#thought . is generous . its closer to consumption

[slutcore-starships]

.

[k4vehrtz]

WHORETICULTURE. various jjk men / sub gn. reader

synopsis. filled with lust for some fucking guy.

who. nanami kento / satoru gojo / toji fushiguro / heian era! sukuna . ✦ . what. one night stand / unprotected sex / mild religious themes/ thigh riding / slut shaming / against a wall / mean dom (or just brat)! satoru / exes with benefits / exhibition / recreational drug use + alcohol consumption ergo dubious consent / oral (r giving) / body betrayal / brat! reader / implied cnc kink + masochism / domination loss / mild degradation + nipple play / double penetration

notes. terms are kept general thus gender neutral reader but it’s entirely up to your interpretation. a mini compilation of thirsts i had while attempting to fight writer’s block and an unforgiving schedule.

⸻ ## I KNEW IT WHEN I. . .

MET HIM !

[ NANAMI KENTO ]

nanami kento was the embodiment of the traditional man in every sense. he was a businessman — clad in a white button–down, black slacks, and a matching tie hanging around his collar. five days a week, monday to friday, nine a.m. to five p.m. a true provider.

that much you can assume from observation alone. he’s not like the usual crowd; the man stands out. so, it’s only natural that you become curious.

“i’m not above sex before marriage,” and when he speaks, he takes his time to carefully enunciate each word with practised precision. something you didn’t know you were attracted to until now, straddling his thighs.

“somethin’ tells me you’re not just a—” he presses a finger to your lips, interjecting, “if you’re suspicious of me we can always stop,” and you quiet down, rocking your hips back and forth as you feel his erection grow beneath your crotch.

the backseat of his car is a tight fit but it makes it all the more intimate. remnants of nicotine on his breath waft across your face, warming your skin.

“the windows are tinted,” he murmurs, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb, “it’s as private as it’s going to get,” before inserting the aforementioned finger into your mouth.

you smile to the best of your ability, wet muscle swirling around the salty digit as you maintain your grinding. slow and steady, purposeful movements that prompt just the right amount of friction between the two of you.

“isn’t this—” nanami interjects once more (you can barely get a word out), by way of pressing his thumb against your tongue thus causing a copious amount of saliva to cascade down your face. it’s wet and messy and done entirely for his own amusement. “we’re not celibate.”

[ SATORU GOJO ]

“do you—” he pauses mid–sentence, startling blue eyes fixated on his cock sliding in and out of your puffy entrance before continuing, “usually sleep with the stranger that saves you from a creep at the club or am i special?”

if you could’ve, you would’ve rolled your eyes. he’s talkative — too talkative but you find yourself enjoying the sound of his voice anyway. your hole quivers and tightens, gripping him like a vice at the implication that hangs between the two of you.

“i’m not easy ‘toru,” you protest in a weak attempt to sound firm though it leaves your parted lips as a breathy whine instead. and satoru smiles at that, chest rising and falling rapidly as he laughs.

“when did i say you were easy, stupid?” he asks, feigning innocence as he tilts his head to one side, bringing one hand up to your face to pat your cheek.

the action being somewhat degrading in its own sense. but ‘toru — satoru — was just like that. saying one thing and meaning or doing another. you couldn’t wrap your head around him.

and he revels in the fact, his smile continuing to grow; the type that meets his eyes and makes them crinkle ever so slightly.

“you wound me,” he tsks, bringing his lips closer to your ear as your body jolts upwards against the wall in sync with his cock bullying your hole, “all i meant by it was that we just met and look where we are now.”

‘it’s the same thing’ you think, but that’s all it is — a thought. when your lips part, you only vocalize a string of  moans. satoru was a labyrinth and you were lost in him — or rather the pleasure he provides.

“bet you’re already justifying this in your head.”

⸻ ## I LOVED HIM WHEN I. . .

LEFT HIM !

[ TOJI FUSHIGURO ]

“what —” he lifts the shot glass to his parted lips, “are you thinkin’ about?” before swallowing a mouthful of cheap liquor, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he does so.

it’s a good question; one you don’t know the answer to, but a good question all the same. you’re thinking about everything and anything while simultaneously not thinking at all — a blunt dangling haphazardly between your lips.

“you want to know what i’m thinkin’ about?” so you answer his question with a question like a smart ass instead, leaning in until you’re nose–to–nose with the man you swore you’d never see again. and he doesn’t hesitate, a half–smile playing on his lips as they ghost yours. they’re warm, lighting a fire beneath the surface of your skin in its wake.

“no, i don’t want to know,” he sing–songs in response, catching you somewhat off guard. what blindsided you though was him lowering the waistband of both his grey sweatpants and his boxers. his cock, exposed to the cool air of the alleyway, standing at full mast—a vein running from the base to the tip.

suddenly your mouth feels dry and your knees feel the slightest bit weaker. it’s muscle memory — or its evil cousin that encourages your body to betray you.

you’re sinking to your knees, blunt discarded somewhere on the concrete (for god’s sake, you don’t care). your lips part, cheeks hollowed and throat relaxed. quiet anticipation coursing through your veins as you feel the weight of his cock in your palms.

