#stinking corruption

[simply-ivanka]

Interesting how each of these law enforcement officials prosecuting Trump are black.

Why is that? Are they racist against white people who have achieved success or are they malleable to be easily influenced by the powers that be in the Democrat Party?

What have they been promised? A high level job in the party or a high level job in the Administration or Congress, backing for their next election or a judgeship?

Watch these three and guaranteed each of them receives some quid pro quo after this election in November.

[edgedstupid]

God I need a hung tgirl to forcefully grab my head and shove my face in her unwashed bush to shut me up. Just watching as my eyes roll up and all the fight goes out of me from her stink invading my brain Turning me into a submissive and needy pet. Maybe deciding that since I was being so annoying I should make it up to her, and just shoving her gock down my throat while I drool all over myself...

[septic-salad]

Slightly toned down version of the goob for art fight 😍

[genderstormwrites]

What I wouldn't give for the stinkiest girl in the world to just show up out of the blue and make my whole life revolve around her...

[v-anrouge]

Need to get away with you just looked at png of trey and found him attractive

heheheehee..

[quantativeeasing-stuff]

The Ledge

I absolutely love that feeling of someone being on the edge of committing to kink, keeping it as a background hobby, trying to keep it as something they can control. Sure, you've been looking into roachification. Sure, the idea of being corrupted and getting all sorts of embarrassing kinks is beginning to appeal to you more and more, sure, you've listened to a couple hypnosis files, but you have a LIFE! you can't just give it up! You run the sorority! You've got a stable career path! You're about to get your masters degree! And then, one day, while you're checking that your hairs perfect in the bathroom, you'll notice.

Notice that you forgot to wear deodorant today, that you put on 5 pounds, that you're beginning to get the start of a treasure trail on your tummy, and you'll feel that unstoppable wetness that ensues, that wetness at the fantasy of going off the ledge, of getting off to your stink, of deliberately gaining weight, at letting your body hair grow.Giving in to your armpit kink, your foot kink, your weight gain kink, and if you don't have them, hypnotizing yourself until you do. Committing yourself not to a career, not to this social construct, but to becoming a horny gooner slob.

You've already fallen off the ledge. All you've done is confirm it.

[reality-detective]

Kash Patel reacts to train wreck disaster in East Palestine, Ohio causing massive spill of DEADLY toxins: 👇

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was a large-scale infrastructure attack on our electric grid system."

This reeks bad and will not have a good outcome.🤔

[myso-maggie]

In Space there are no Smells

(Note from Author: Thank you for clicking! Its been about a year since I written, so I'm VERY RUSTY. SO enjoy this really weird short story. With sci-fi horror themes blended with corruption, mysophilia, stink, and filth.)

[Planetary orbit station Azazel]

[02:35:45 Earth Time]

[Goal: Find, Capture, Analyze, and Dispose of foreign objects orbiting or entering Earth’s Orbit.]

[Azazel is a part of a triangulation system with two sister stations Azza and Uzza, this system is called “Fallen Angels”.]

[Lead Orbit Extraction Tech Entry # 1]

<Name: Sonya Stellar>

<The other crewmates always started off picking on me during roll call. Love pops but the amount of grievance he has cursed me with a last name like Stellar makes me want to kick him when I make it back soil-side. I had applied to get stationed on Azza, but the roster filled very quickly… placing me on Azazel. Which is fine… but it's not the newest of the trio. Plus, I didn’t want to be stationed with my old campus mate Drew. He was always so competitive, always knowing my next move in classes, always besting me. Second place is fine and dandy… but God what I would do for a gold one of these days.>

<Continuing log>

<Excuse me, had to stop suddenly we had a reading in our radius. Why am I apologizing? These are to me after all. Company-mandated and shit. Supposedly for our “Mental well-being… bullshit. I'm keeping my thoughts on a log for me and my eyes only. Good to keep myself straight and narrow for the next mission. Anyways, Drew has volunteered himself to be the one to plot the course to intersect the object. Asshat

