindness of a woman. Men like Toji don’t deserve the softness of skin scented with Shea butter and a hint of vanilla or the radiance of sunlight dancing on curly hair. Everything good and beautiful in this world slips from his scarred fingers. 

He feels insignificant, worthless, a stray wandering the streets, latching onto any speck of attention. Yet, despite your piercing glares and the thin thread that you have him on, you possess a warmth surrounded by fiery edges. The urge to subject himself to that searing heat is almost unbearable.

Both of your lives are consumed with demanding professions; his by contracts, yours by on-call duties and long shifts. It’s been about a week since your date and you both text frequently. You’re busy with your fifth consecutive 12-hour shift and you haven’t messaged him all day. He knows you’re busy, but there’s a piece of him that has been trained to expect unhappiness. 

Deep down, he knows you have every right to cut ties with him forever. He’s deceiving you in the worst possible way. If you were to uncover his deeds, the dark agreements he’s made and completed, you would surely turn away without a second glance. He had no intention of wanting more of you after that night. But women like you are rare, fleeting in appearance and he’s a selfish fucker. So, so selfish.

He was ready to ask you out again before the reality of his harsh world dragged him away. A contract that he thought would be simple and quick, had dragged into a week-long affair; interrupting little moments he could be spending with you. 

In those moments, alone with his gaze fixed on Greasy as he observed his behavior, he thought of you. He thought of seeing you again when you’re not yelling and screaming at a referee. Maybe for dinner? Somewhere decent where he can snicker at the way you glare at him in the low lights. Somewhere he can see you in a dress besides the red one he met you in, curls framing your face, naturally long lashes narrowing as he flirts with you without shame.

The knowledge that he doesn’t know more about you, leaves an odd fluttering in his stomach that he can only describe as annoyance. He’s known you for over a month but you are as mysterious as you are beautiful. With his skills, he could easily dig into the far corners of his organization to discover more about you. But the mere thought of knowing parts of you without your permission leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s slept around enough to know a good-looking woman when he sees one, and you stood out like a genuine gem amidsta sea of counterfeit trinkets. Toji can’t deny that he approached you that night with a certain goal in mind, but the instant he looked down and called you ‘princess’, the minute you shot him a glare that could rival a city’s destruction, he was hooked.

He’s drawn to women who are independent, strong-willed, and able to speak up for themselves. The assertive ones were rare until he met you. That night at your uncle’s, you exuded a resoluteness he had never encountered before. You took pleasure solely for yourself, oblivious to the fact that your selfishness merely made you more enticing, inviting him to sink his fingers into your flesh and take root indefinitely. He had never been so delirious with lust, so utterly out of control with his body as you took and took. The sex was amazing, toe-curling, and intense but it wasn’t just that, it was you.

You, you, you—fuck.

Normally, he’s content with momentary encounters with women; lingering around for a few weeks, taking what they offer until he moves on to the next. It’s a practiced air that he’s used to breathing.

Breathe in—a good fuck on Monday that has a little bit of money for him to take advantage of until Friday. Breathe out—she’s had enough of him or he’s taken his fill and he finds a nice brunette on Saturday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But the air is a lot thinner when he tries to breathe you in, tight in his chest and too much but also not enough.

Because you’re a fierce little thing, yet he can see hints of vulnerability beneath the steely resolve of your gaze, a softness rarely revealed to others—especially men and those who challenge you. There’s a familiarity in that vulnerability, a long-forgotten sensation buried deep within him, hidden away in that same dusty recess of his being that’s been rattling for attention a lot more lately. 

The allure of you is like a swift current within a crystal-clear stream, beckoning him to immerse himself despite the rocky terrain beneath. Against his better judgment, he’s plunged headfirst without thinking about what he’s doing—about what’s at stake—and letting the current take him away.

You must have seen something in him, because, despite your protests and excuses, you dropped your defenses enough to show more of yourself. Enough to smile at the daisies he gave you when you thought he couldn’t see. Enough to mold your soft lips against his one more time.

His mind wanders back to the present again and falls into a familiar urge that has to be satiated. He knows that whatever it is, it stems from his childhood, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. He runs his fingers over his skin, tracing each scar he’s come to memorize to ensure nothing appears out of place. He can distinguish those from Naobito’s cruel hands and those earned from years in the field. He knows. Yet, he still feels the need to double-check, from the locks on the front door to the latches on every window, even poking his head into the attic before bed just for reassurance. 

He has to be sure that he’s safe, that he is secure in his home, away from prying eyes because Naobito could be his neighbor. He could be here in the US, here in this city, here watching his every move and he has to be safe.

His fingers tremble against the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink as his heart races, each breath shaky and uneven as it falls from his throat, his eyes fluttering to push away the sting as he begins his own routine that comes up a few times a week. A steady mantra to quell his rising panic.

He’s not here.

He will never be here.