“you know what to do,” he rumbles from above you, picking at the beds of his nails. and he’s right, you do know what to do; how he likes it.

you take him into your mouth, dragging your tongue along the outline of his piercing some ways below the head of his cock. and toji lets out a satisfied groan. once, twice, and then a third time before you focus on taking his full length into your mouth inch by inch until he’s hit the back of your throat.

from there, you move your mouth along his length, tracing every inch of it with your tongue — imprinting its shape in your mind all over again. it’s more like refreshing an old memory rather than creating a new one.

“knew you’d—” he clenches his jaw, cock throbbing in your mouth as saliva mixed with his pre–cum slips past your lips stretched to capacity around him, “come back t’me.”

 [ HEIAN ERA! SUKUNA ]

“i’m—” your breath hitches, catching in your throat in sync with the rise of your shoulders, “many things my lord, but sorry isn’t one of them,” as your hips stutter.

momentarily. one hundred and twenty seconds.

it takes sukuna less than thirty seconds to capitalize on your fault. two hands wrap around your hips, nails pressed into the tender skin forming crescent-shaped indents. you’re forced to move to his rhythm now; cruel and unforgiving.

“should’ve focused on what’s important little one,” he clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment. he’s far from disappointed though, his cocks — both of them — buried to the hilt throb inside of you. and an onslaught of tears blur your vision; your mind is clouded by a myriad of sensations.

you’re somewhere between excruciating pain and unbelievable feats of pleasure.

“this isn’t—” you try, albeit with great difficulty as your words come in between gasps. but sukuna interjects, the corners of his lips curling upwards: “fair? stupid, this game of ours was never meant to be but you know that already.”

two more hands make contact with your skin after that exchange; two fingers on one hand pinching your nipple whereas the other holds your face in place so that you maintain eye contact with him.

and sukuna rolls his eyes as soon as your gazes meet though it’s a somewhat playful gesture. something most would find difficult to picture. but not you — never you.

“stop pretending to be a damsel in distress i’m not a—” he pauses mid–sentence, smile growing as he thrusts his hips, “well, i’m not that kind of monster,” the sound of his skin colliding with yours echoing throughout the room.

you whimper, staring at him through half–lidded eyes and a curtain of lashes wet with unshed tears: “i like what i like.”

 © k4vehrtz — all rights reserved. do not, under any circumstances, plagiarize / repost / translate my work.

[moonknightly]

lost in a moment, every moment when we touch—

poe dameron x afab!reader

word count: 2.8k+

warnings: porn with really no plot, alcohol consumption (and poe's kind of pushing it without really pushing it), rough sex, idk nothing special it's just drunk sex with your boyfriend after you leave a shitty bar for the night, i use “fuck” a lot because “kriff” just wasn’t hitting the way i needed it to

notes: happy may the fourth babies<3 i haven't written for my man in years but here he is

It’s rare that you find yourself able to step away from the fast paced, chaotic world this never ending war has brought upon the galaxy. You hardly have a moment to breathe before jumping from one mission onto the next. 

Not that you mind, of course you don’t mind. You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the Resistance. 

So of course you look a little out of place when you wind up with a night off after another successful mission and end up at a questionable bar with your comrades. The music is loud but so different from rapid gunfire, and it’s dark but not like the endless galaxy outside of your X-Wing. The stimuli are so completely unfamiliar while harboring traits you should be accustomed to. 

One thing that you think will always be familiar, however, is Poe. 

He looks relaxed. Sure of himself. Confident. You know better than to believe that the man never feels nervous or out of place like you’re feeling now, though he could’ve fooled you—he always seems so stoic, so sure, even when he has to fake it. 

But you know that he’s not faking it now. He really is just relaxed, taking the full opportunity of a night away from the Resistance and the Order to let himself be. The crowd doesn’t bother him, the burn of alcohol sliding down his throat isn’t as foreign to him. He looks as comfortable here as he does when he’s flying. 

And it’s hot. You have to fucking admit, you find it so hot. 

Maybe it’s the shot (two?) that he’s ordered for you, maybe it’s leftover adrenaline, you’re not sure. You think it could be because he’s just…hot. You’re allowed to objectify your boyfriend, right? It feels like you’re objectifying him. Oh Maker are you-

“How many shots is it going to take to loosen you up, baby?”

His voice shocks you out of your thoughts. Your eyes flash towards him and fuck, the way he’s looking at you-

“Are you trying to get me drunk, General?”

“Maybe.” He says it so nonchalantly, like he’s not doing something kind of questionable, something that should’ve been a red flag for you. 

But it’s Poe. You trust Poe. 

He clears his throat when you don’t answer and your attention is brought back to his infuriatingly handsome face. He’s always handsome, Gods he is so so good looking but the alcohol has you wanting to crawl into his lap and wrap your legs around his middle while he tangles a hand into the back of your hair and you wonder if you’d be able to taste traces of booze-

You had to have made a face. Had to have. Poe looks amused and he’s chuckling, watching you with that certain fondness in his stupid brown eyes that he only has for you. 

“Can we get a third?” Poe asks the bartender (so it was two) as they make their round. 

You laugh quietly under your breath, cheeks warming just a bit. “So you are trying to get me drunk.” 

“No baby,” he hums, easily slipping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his side. His body feels like it's on fire, he’s always so warm and inviting and sturdy. You’re able to release some of the tension that seems ever present in your body when he’s holding you. “I’m just tryin’ to get you to relax is all.”