[S.O.S transmission from *****]

<THIS IS A PRIVATE CAPSULE FOR ****** AND *****

ATTENTION THIS IS A PRIVATE SCIENTIFIC CONTAINMENT

DO NOT *****

DO NOT INTERACT

DO NOT ****

PROPERTY OF ______________>

[end of transmission]

[Lead Orbit Extraction Tech Entry #2]

<Name: Sonya Stellar>

[It's impossible for the rest of the crew to hear my heart rate, but they all looked at me as if they could. I waited on the sidelines of the station- strapped up, ready to go out and yank Drew back to Azazel. We could hear advice and mutter on the hot radios of Uzza and Azza. I can’t stand the asshole but fuck me was it tense. Especially after the Company played the audio of the distress beacon. Evidently, it's privately owned or some shit. All they informed us was that it was a RED ALERT that we got it. This wasn’t just some long-forgotten satellite or some junk. This was something serious. This was something that had everyone tense and frightened. I never saw Drew look as worried as he did when we went for the first spacewalk. A wave of ease washed over me when we got the radio from Drew that he had in fact contacted the capsule. He sat as a speck in the infinite vastness connected like a kite coming for a landing. Our work had only begun, we now had to get Drew back in along with the Capsule put into the loading bay so we could bring it into our analysis department. Drew is now asleep claiming the stress was just too much. I never knew him to get so disturbed. I'm just happy it's now inside. I'll link to my analysis of the capsule below

[Azazel Analysis LOG]

[Sonya Stellar Analysis of Space Debris Capsule]

< Good evening, this is Dr. Stellar. I’m starting this LOG here at 22:00:00 Earth time. I will start with a visual analysis of the capsule. The unit appears to be akin to a satellite, made of standard Titanium alloys. There is a single round viewing window at the top of what appears to be an entry hatch, but the viewing window is opaque with the inner substance looking like algae. The capsule has markings and numbers with unknown reasons lining what looks like an input and output connection. On the front of the broken hatch is an emblem/logo of butterfly wings. I am now to begin cutting the hatches of the hatch. Afterward, I will continue with an interior analysis record Log>

Loud whirring noises of a small buzzsaw can be heard cutting through the metal.

[Azazel Analysis LOG]

[Sonya Stellar Interior Analysis of Space Debris Capsule]

<Alright, I am not going to grab a wedge and hammer to pry the hatch open… *WHAM WHAM WHAM Crreeaaaaaakkk SPLOTRTCHH*

Alright, the interio- *HACK COUGH COUGH COUGH*

*A panicked Dr. Stellar can be heard retching as she knocks over a tray of tools. A door slamming shut*

[Azazel Med-bay Check-up Log]

[Patient: Sonya Stellar]

Symptoms: Cough, burning throat, eyes watering, extreme nausea, headache, rash on the right hand, singed nose hairs, REDACTED, REDACTED.

Diagnoses: Unknown… processing…. Processing… alternative Diagnoses match descriptions of studies by historic studies performed by Monarch. For treatment request such a file with your Historic archive database representative.

Have a nice day, Feel better thanks to the Company! 😊

[Sonya Stellar Log # 3]

<Drew came by just now having my dinner. I've been put in quarantine after my… incident with the pod. The pod is also in quarantine in the bay. I feel fine *Cough Cough, Hacks a nasty spit out*.

It's difficult to breathe occasionally… and that fuckin smell. I can't get it out of my head. *Groans*

I can't tell if it's in my nose or burned into my head. It was like that time Grandpa had lost power to the deep freezer in the garage. *Eugh*

It was…. Weirdly nostalgic of Earth. The grime of it all…

I need to rest… feeling dizzy again. Goodnight computer

[Computer Error log!]