He will never hurt you again.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

He hasn’t had to worry about Naobito in a very long time, but the logic of that falls to the wayside no matter the time of day. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about it, he’s fine. The fear and pain will fade away with time. 

It will.

The chime of his phone interrupts his thoughts and makes him flinch. He exhales another shaky breath and presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, using the pressure to ground himself and get his thoughts back in order so he can go about his day with what remains of his sanity.

“Fuck,” Toji whispers and slides large hands down his face before snatching up his phone and making his way to his living room to plop on his couch.

Toji rolls onto his side, the cotton of the couch pillowing his cheek as he stares at the eggshell wall of his living room. The house he’s purchased is spacious, more than he’s ever had, but it’s not for him. It’s for Megumi. His son deserves a proper home, a place to grow and thrive. But it lacks warmth, devoid of the touches that make a house a home. The hardwood floors have no rugs to clothe them, the living room only has a couch and TV with no stand beneath it and the walls are bare and without character. Maybe he could go furniture shopping this weekend? Invite you if you’re not too tired from working.

When he finally checks his phone, his heart thumps heavily in his chest when he sees the notification from you.

You: I’ve had such a shit day. My car wouldn’t fucking start and work has been so busy. I’m exhausted.

Relief floods him too quickly for him to swallow down and analyze later. There’s no stopping it now, and Toji finds himself sitting up on the couch, his nose almost touching the screen of his phone as he types his response. So many thoughts bubble within him at once. The urge to ask you what he can do, the urge to come over to your house so he can take care of you—so many urges that his late wife would effortlessly draw from him against his own volition overwhelm him. 

Toji: How did you get to work

You: I took the bus.

He growls under his breath at your response, his mind flashing with every single danger possible at the thought of you traveling alone at night. Any sleazy man could watch the stop you get off, take note of the street, and come back later. Someone bigger than you, stronger than you. And even though you’re fierce and strong yourself, evil usually wins. The thought makes his blood boil. All you had to do was tell him about your car, and he would have picked you up immediately. But the words from you that shine from his phone are a blatant reminder of just how little you rely on others.

Toji: I’ll pick you up.

You: I get off at midnight. Toji it’s fine.

Toji: I don’t care. I’ll be in the parking lot when you come outside.

You don’t respond, leaving Toji to wonder whether you’re simply swamped with work again or pointedly ignoring him out of defiance. He’s showing up whether you like it or not. He tosses his phone toward the end of the couch and rolls onto his back, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. 

Popcorn ceilings. He despises them. It’s a trivial thing to fixate on, but the textured surface only amplifies the visibility of dirt and grime, reminding him of memories of the dilapidated greenhouse shed where he grew up; of dust and dingy yukatas and soiled food. Toji realizes that the stupid thought is so annoying because of how quickly it reminds him of his life. It’s a vicious cycle of how his mundane thoughts can instantly make him think of a painful memory. 

Maybe that’s all his brain can do—think of the bad in his life. He’s not meant for happiness. Wonderful things like you are beyond his reach, and even his own son couldn’t be further detached from him. His thoughts are murky and desolate, so burdened with despair that he’s amazed his body still finds the will to wake up each morning. But he does, for some reason, he still does.

***

A few minutes past midnight when you slide into his car, Toji inhales the weary air you breathe out. Your bun is loose, curls frizzed along your hairline, your scrub top has baby spittle on it, and there are circles under your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, but Toji’s heart stutters when he glimpses the determination in your gaze—resolute and fierce even when dead on your feet. 

And suddenly, he can’t help himself. He leans over and presses his lips to your cheek, siphoning the softness against the chapped edges of his lips to make the coldness in his chest warm over. You don’t smack him or tell him to behave or call him names for taking something without asking.

“Am I at least allowed to do that without you smacking me?” Toji asks you, a soft smirk on his face as he takes in your familiar glare. It almost washes away the blood and murder he had his hands in this morning.

You wave him away in mild annoyance, but Toji sees something on your face. With his years of perception, he notices the subtle tug of your cheek as it pulls inward for you to bite down on it, your lips fighting to contain the smile that threatens to bloom. One day, he will pull a smile from you freely. One day.

As he drives to your apartment, he unconsciously takes deep inhales to savor the delicate vanilla beneath the sharp tang of hand sanitizer and sterile hallways that radiate from your side of the car. He turns on the classic rock radio station that he played last time you were both in the car together, and you hum along again without thinking. Only this time, your hums are broken, and without strength, your head lolling against the window until you slowly fall asleep.

When he parks the car at your complex, he doesn’t wake you up immediately. In sleep, you can’t scowl at him, but even now, your demeanor remains guarded. Your shoulders are tense, hands clutching the strap of a well-worn leather bag, cheeks flushed with a fever you vehemently deny even though he can smell the common cold in the car. 