“That so?” you hum, allowing your hand to inch its way under his shirt so you can gently touch the small of his back, craving skin to skin. He shivers. 

Poe only hums, his smile turning into more of a smirk as two shots are placed down in front of him. He slides yours across the bar towards you, raising the small glass to his lips just as you did, timing his shot so you take them together. You’re getting used to the burn, but it still causes you to pull a face. Poe however, looks completely unphased by the scorching liquid sliding down his throat. 

And he missed a drop. It’s rolling down his neck, mingling with leftover sweat and oh no, oh no. You want to catch it for him before it dries and turns his skin sticky. You want to lean forward and lick the column of his throat and relish in that sweet and salty taste on your tongue that could only belong to him, you want-

You let your thoughts run wild for a moment, and again you would probably feel bad about some of the things you’re thinking but he’s your boyfriend, it has to be okay. 

When that shot hits your bloodstream and that drop is still near his collarbone, you indulge in those not so innocent thoughts. 

You lean forward and grip the edge of his shirt gently, tugging it to the side, just enough to expose more of his collarbone to you. Poe watches with curious eyes and a tilt of his head, lips pursed, and he’s about to ask what you’re doing when your tongue hits his warm skin and his words dissolve into the quietest of moans. You gently lap at the spot, only soaking his skin further and when you finally give him a little bite, let your teeth graze against his skin, he loses it. 

He’s the first to pull away, keeping his hands on your waist, eyes dark and locked on yours. You glance at him, looking him up and down once, twice, and you don’t remember his pants being so tight when you’d walked into the bar. 

“What are you trying to do baby?” he husks, voice strangled, trying to control his desire and failing miserably. 

You shrug, trying to keep it innocent. “I was just trying to clean you up.”

His mouth falls slack, just a little, and his pupils are completely blown. He licks his lips and what should’ve been such a simple action isn’t. His wet tongue peeking out of his mouth, running along his bottom lip…you’re struggling to keep your composure, just like him. You still don’t have the upper hand.

And Poe notices. Oh, of course he notices. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking about honey.” 

He perches his elbow on the bar, tilting his head to the side as he regards you carefully, intent to hang onto your every word. 

But your words escape you. Completely escape you. He’s winning this game of cat and mouse and he knows it. 

He’s sure another round will get you talking, so he orders you each your fourth. You reach for the glass to throw it back but Poe stops you, easily plucking it from your fingers. 

“C’mere,” he purrs, leaving his own glass on the counter as he grabs your chin and forces your head back. You open your mouth without him needing to ask, without needing to even think about it really. 

It’s so interesting, how you obey him even when there’s no verbal command given. 

Poe brings the glass to your lips and slowly starts to tip it back, letting the stinging liquid flow down your throat slowly this time, prolonging the burn. Once you’ve finished the shot, Poe moves his grip from your jaw to the hair at the back of your neck and he pulls, bringing your lips crashing onto his. He smirks into it when your hands meet the tops of his thighs, and he thinks he’s finally going to get you into his lap so he can discreetly grind against your ass while you makeout at the bar. 

But you dig your nails into his skin instead, pausing again, holding still. 

He groans quietly in the back of his throat and pulls away, just enough for him to look into your eyes, the furrow between his brows prominent. 

You’re smiling, just a little bit, cheeks flushed and eyes a little wild. You lick your lips before you speak. “If we start this here I don’t think I’d be able to stop you from bending me over the counter in front of everyone.”

Poe tilts his head, as if he’s considering how right you actually are when the reality is, yeah, he knows he would. If he could get away with it, if he was on a planet where nobody knew his name, he would.

“So?” he asks, unable to keep the amusement off his face and the little bit of humor out of his tone. “You’re saying you don’t want everyone to watch you get split open on my cock?” 

You hit his chest, attempting to chastise him for his vulgar words but he’s said worse, and you don’t actually hate it. Poe just laughs because he knows as much. 

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he runs his hands up your thighs, fingers grabbing onto your hips. “Then why don’t we get out of here before that happens, hm?”

You don’t need him to ask twice. You’re just as eager to get him somewhere quiet and alone. 

Poe throws a handful of credits, enough to pay for your drinks and probably more, down on the counter before standing with you. He reaches for his last shot, still untouched on the counter in front of him, and throws it back. He doesn’t even flinch, again, and his hand immediately falls to your lower back as he starts to guide you through the busy bar. Nobody looks your way, nobody pays attention because this isn’t anything new. Poe’s only been going home with you for a long time now.

You’d already reserved quarters for the evening, knowing you wouldn’t want to fly back to base after getting hammered. The room isn’t anything fancy, but it’s clean and the bed is softer than anything you’ve laid on in years. Poe doesn’t even worry about taking off your clothes before he’s pushing you down onto it. 

He kisses you and somehow his lips are even more frantic than they had been at the bar only ten minutes before. He moans as he licks into your mouth, familiar and warm, bringing one hand up to cup your jaw and keep you still for him. You’re completely pliant underneath him while he kisses your breath away, letting him take the lead. 

His lips break away from yours though, sooner than you’d like, and you whine but it’s quickly replaced by a sharp gasp when he nips your collarbone. He closes his lips around your skin, sucking gently at first but then you can feel his teeth start to sink in. When he pulls back, he traces the small, red bruise with the tip of his finger.

“That’s for not letting everyone watch,” he teases gently, his smirk playful. “I thought it would be a good reminder, but this will have to do.” 