[Source Quarantine Bay #2]

[Respond ASAP]

<…. Ventilation quarantine system ERROR.>

<Quarantine Compromised>

<Respond ASAP>

<Repeat>

<Clearing Error message for maximum proficiency, working smarter, not harder, Regards the Company>

[Sonya Stellar Log # 4]

<The entire fucking crew is sick. They keep complaining about the smell. A smell I can't smell. All I can smell is Grandpa's freezer. But they all smell a rotten fish barge everywhere. I'm still far too sick to go on routine space walks and have been prescribed some medication but it has to jump from Uzza to then get relayed to us when we next pass by… which isn’t for days. I need to finish Analyzing the Pod, it’s going to look bad on my record if I don’t finish a task. I'd hate to get sent back early by The Company. Fuck. I wish they would turn the heat down too…. Must be a side effect of the system glitching out. I am gonna go lie down>

[Sonya Stellar Log # 5]

<Today I awoke to the horrid sound of wet vomit hitting metal. I think the smell must be getting worse for the crew…. I still can't smell it. My nose has gone numb… I can't smell anything. They still hand me food underneath the quarantine flap. I have received no word from the Capt., The company, or even the doc. Just food…. Well, that’s not true. I can hear Drew. He is in the room next to mine. I can hear him rambling mad and hacking his lungs out. Describing the smell and the visuals of a green rot seeping through the walls. The horrid smells of burning land waste and rotten forests, trying to keep it back. I worry for all of our sanity now.>

[Sonya Stellar Log # 6]

<I'm really freaking out now. The food I received today was fucked. It was moldy, and the water browned…. I couldn’t help myself though, I ate it. And it was DELICOUS. The rancid taste of off eggs and the hints of grime in the water. It Cleared my throat and felt amazing. Am I losing it??? What little view I had of the hallway through my door has become dark… and the heat won't stop… I have now placed something over the vent… anything to stop the humidity please>

[Sonya Stellar Log # 7]

<I feel disgusting. I haven’t showered…. In… I don't know how long. Has it been days? Hours? WEEKS? How many logs have I sent off? Is anyone getting these?

Idk… the food was wonderful again today…. Slimy steak sludge with a dark green shlop in a glass. My hair… now is matting and is ruining the pillow I sleep on. The outside soundscape has changed… This morning I felt a large shift in the ship… Uzza must have docked. Which my medication must be here. I heard radios and breathing apparatuses. Bright flashlights shined through the glass, revealing that the outside was now enveloped… in a dark algae-like substance… a lot like the pod. I worried for the captain, the staff, and Drew…>

[Sonya Stellar Log # 8]

<No food came today… The ship is silent now… or well not silent… If I listen closely, I can hear a wet slap outside. Like water dripping into molasses outside. I can also hear something else… When I went over to the vent today, I noticed the metal grate had been warped, and a miasmic green smoke was wisping out… and a small whisper. I couldn’t understand. Tonight, I'm lying next to the vent in hopes I can hear what they are whispering. Just to know I'm not alone.>

[Sonya Stellar Log # 9]

<Something is definitely wrong with me. My skin is… changing. When I squeeze my palms I can feel a grease ooze out of the pores. My lungs don’t burn when I breathe this shit *A waving of hands to clear the camera sight of the building haze* Out of desperation I have started drinking some of the oozes that creep through the door and vent. It tastes so nasty…. but God, I love it. *Drool dribbles her lips*

The vent situation has not improved, the haze has increased exponentially. The lighting now flickers in the station. I don’t know how long I can keep the logs up. I will need to leave this room… I can't eat this slime forever... plus the whispers they are calling to me. *She looks off-screen suddenly… walking off screen… the computer auto sleeps. End of Log*

[Sonya Stellar Log # 10]

<The Smog it speaks. It’s Everywhere. My Lungs. My skin. The Walls, they BREATHE out the Miasma~ She tells me it is good~ yess. Yes. She finally reached out, and I accepted her. I'm breaking out today. To revel in the gift of the filth. *Heavy huffing can be heard. Long strands of drool dripped from her droopy lip, her hair long and nappy. She gets up, and with a loud guttural shlop of the gunk outside the door falls from its hinges. Maniacal laughing can be heard as she disappears into the dimly noxious hall… End of Log*