Only two minutes have passed, yet his thoughts are consumed solely by you. Not about the people he’s killed. Not about the abuse he’s suffered. Not even the echoes of Naobito’s taunts that intrude when he least wants them to. 

Just you. 

He will earn all of you, just like you asked of him.

That rattling in his chest he felt the last time you were both together makes itself known again, pushing against his belief that his happiness will never be permanently his own. Maybe the sight of you rolling your eyes and offering him little pieces of affection with the smirk you try to hide is the very thing he needs to breathe a little easier. 

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t quite figured it out. 

So for now, he’ll grasp whatever morsel of solace he can, disregarding the ache in his chest that gets worse when he breathes in your air, knowing you remain unaware of such a significant aspect of his life.

He hopes this never catches up to him, and if it does, he hopes that you can forgive him. He hopes that he can forgive himself for taking from you when someone more deserving should occupy his place. 

Until that reckoning arrives, he’ll indulge in his selfishness, because right now, it’s the only thing bringing him a semblance of joy.

Thanks for reading!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

[astroyongie]

For the angst blurb! Seonghwa please ?🫶🏻

-> warnings: seonghwa x reader, established relationship, mentions of addiction (benzos), angst, cursing, mentions of suicide

"I don’t know what you are talking about." Seonghwa said as he heard you yapping for the 10th time that day. 

Tiredness painted his face, the soft purple tainted his under eye and his lips were shattered. Seonghwa’s black hair fell over his eyes, as he ignored the piece of paper that you had slid in front of him. 

-30 dollars on monday, -86 on tuesday and -274 yesterday. All from your bank account. He knew he was fucked, when he saw the paper from the bank. Money he had stolen from you, in order to feed his own addiction. He scratched his covered arm, anxiety raising.  

“What did you do with the money?” you asked, rage flicking inside your iris. 

“Fuck” he cursed out, running his fingers through his hair, sighing loudly. His eyes were half lidded, and he was too high to even have this conversion with you right now. But there was no reason to lie to you.

“You know i need those pills, babe”

“You need to pay me back, Seonghwa'' Your voice was strong yet it dripped with sadness and frustration. Seonghwa groaned again, scratching his arm. “This money was supposed to pay for my tuition!”

“I will pay you back”

“Yeah? When? when you are dead and six feet underground from an overdose?”

Seonghwa stayed quiet at your statement, the words feeling like a whiplash of cold water across his heated face. He sighed again, looking down at his fingers. He wished he could stop his leg from trembling but he couldn’t. 

"Sometimes it feels like you don't even care about how I feel." Seonghwa blurred out and your laugh at his words made him grimace. 

“Don’t try to guilt trip me into this” you warned him as you got closer this time, your hands slamming against to the table next to him. “You are spending my money by taking drugs. At least take responsibility for your actions. Face the consequences of that”

This time Seonghwa looked up at you, a frown on his face and anger slowly flicking inside of him. He didn’t needed you to tell him about how wrong it was. He knew it. He was the one suffering from it. You trying to act mighty was only icking his brain.

“Money, money! Is that all that matters to you?” he spat looking at you “what about me? about my health? My life? my fucking life, y/n? don't you care about it?”

“Of course I care about you!” you tried to defend yourself. 

“Yeah? it doesnt fucking look like it” Seonghwa said as he stood up from the table, making you take a step back. “you always are present when it comes to demanding your money back, but strangely you are never by my side when it comes to helping me stay sober”

“Don’t say shit!” you yelled, coming at his face, your own tears swelling at the corner of your eyes. “I was there holding your hair when you were throwing your guts out. I was there crying when you got knocked out after taking that tablet of benzos. I was–!”

“Why didn’t you let me go to rehab?” 

Seonghwa’s voice was soft, lower. Your eyes widened at the accusation and you felt your chest tightened inside your ribcage. 4 months ago, Seonghwa almost died from an overdose, thankfully you had found him and been there to save his ass. Everyone including his friend Hongjoong had told you to just take him to the rehab. Truth be told, you didn't. Because you were selfish, because you didn't think he would make it out alive there, where he would be left by himself. or perhaps it was you, who couldn't imagine one second of your life without him. 

At your silence, he chuckled. “That’s what I thought. Y/n, let me help you out, yeah?” he murmured, cupping your face with his big hands. your tears dampened his skin but he didnt care. you noticed how his pupils were blown and how at peace he looked despite the argument unfolding. “I am taking them benzos because if i don’t I will just unalive myself. So stop bitching. And leave me alone”

You wanted to slap him across the face, to yell at him, to curse him out for being so reckless with his life. He wasn't only destroying himself. He was destroying you. your love, your heart. Couldn’t he see how much this was hurting you?

Seonghwa was high. Most of the time during your relationship. So when he saw you sob between his hands, he leaned down and kissed your forehead. 

“I am sorry, baby” he murmured against your skin. “You can’t save a man that doesn't want to be saved.”