“Mm, I don’t think anyone really needs a reminder,” you chuckle. You can’t help but dissolve into a quiet laugh, but the sound is cut short when Poe kisses you again. 

This time, he doesn’t pull away. Not until you’re panting and writhing underneath him, lips glossy and swollen, eyes glazed. His cock is so hard in his pants, it’s a surprise the zipper didn’t bust. You rub your thighs together, trying to clench just right so you find some sort of relief. You’re both more than ready, just from a little kissing and what you’d call foreplay at the bar. 

You’re pretty sure Poe Dameron could look at you a certain way and you’d be ready, though. The thought makes you laugh again as he grabs your hips and easily flips you onto your stomach, dragging your hips up and back until your ass meets his clothed dick. He doesn’t ask you why you’re laughing, too preoccupied with tugging your pants down from your waist to your thighs, and just like before the sound is cut short again, replaced with a sharp gasp and a moan as his hand falls to your ass in a stinging slap. 

He smacks your ass a second time before you hear the soft clanking of metal, and you know he’s undoing his belt. You bite your lip in anticipation as you feel him notch the tip of his cock at your entrance, but he doesn’t push into you any further than that, not yet. He wants to hear you whine for it.

And you do. You whine and you moan quietly and try to push yourself back onto him, but he doesn’t let you. Poe sighs, feigning disappointment, and not a second later you feel his hand wrap around your neck and he’s pulling, pulling you up until your back meets his chest and his lips land at the shell of your ear, his breath hot and heavy. 

“So kriffing needy,” he hums as he finally slips all of the way inside of your tight body. “So warm, and so kriffing, kriff-” 

“I think you might be the needy one,” you whimper, turning your face to glance at him over your shoulder, except he never lets you, his fingers around your neck holding you effectively in place. 

Poe huffs, drawing his hips back before snapping them forward again, just once. Just to give you a taste. “I think you might want to hold onto something before I blow your back out.”

Except he never lets you do that either, not before he’s started a relentless pace against you, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust and you wonder briefly if he actually could blow your back out like this. You wouldn’t be surprised. He’s almost brutal, the way he fucks you but it’s exactly how you want it. Rough, fast, heated. You want to be completely surrounded by him. 

“That’s it baby, just take it. Just take it.” 

He has one arm wrapped tightly around your middle to keep you upright and close while his hand that had previously been around your neck drifts down to the hem of your shirt. He tugs the fabric over your head with as little difficulty as he can manage, bra coming with it, pace never changing. He watches your tits bounce over your shoulder as he fucks into you from behind, fingers slipping down to play with your clit. 

Your eyes roll back as he plucks pleasure from your body with each little stroke of his fingers and the delicious drag of his cock inside of you. His moans in your ear shoot straight to your pussy each and every time, and you feel like you can’t breathe. He’s fucking you so thoroughly, so deeply you feel like you can feel him in your throat.

It’s quick, and it’s exactly how you need it. It’s not a night full of pleasure and cumming your brains out until you’re so cock drunk you can’t remember your own name, although you can’t seem to think of anything other than his. Or say anything for that matter.  

He rubs your clit faster, applying just a little more pressure as he angles his hips up, bullying that spot inside of you over and over again. 

“Kriff, baby, come on,” he moans, tongue swiping out to lick along your ear. “I’m gonna cum, I need you to cum too.” 

You’re so close. Right on the edge of falling into oblivion but you just can’t quite get there. A little cry escapes your throat, one that makes a growl tear from Poe’s. 

He collapses forward suddenly, caging you in under his body as he continues to rut himself into, chasing both his and your release like it’s the most important mission he’s ever completed. It’s then, once you are actually completely surrounded by him that you let go. 

You’re not sure if the sounds leaving your body are moans or screams or some combination of both. Your hearing fades and your vision turns stark white behind your eyelids. You’re not sure how long you stay there, suspended in absolute bliss before he lets you come down, slowly slowly slowly, fingers still playing with your clit as he finally stills inside of you. You can feel Poe’s warm cum leaking out around him and dripping down onto the mattress below.

His lips are still at your ear, and you let yourself focus on the sound of his breathing as you try to remember how to do so properly. You’re covered in sweat, but so is he, and your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much as usual. It’s so hard to move, and you don’t want to. You want to stay in this little bubble, trapped underneath him where all you have to do is lay there and take it like he tells you. 

You let yourself live in that little daydream as Poe settles on top of you, too tired himself to even pull out or roll over but you don’t mind. Not at all.

The war can wait.

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

LOVE POTIONS ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ BJ Lips, princess paparazzi — love potions ♩

pairing: pope heyward x reader

cw: blood, period sex, speaks of a soul tie / spirituality.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day three.

you’d been on three dates. you didn’t think pope heyward would be this down for anything.

“its blood.” he shrugs, shuffling closer to you to throw a slightly nervous arm around your shoulder. “look, it’s nothing i haven’t seen before. plus, isn’t sex supposed to… relieve you of cramps and all that bad stuff? i can think of one hundred ways this could be mutually beneficial. unless you don’t want to, then that’s totally cool too.”

next thing you know, you’re on your back.

you’re used to getting wet for pope, but the sounds coming from down below were obscene. a thicker, more humiliating squelch slapping each wall of the room as you gasp, letting pope roll his hips, eyes fluttering.