[Drew refugee aboard the Azza]

[Now volunteered member to analyze for potential scrap and recovery of information from Azazel]

[Extraction Log: Drew]

<Coming in for spacewalk entry of Azazel. Hooking extraction guideline to hatch now. Have entered Air lock, do you read me Azza? Azza? *Static* Shit…. Must be worse in here than I thought. God fucking damn it… well, gotta get this over with. *Deep sigh*

Oxygen levels 95%, Airlock is pressurized accordingly, Beginning entry… *The ding of an airlock decompression. And suddenly a WHOOSH of green and brown miasmic smog filled the airlock from within Azazel. Luckily Drew still had his space suit on, He braced bringing his hand in front of his face as the airlock filled*

The Azazel oxygen and atmosphere have been compromised. Readings from within show oxygen levels are 0%, now compromised of Sulfur, methane, and a slew of other chemicals. Stepping through the main corridor now. *Squelch squelch squelch*

The entire station has been enveloped in mucus of some kind… it's very warm to the touch I can feel it through the suit. There are mounds of rot and debris everywhere blocking entire paths within the station *Retch, Just the sight was enough to activate his gag reflex* I will radio in when I get deeper and see something interesting>

<Moving is getting difficult, the floor is thick with the shit. I can feel the warmth through my suit. So far nothing has been found for reclamation. About to approach the source.... the pod.

*Drew's visor starts to light up with warnings as he beeps into the keypad to enter. Suddenly you hear Drew yell as his entire camera feed gets enveloped in a rancid haze. Chittering laughter and insane muttering can be heard echoing through the camera's built-in mic*

Yezzzzz, drag him, DRAG HIM. Embrace yuzzzz~ Let it soakkkk. Breathe it in. The rot claims All. Maggggiieeee~>

[Last known broadcast from Company scientist Drew stationed on Azazel]

*The screen cracked, and green sludge ran down the view. It appears to be upside down facing the pod from above. The visual is a lot like a boiling cauldron overflowing with a burning acrid smog dripping from the repulsive slime that crept out. A figure floated above the cauldron, she was floating cackling to herself balling up sniffing her own rancid perfume, and calling out to Sonya who was dragging an unconscious Drew into the frame. Sonya gestures to Drew bowing to the figure. Maggie grabs Sonya by the chin, kissing her. You watch Sonya Cough and retch, thick saliva dribbling out as she can't stop taking in deep inhales of the exhaust; Nearly crumbling in euphoria. A struggling Drew starts to shout as the alien-like creature buzzes over to him lying on the ground. Her fumes cascaded and enveloped him. The only thing he could see through the putrescence was her glowing red eyes and neon teeth. Kicking his legs and flailing as he gives into the kiss from her, her saliva burning through his protective helmet shielding… stops kicking and starts to giggle. Taking in deeper and deeper drags till he enters a deep sleep. *

[Closing Case: REDACTED Azazel]

[This footage never can make it to the surface or the public eye. This is a biohazard threat on a global scale. The science team aboard Uzza and Azza have a new directive… and that’s to contain Azazel and keep an eye on the growing issue there. There will be a special team coming up on the next resupply ship, Monarch.]

[loneheir]

❛ i never said that i'd play nice ... we both know how this town works ❜ @wtrss ; one liner , closed

[handfulofmuses]

"I think he just became Octodad."

Activates the virus, holds the symbol of it above him and THROWS him out of the window with it.

THIS IS NOT THE LLAMA MOVIE OKAY

[m-50a]

Governor Gives The BEST TAKEDOWN Of Trump You’ve EVER Seen

[gaydelgard]

ok HONSTLY and frankly it is astonishing they even let laia pick up a sword at all

let alone kill a guy with it

let alone that being portrayed as the morally correct thing to do

dls is so full of like basic bitch let the menfolk protect the delicate flowers type sexism (rc as a whole has a lot of this but dls embraces it to a high degree)

sandra was literally a cop* and shes still constantly sidelined and sent home w laia while the men are supposed to handle things

its so fucking absurd

*ex cop shes an ex cop

[politicalantibody]

Oooh that smell! Can’t you smell that smell?