“holy shit, right?” he groans quietly and it’s only then you realise that he’d been wanting this, fantasising about it even for a while now. despite the room being only lit by your lamp, you can still see the way your dark blood coats the skin connecting the two of you and drips gorily onto the towel he’d lovingly laid out below.

“so sensitive.” you whisper, quivering — not feeling any urge but to raise your voice any louder. the two of you were simply so close, so connected that upping the volume even slightly could shatter the intense intimacy created.

“yeah?” he huffs sympathetically, yet his hands press your thighs wider — still fucking into you slowly and kindly. you whine. “jesus you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.” he huffs all in one breath, entranced by the sounds leaving you. three dates in, and something about this intimate act had pope gasping to say those three forsaken words. not now. not yet.

you felt euphoric, which is something you never thought was possible to feel on day two of your period. whilst those few days are usually spent wallowing in bed, undoing every positive affirmation you’ve ever told yourself in the mirror as you pick apart your every flaw— staring at nothing but the four walls of your bedroom, the room seemed to look different now, sparkly and new— just like how you felt on the inside. pope thought you were beautiful. even like this.

the definition of soul tie is as followed: ‘Soul ties are profound spiritual connections shared with someone else that generally transcend the closeness in a typical relationship. A soul tie can cause you to feel incredibly attached to a person, and life without them becomes hard to imagine.’ those were the words staring back at pope on his laptop screen only one evening later, back in his own room.

“dude you’ve been on like three dates, do you maybe wanna cool it? she’s gonna say you’re like, lovebombing or some shit.” jj’s voice breaks through the facetime call, popes phone screen shoved off into a corner displaying the blonde reclining on a gaming chair in his room, tossing a ball into the air and catching it. pope barely glances his way, staring off into the white of the google page and tapping his fingers absentmindedly.

“it just feels different. i— i don’t know what to tell you jj, i’ve never felt this way before.”

the hum of white noise from jj’s fan rings repeatedly. a dog barks outside in the distance.

“is it bad if i call her?”

he feels like a pervert when you pick up the phone, because he’s already got his thumb grazing his tip. memories of that night flush his body, excite him to the point of dizziness.

“pope, it’s late.” he can hear that you’re smiling and now he’s remembering the way you moan, the way your brows twitch into a furrow and your bottom lip trembles slightly.

“i needed to call you.” he sighs, beside himself. there’s a pause on the other end.

“is everything okay?” the worst outcomes fill your mind, he sounded awfully serious after all. it had only been three dates, what could you have done in that time to destroy his perception of you? your guard flies up, ready to defend yourself. he was the one that suggested period sex.

“look i… can’t stop thinking about you.”

you deflate in your bed, lips twitching into a relieved smile.

“aw, pope that sweet. i can’t stop thinking about—”

“no, like — i’m really sorry to cut you off but it’s, it’s disturbing me. you’re infiltrating my every thought. ever since… that night, all i can think about it doing it again— and— and i don’t just think about you sexually, you know? i hope you don’t feel objectified i mean obviously i would love to… touch you again, but it’s more than that— and jj told me not to ‘lovebomb’ you and if it feels that way i apologise but—”

“pope… it’s okay.” he hears teeth and saliva. you’re grinning.

“right…okay.” for the first time in a minute, the boy breathes. “so… i hope this doesn’t sound batshit crazy but, do you have any opinion’s on soul ties?”

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Asahi Azumane NSFW Profile

Yandere! Asahi Azumane x fem! reader

TW: kidnapping, mentions of non-con, light somnophilia, masturbation, panty sniffing, breeding, lactation kink, mentions of pegging, Asahi wears lingerie, size kink but remember that Asahi is very large and it's written with the idea that everyone is smaller than Asahi, one very, very brief mention of reading not eating enough, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

Before having you in his life, sex was something Asahi wasn’t super comfortable with. Despite coming more out of his shell with the passing years, he’s never truly shaken off his shyness, and so the prospect of casual sex is absolutely not something he’s interested in.

He’s had a girlfriend or two and is thus not a stranger to women’s bodies, but he’s found that he’s simply just not that sexual of a man. Sex just wasn’t important to think about – he gets easily flustered even as a fully grown adult, and while he can handle mature conversations about intimacy, just the thought of being so lewd and bending someone over to have his way with them gets his ears turning red, his knees buckling and his words coming out all slurred and distorted because he can’t think clearly.

It’s embarrassing, if he’s being honest, and so he finds himself simply avoiding sex and, in turn, partners. And this extended into his personal sex life and habits as well – he’s not the most regular in terms of touching himself, preferring to just let the bout of horniness or the occasional incessant boner pass on its own.

He’ll do it occasionally to relieve tension and because he enjoyed how it feels, but it’d only happen a few times a month, if only because the embarrassment was difficult to overlook. After all, how lonely is it to look down and see his own hand wrapped around his cock? Familiar fingers gripping his red, swollen length in the comfort of his own room, the lame background music he’d put on to feel better doing absolutely nothing.

The reality is that Asahi is actually quite lonely before you step into his life – he's not quite smooth and suave enough to be successful with women or even be willing to put himself out there, and the realization that the only way for him to get some sort of sexual relief is via himself makes him too sad to indulge often.

And even once you step into his life, this is still true – except now there’s the addition feeling of yearning, wishing so strongly that it’s your fingers instead of his own (or perhaps your mouth, your breasts, or – god forbid – your pussy) that touching himself becomes even more of an emotional struggle.

And as time passes, Asahi sticks to his typical pattern of seldomly masturbating – but then his feelings grow deeper, his infatuation with you festering more and more, his thoughts about you delicately toeing the line between sweet and only slightly disturbing to downright depraved.

After all, how can he not imagine fucking you in every position he’s ever seen?

How can he not imagine the sight of you perched in his lap, pretty body bare for him to ogle while you scoop your hips up and down, moaning his name and guiding your lips to latch onto a bouncing nipple, your cunt squeezing down on him like a fucking vice?

The embarrassment is still there, of course, as is the shame and loneliness, but his feelings for you are just too strong to ignore, his desperation too insistent to quell. And with every gasping, toe-curling orgasm that wracks his body, Asahi comes closer and closer to deciding that he needs you, that just his hand or his pillow aren’t enough to satisfy him.

No, he needs you – your touch, your body, your pretty, tight, warm walls sucking him in so hard that you never let him go.

As the frequency with which he gets off increases, Asahi finds that he has a particular system for how he pleasures himself - and it involves a secret that he is not proud of.

He’s not especially proud of the fact that he relies exclusively on the (now a bit ragged) pair of panties you’d accidentally left at his apartment in order to get off, but it’s too late to change now. You’d had a rather serious dental procedure, and had turned to Asahi to request that you stay the night at his place to minimize your driving and responsibilities while the anesthesia wore off.

Asahi had of course jumped at the chance, ending the phone call with shaking fingers, a blush covering every inch of his face, and his heart practically beating out of his chest at the prospect of sharing a roof with you for a night just like couples do. And he’d been attentive to your every need; cooking you a warm soup, getting the best sheets he had and letting you sleep in his bed rather than the couch.

(Of course, he still hasn’t washed those sheets after you’d slept in them – if he tries hard enough to thinks he can smell you in the fabric, occasionally finding strands of your hair by his pillow and letting each one sit on the tip of his tongue for just a moment, savoring the taste of you.)

You’d forgotten a pair of underwear in your overnight bag, and while Asahi had meant to tell you, curiosity got the better of him and before he knew it he was picking them up, swallowing thickly, and thumbing at the double-layered section that rubs right up against your folds. It was all too easy to imagine how you must look in them – the mental image of you making a shiver erupt down his spine, needing to lean on his desk for support.

He felt a bit guilty for not returning them, but he couldn’t help it - they were so utterly you, your favorite color and a style he just knows would frame your cute little ass perfectly, your plush thighs and creamy skin sitting on display and practically begging to be kneaded, squeezed at, marked up and bruised with hickeys.

And that night, as he lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking of your face and how he’d quite literally give up his own life just to kiss you once, just to feel your lips pressed snugly against his own, slowly the more risqué thoughts are drifting into his mind.

What would it feel like to have you kiss other parts of his body? How would you taste if he kissed your collarbone, gently suckled on a nipple, licked a long stripe up the puffy lips of your cunt?

How would you react if he were to teasingly kitten lick at your clit, or if he whispered a heated, honest I love you into your ear as he pushed deep inside of you and filled you to fucking brim with his cum?

His mind slowly drifts to more lewd areas, his body growing hot as he imagines you riding him like your life depended on it, bouncing up and down and making your entire body jiggle, your tits bouncing in his face and your voice thin and gasping as you tell him that it’s too much, I can’t Asahi, please, need you to fuck me now…

And soon, he’s deciding that he can’t just ignore the stroke of luck he’d gotten that day, that he’d somehow managed to come by a pair of your panties, something he’s only been able to dream about. And as he locks his door and dims the lights a bit, he’s snatching the pair of panties he’d neatly folded and placed on top of his dresser.

Immediately, he notices the slight fresh stain against the crotch, and his eyes go wide - you had already worn them? They’d already touched the slick, warm place between your legs, the place that gets Asahi salivating and bright red with just a mere thought?

With shaking hands, he timidly brings the cloth up to his nose, inhaling and moaning aloud as the smell he can only describe as you clouds his senses. They’re pungent, proof that you must have had a long day with them adorning your pretty body, and immediately his cock is standing at attention, his tip flushed and oozing precum in copious amounts, his balls occasionally twitching in desperation, practically begging to be touched. He lays the panties down against his face, tilting his head back slightly so that the cloth stays against his nostrils, the smell of you filling every breath his takes.

He gulps, wrapping his fingers around himself, hissing slightly at the pressure and letting his eyes drift closed. He gently squeezes, bringing his hand up to the tip, using his thumb to swirl around his slit for a moment as he brings the material once more up to inhale again.

He groans, the pleasure sending shivers down his spine, and before he knows it his fist is pounding down against his pelvis, long strokes against his rock hard cock as he grunts and lowly moans your name, airy breaths of oh – oh you’re so pretty, I love you – hah, love that pretty pussy of yours.

The pace is purposefully slow, his movements still a bit timid because he’s worried he’ll come too fast, that he’s too pent up, that the smell of you will send him over the edge way too soon.