Well what do you know...Jack Smith needs to have her removed from the case. She is way too biased.

[grison-in-space]

Has Biden actually done anything at all? There's evidence going around and I think it's compelling, the alternate to voting is instead doing actual social work and participating in protests and organizing political action, which is a good idea i think

1) Yes. Inarguably this has been the most effective progressive domestic administration since I have been alive, and I'm in my thirties. What in the fuck are you talking about? It's not perfect, but it's better than we've seen in fifty years: Obama tried, but Democratic Congressional organization was just not yet used to working with a completely obstructionist GOP Congress in the wake of the tea party.

Even in terms of foreign policy, this is also pretty much as good as US involvement gets. Sorry. Our foreign policy has been shaped by monsters for decades, and that's even without dealing with our huge and active branch of Christian doom cultists. There ain't a candidate in the world that could stop the entire accumulated momentum of geopolitics with a snap of the finger, and I'm not really willing to pretend that Biden is particularly notable for not managing to fix Israel/Palestine relations.

2) In your own words, anon, what precisely does organizing political action entail without participating in the political process? Do you think that abstaining from the part of the gig where you, the citizen, get to say which official gets the job somehow makes your opinions matter more to your elected public officials? Have you ever organized to get so much as a municipal one-time library project budget expanded? Are you perhaps only skilled at political argument with people who already agree with you on the Internet?

What is your leverage, and could it reasonably be described as "extortion" or "blackmail" or "political corruption?" Because those are pretty much the only things on the table that can work more effectively to drive an elected official than a disciplined coalition of political allies (who can be purchased with, you guessed it, votes) or a reliable bloc of voter support. Your vote matters less than the ones you bring with you, sure. Do you think that not voting yourself somehow helps people organize to drive more votes? Have you perhaps replaced your complex reasoning skills with a rapidly dying jellyfish?

3) Holy passive vagueness, Batman! "Evidence is going around." What a masterpiece of a sentence! How it suggests everything while providing nothing! What evidence? Who collected it? Who is talking about the evidence "going around?" Who is listening? How many of them are there? What did they think before? The more I think, the more questions I have, and damn if they ain't predisposing me to be even less charitable.

Like, this is so catastrophically poorly supported that I have to confess that I not only believe this is probably an ask in bad faith (i.e. by someone who is expecting to piss me off or otherwise engage with me adversarially, probably spammed to a whole host of blogs at once with no expectation of response) but I actively hope that it is. The alternative is to have to grapple with the reality that some people are so uncomfortable with the responsibility of moral agency that they're willing to release useful levers of legal and social power just so that they never do anything problematic with that power. Much better, of course, to wash one's hands of anything that might have the stink of responsibility clinging to it. Might fall from the membership of the Elect if you actually get yourself all muddy by doing things, I reckon.

I don't even believe that voting is the only lever we have when it comes to our elected officials or that votes are necessary to secure change, and I am certainly not talking about the presidential ticket alone when I talk voting. What I do believe is two things: one, that voting is a potential lever of power on the emergent chaos of the society in which we live. And two, that anyone telling me to leave a lever of power on the ground without a damn good reason is either incompetent, malicious, or both.