He doesn’t want this moment to end – the pleasure, the exploration, the feeling of having you the closest he’s ever had. He continues to sniff and whine, absolutely amazed at the wonderful, musky scent of you, fantasies running through his mind about the way you’d react to him touching you, to him sinking his cock inside of you again and again and turning you into a trembling, incoherent mess all for him.

He can’t help himself from imagining what you’d smell like when you’re finally in front of him, a groan slipping from his lips as he imagines the way you’d feel perched on his face, your thighs caging in his head and your fingers raking through his hair as he slurps and sucks and moans against you, desperation lacing his movements because god he wants to make you come.

He can’t help but imagine you taking every inch of him inside that warm little pussy of yours, sucking him in and gripping onto his swollen length so tightly he’s sure you must never want to let go. And his eyes flutter close his lips part slightly, drool pooling in his mouth as he loses himself in the pleasure, the feeling of his hand so much better than normal now that he has something to smell, something that’s so clearly you rather than just his thoughts. His hand picks up a bit, and as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, panties still draped over his face when he stops short, eyes flying open as his hips buck wildly.

Tentatively he sticks his tongue out once more, rolling it against the crotch of your panties. Immediately his eyes are flying open and he’s whining your name, hips bucking up as he runs his tongue along the fabric once more, relishing the taste of you against his tongue.

Curses and whimpers of your name along with yes, o-oh yes yes yes, god feels so – so good fly out of his mouth. Suddenly a particularly hard clench of his abs makes him gasp, the words slurred and nearly incoherent as he moans out ‘m gonna – I can’t hold it in, a-ah oh god ‘m-!

His whole body tenses, every breath he takes smelling like you you you as warm cum spurts up and onto his chest, the t-shirt he’s wearing utterly destroyed as it just keeps coming, rope after rope. He’s moaning your name, eyes squeezed shut as he loses himself in your taste, imagining he’s buried as deeply in you as possible, stuffing you full of his cock that he’s all you can feel, all you can see and hear and taste and think of.

It takes him a few minutes to recover, and once his breathing is steady once more he’s staring at his ceiling, in shock of how good it felt to have your scent and taste, to make it seem just a bit more realistic. He’s careful with your panties as he delicately picks them up off of his face, chest still heaving with the residual pleasure of his orgasm, dutifully and carefully folding up the cloth.

After much debate he ends up slotting the panties neatly under his pillow, swallowing heavily and practically giddy with the knowledge that he’ll be sleeping so close to something of yours, his face mere inches away from you, basically.

And that night, as he lays in bed, he’s breathing in hard, hoping to get even the slightest whiff of you from below his pillow, sleep eventually lulling him into dreaming about you laying in his arms, his cum still leaking out of you.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your hands

Asahi’s always found himself drawn to your hands. Perhaps because his job requires so much of his hands between sewing, measuring, tailoring, and everything else, or perhaps because he’s simply attracted to them.

Regardless, Asahi quickly discovers that every time he’s with you, he’s always aching to reach out and intertwine his fingers with yours, to feel your palm pressed against his own.

And really, they’re just so small compared to his own rough, calloused hands – so soft and delicate, something he can stare at for hours without growing tired.

He’ll trace every line, every mole and mark, memorizing each and every detail because it all just feels so important. He doesn’t care whether your fingers are long and dainty, shorter and wider, veiny and pale, anything and everything is pure perfection to Asahi, and he’ll be worshipping your hands no matter what condition they’re in.

Even in the early stages of his obsession with you, he’s always been interested in them – the way you idly crack your knuckles, how you mindlessly tap random rhythms against your desk when you’re bored or waiting for something, how you run your fingers over your hair when you’re focusing.

He has a tendency to stare, and while he thinks that you don’t catch him often (you d0, but based upon the fire engine blush on his cheeks and the way his eyes immediately dart away, you figure it’d be kinder to not confront him about it), he’s been fascinated since day one with how they could possibly feel, how soft your fingers would be, the exact lines on your palms, whether they get clammy easily or not.

And once your relationship moves to the point of any sort of affection, Asahi’s preference for your hands will quickly become apparent – he’s trying to hold them at any chance he can get, intertwining his fingers with your own, bringing them up to kiss each knuckle individually, listing off a thing he loves about you for each.

He loves the way they feel against his own calloused palms, how your fingers are so much shorter than his own, how when you hold your palm up against his, you barely reach his last knuckles.

It only furthers his perception of you being so in need of protection, and he loves to feel those hands against him, touching him. He loves the sight of your fingers wrapped around his thick cock, barely able to wrap fully around, such a stark contrast to the hard, pulsing, veiny expanse of his length. He loves the friction as you thrust your hand up and down, biting his lip and knitting his brows together because even though it’s just a simple handjob it feels so much better when it’s your hands and fingers wrapped around him.

He loves how they feel against him when you’re touching him, running them along his front and down below his v line, how it sends shivers down his spine just to have you ghost a fingertip against his sensitive skin.

He likes holding your hand while he fucks you, keeping his grip on you firm as his hips steadily thrust into you, the pleasure slowly mounting. His fingers clench onto your own progressively tighter, until they nearly crush yours as he stares down at you with wide eyes, his lips falling open into a desperate moan of I – coming! while he buries his face in your neck, filling you with spurt after spurt of cum.

He loves the way you scratch his down his back as he hovers over you, the pleasure and pain mixing together while he focuses on holding off his orgasm for as long as possible, not wanting to end the feeling of being inside of you, not wanting to end the way you’re clutching onto him and moaning for him, begging for him and telling him that he feels so good Asahi ‘m gonna come-!