[alexiroflife]

“pretty woman.”

nanami kento

inspired by the film, you are a prostitute that nanami falls for quite instantly

[mdni]

you never came from much. you earned your profession by means of your body, clinging to skin stinking of cigarette smoke and hands gripping viciously into your flesh as though you are something to be owned temporarily before being tossed away for the sake of earning the funds for your next meal.

you knew aggressive lust, impatience, filthy corruption. you knew palms swatting at your cheek and fluids spilling over your back that you were forced to clean yourself in the darkness of filthy motels laden with the loud thoughts of self inflicted after care.

the world taught you of its greed by cursing you with your enticing appearance combined with your severe lack of privilege, and consequently it turned you into what you are now, and you were fine with that. you were able to live with that. you were content with that.

until him.

the moment his sleek black convertible pulled to the side of the curb catches your eye, you’re on your feet, heels clicking loudly against the concrete and hips swaying beneath the short tight dress you wore, and your eye targeted on the prize.

you approach and knock on the window carelessly, shifting your weight on one foot as the window rolls down slowly. you lift your sharp brows and almost hold your breath when the outline of the man you had seen within the vehicle reveals himself to you, his curious honey brown eyes staring directly into yours as the barrier of safety breaks between you.

no one had ever looked you in the eye like this before.

you know he doesn’t belong here when you take in the sleek waves of his blonde hair and the breathtakingly expensive suit he wears, as well as the very car he inhabited, and you immediately see and opportunity.

“you lost, handsome?” you curl your red lips into an enticing smile, pressing yourself against the side of the door with ease and familiarity.

the rich man’s brow twitches as he continues to roam his eyes over your face. you make a point to expose your chest, pressing your tits out from your clothing, but he does not look- he does not fall for your temptation. instead, his eyes remain trained on you. just you, and your own eyes and face. it scares you.

he hesitates, turning to look to the side before looking back at you, and you catch a softness in his expression. “i’m alright. thank you.”

“you sure?” you question, raising a brow. “it looks to me like you’re not from around here. what’re you doing on this street?”

the man scans the area, a rather shady one he must internally admit, but he does not mention this observation to you. he knows what you are just by the sight of you, and truthfully he knows better than to roll down the window in an unfamiliar area, especially one such as this, but beneath you’re painted face and skimpy clothes, you look so… beautiful.

he can’t help but allow you a moment to try to speak with him.

“well i,” he starts, exhaling heavily. “i was driving home from work and seem to have lost my way,” he murmurs rather tiredly.

“so you are lost.”

“i’m figuring it out.”

he’s bluffing, of course. you can tell by the way his brows begin to angle and a hint of flush dusts over his cheeks as he attempts to decide what to look at.

“you want some help then?” you propose, and the blonde man of class hesitates.

“…i may not have a choice in the matter,” he tells you, and in that moment you think you have him. you think that you’ve got him under your control, wrapped around your finger, so when he eventually invites you into the passenger seat to direct him to his place of residence: an unfathomably wealthy penthouse in the west end, you don’t expect him to allow you to accompany him upstairs for the sole sake of ‘courteously providing you a nice place to stay’ for the night.

you believe it to be a trick. surely men of riches harbor the very same greed men of less fortune do, certainly so when they find themselves in a house alone with a pretty girl.

you try to lock your eyes on the opportunity, to not be swayed by the dim lighting illuminating a velvet encrusted residence of sleek glamour, of big open windows and lights that brighten automatically when you walk into the room, of granite top islands in porcelain white kitchens and the polite request to slip your shoes off at the door. you try to look past the unfathomable wealth you have stumbled upon that reveals itself boldly in this penthouse, but your slack jaw betrays you as you stumble rather clumsily across the living room with your head tilted to the ceiling and your jacket sliding from your shoulders.

you go to toss it onto to couch when the man is suddenly behind you, slipping it from the ends of your arms and tucking it over his own. you turn and cock a brow at him with a half smirk, to which he clears his throat with gentle eyes and a nod. surely he is being kind for the payment of your body in return, you believe. and you would like nothing more, than to wring penny by penny from this devilishly attractive, horribly wealthy man.

you are quick to slide against him when he returns from the closet, pressing a hand to his chest and wrapping painted fingers around his tie to draw him closer.

“how long?” you ask him in a seductive whisper, trailing your other hand over his shoulder. he shudders, sucking in a breath and pinching brows together before gently taking your hand in his and removing it from his clothing. you falter in slight confusion.

“how about a meal first?” he proposes, not necessarily denying you yet not necessarily accepting you either.

your instincts kick in. you step back slightly. “i don’t eat from strangers,” you deflate.

“yet you’ll sleep with one on an empty stomach?”

the question is innocent, but it has your stomach turning and your brow twitching against your will. you clench your jaw. “i can tell what men want from sex. i can’t tell what they want with food.”

he hums, a pensive look on his face as he examines you with those gentle eyes again, and you frown. “you can watch me cook. i promise i want nothing more than to eat, and to at least make you feel welcome. after all, you’re a guest.”

your head spins. you’re a guest? and he wants to cook for you?

an instinct to run flourishes. not because you feel endangered, but because you can not understand what you are doing here if this man does not want you physically.

nevertheless, you stay. you sit on his countertop and watch as he moves about the kitchen with ease, your feet swaying back and forth and obscene remarks falling from your lips periodically. he’ll turn and look at you from time to time, lips pressed together and brow raised though you catch the redness that dusts over his face each time.

he pulls the chair out at his dining table for you to sit when finished, and you eye him as he does, confused, concerned. does he treat all strangers like this- all women like this? has he done this before? is he a serial killer secretly aiming to lure you in with kindness, shelter, and nourishment? does he even want to have sex with you?

your overthinking only increases when you slowly lift a fork full of piping food to your mouth and your eyes double in size when the incredible flavors burst on your tongue. you feel his eyes on you, silently inquiring if you enjoy it or not, but before he can ask, you’re stuffing your face as though you haven’t eaten in days.

he looks surprised at first, by your sheer lack of manners, but soon smiles in satisfaction, happy that he can appease you.

you clean your plate, and he runs you a bath, he gives you a robe, he allows you to use all his lotions and oils that you have never heard of before in your life and can hardly even pronounce the name of.

he provides m you comfort in his home as he cleans from dinner, and finally, as time would have it, you are bathed and free of makeup and skimpy clothing, clad solely in fluffy garb with damp hair and bright eyes.

you don’t know why you’ve succumbed to this treatment. you don’t even understand what it means. hell, you don’t even know the man’s name, but he has somehow made you feel more human within the span of a couple hours than you ever have in your life.

and when you emerge from the bathroom into his bedroom as he lay aside his blazer and undone tie, he catches sight of you in his long mirror before turning to face you completely.

his eyes glimmer slightly, the tenseness in his shoulders falling as he takes you in for the umpteenth time, chocolatey eyes surveying you as though you’re and angel on earth, and you hug your arms around yourself with a pout.

you’re bare. no provocative clothes to hide in, no makeup to conceal your insecurities, but just you before a man you’ve never met, and you’re internally frightened. you’re confused. you’re… comfortable.

you think it’s finally time to do what you’ve come to do when he approaches you with slow strides, gaze heavy and button up hugging his build regally.

he stands before you, wood and minty fragrance clinging to his air in your presence, a hand reaching to your cheek. you flinch when his warm palm meets your skin, your eyes roaming over his well sculpted features as his lashes flutter over his cheek in a you-induced daze.

you swallow hard, attempting to muster up the confidence you had earlier in the night. “how long?” you ask again, voice lower and arms tight around your own waist.

“what’s your name?” he asks you instead and your expression sours again.

“what?”

“your name, beautiful,” he murmurs, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “i never caught it.”

flashes of hands slamming against your cheek flicker through your mind as this warm contrast occupies the same space, a once stinging plane of touch. “why d’ya need to know it?”

“i don’t need to. i just would like to.”

“is this some kind of joke?”

his brows knit. “no?” he says truthfully. “i only think it’s appropriate-“

“you think i need saving?” you bite, interrupting him and brushing his hand away.

he recoils it just as quickly. “no. no i don’t.”

“then what is this?” you shrug, your last experiences bleeding into your vision of this moment. “are you gonna fuck me or not? i don’t have time for this- this- frilly, psychotic- whatever this is! i’m not broken. i don’t need you to swoop in and save me. you’re not doing me any favors. either pay to fuck me or leave me be.”

and even your abrupt outburst does not turn him away. he allows you to speak. he doesn’t interrupt, only listens patiently, and when you’re done, he’s calmly responding: “i never meant to offend you. i’ve never done anything like this before, and i’m used to treating women to dates, and not...” he pauses. “…whether you expect me to or not, i don’t intend to toss you around and throw you aside for money. i want to get to know you and to treat you how you should be treated.”

“buddy, i’m a street whore. there’s no other way to treat me but to do with me what i’m paid to do.”

he breathes in slowly. “perhaps. but i’m not that kind of man,” he looks you in the eye. “you deserve better. i can give you better.”

“but why me?” you scoff. “there’s plenty other girls like me out there.”

a hint of a smile ghosts his face. “i don’t know if there are,” he says and you still. “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but again, i would like to know your name.”

all those swift, angry nights, those hard hands, those filthy words, they swarm your head and attempt to scream at you to run, to flee from these foreign romantics, as you were never made to receive them, but instead your relaxed heart and body speak for you.

“…(y/n)… is my name.”

he hums, smile brightening. “how gorgeous,” he compliments again and you shy away. “my name is kento.”

kento nanami.

the name rings through your head and past your parted lips with the gentle drag of his palms over your bare body, sweltering lips sweetly devouring the plump freshness of your skin.

whispers of praise and eager devotion spill into your ears, breath ghosting your earlobe and thick fingers working in and out of your soaked heat, drooling all over his hands as he takes his time with you, practically worships you with the consumption of your very soul.

your heart is hammering into your chest, your nerves on fire, for no one has ever been this slow with you, no one has ever been so gentle yet firm at once, clinging to you for fear that you’ll run away before he can appreciate every inch of your being.

you’re overwhelmed, by kisses and heated glances and weighted breaths and sultry moans. you’re dizzy with pleasure you never knew to be true as you writhe against silk sheets with your legs wrapped tightly around his neck, his tongue swirling and slurping over your clit and into your aching walls.

kento’s hair is a mess of sexy tangles as he pushes himself into you slowly, and thrusts with the urge to care, to feel.

you think you’re dreaming up this new world of indescribable satisfaction, one that leaves you numb yet tingling all at once. one that wraps you up, flush against his well defined abdomen with hands pressed to the small of your back and lips dragging over your own. one that has you cumming from penetration for the first time, and over and over again after that. one that has you dragging your nails down his bare back, one that draws your brows together and pulls glints of tears from your eyes. one that assures you, encourages you, that groans through gritted teeth how amazing you take him, how good you are, and how much more he desires to pull from you.

and in your spent stupor of overstimulation after hours of various positions and white hot pleasure, a warm cloth drags over the areas in which he has spilled his own arousal amid yours, and you realize in the back of your mind that this is the first man who has ever partaken in aftercare with you.

he embraces you warmly from behind as you drift off, kissing your shoulder and winding his burly arms around your waist. you sink into delighted slumber, your body light and your mind at ease.

you wake the next day to find the bed empty, but a note, an obscene wad of cash, a plate of fruit, muffins, and a coffee on the bedside dresser. you lean over to grab the note slowly, the pleasant aches in your body limiting your motion, and read his curly writing:

good morning, beautiful. i’m sorry i couldn’t wake next to you, i had to run out to work. i’ve left some breakfast and money for you to get yourself something nice, as well as to get home safely if you decide to leave, but by all means, stay if you would like. i would love to spend more time with you, whether it be today or any other time. i’d like to take you on a real date sometime, too, only if you’ll allow me. the decision is yours. i hope you enjoyed yourself. I know i surely did. have a wonderful morning, and if you need anything, give me a call. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

you think, then and there, you are absolutely doomed.

[evilhasnever]

my hot take is that none of these people should be CC postcanon but the single wrongest answer is the one CQL came up with (and that is LWJ).