Asahi loves your hands, and at any given time he’ll be touching them in some capacity - whether it be holding your hand, resting his cheeks against your palm or sucking at your fingers while you toy with him and make tears well up in those pretty eyes of his.

He just loves them. 

His hair

He’s long harbored fantasies of you playing with his hair, to feel you giving it attention and mindlessly running your fingers through it.

He’s absolutely convinced that it would be the most comfortable, wonderful thing in the world, that it would be the single most amazing experience he’ll ever have, to have your attention solely focused on him, you touching him, maybe even telling him how lovely his hair is, how you’re jealous of how soft and smooth and pretty it is…

Just the thought of you complimenting his hair is enough to have him wildly blushing, his dark eyes staring at the floor in embarrassment and bashfulness, secretly yearning for you to tell him more, to compliment him again and again until he faints from all the blood rushing to his cheeks.

(And, though he’d never tell you, to his cock, too.)

And once you’re trapped with him in your new shared ‘home’, Asahi is still harboring the fantasy, even more so than before – and yet, he will never ask for it, never request for you to play with it, to run your nails against his scalp and gently tug on the roots.

He wont’ ask, if only because it feels wrong to request anything of you after he’s kidnapped you, when you’re so obviously still afraid of him.

So he waits in silence, praying for the day when you mindlessly start playing with his hair – he’ll always position himself so that his hair is accessible if the desire overtakes you, a small flame of hope igniting in him chest and extinguishing out every time you move and don’t come any closer to his head.

(He goes to bed on those nights with a heavy heart, his own tangling into his hair and tugging, your name slipping past his lips.)

But Asahi is a patient man, and once you do start absentmindedly playing with his hair, Asahi is beyond pleased to know that you don’t stop. You seem to grow an affinity for running your fingers through it, for braiding it, styling it, really doing anything at all.

He knows that you enjoy his hair – it becomes his favorite thing in the world to feel you play with it, and he spends hours with you sitting behind him with his head leaning back between your knees, his body starting out stiff because holy shit, he’s so close to you, but eventually relaxing, even falling into a slumber because the feeling is just so calming. He wants you to braid it, mess with it, do anything your heart desires with it because he loves the attention and the relaxing feeling it brings.

But of course, he also loves his locks for other, less wholesome reasons - the way you tug at it when he’s got his face buried between your legs, for example, and how your grip tightens against his scalp as you get closer and closer to release.

Sometimes you synch your cries with the tugs, something that Asahi is sure you’re unaware of, but he can’t help the way he forces himself to work harder, to focus more in order to get you off, in order make you have the most Earth shattering orgasm, the best feeling you’ve ever experienced, and with each hair tug he only becomes more determined.

He loves the way you get rough with it, the slight tinge of pain that accompanies it, and it never fails to make him groan, to sigh out your name against your cunt.

(Sometimes, when he’s in the mood but you physically aren’t in a position to touch his hair, he’ll reach up and tug at the strands himself, imagining your fingers instead of his own. It gets him whimpering, desperation for you so thick that he can nearly taste it, but Asahi just can’t help it. It’s an obsession in and of its own right, and he can’t deny how much he loves it.)

DRIVE:

Asahi’s drive is really quite average – he’s not an incessantly horny man by any means, and while he does have the occasional passing fantasy or wet dream, he’d never categorize himself as a hormone-driven man. He doesn’t watch porn, doesn’t follow any social media influencers whose content borders on the edge of distasteful, and he sometimes even fastforwards through sex scenes in movies simply because he finds it uncomfortable to watch two people having sex – even if it’s fake.

And so Asahi finds himself mostly avoiding intimacy on that level, though it’s not entirely on purpose. He’s by no means a saint, though; he’s still human, and when he sees a woman with particularly large breasts or perfectly manicured fingers there’s always the fleeting thought of what if, the fantasies clawing in the back of his mind of how he’d love to latch onto a nipple and suck, to imagine how much better those fingers would look wrapped around his cock or cupping at his balls.

He rarely touches himself, sure, but he’s not a stranger to sex, his limited experience still experience nonetheless.

And so while it’s very, very easy to fluster or rile him up,  he generally isn’t hard and desperate to fuck you at all times. He values you for much more than just your pussy – you’re his dream woman, the person he views as his life-long partner, the one he wants to spend every waking moment with and share every last breath. He’s content to just hold you, to press a soft kiss against your temple and whisper a little confession of love rather than pin you down and fuck you until you’re crying.

(Of course, he won’t say no if you were to beg him to touch you, his face only turning red and his voice cracking a bit as he rushes out a quick yes! Um, yes of course, I’ll uh, be right back… and then leaving the room to take a few deep breaths and whisper to himself that it will be fine, she wants you, you’ll do well, don’t overthink it.)

Asahi is very dependent on what you want, always concerned about your opinion and vote and desires, and so while there are times that those wild hormones do in fact take over and his body starts begging him to slip down that cute pair of panties he bought for you and sit you directly on his cock, to bounce you up and down and use you like some life sized sex toy, watching as your breasts jiggle and your face contorts up into that sexy, perfect little ‘o’, Asahi won’t until you make the move to do so.

(It’s out of respect and lucidity for your consent and state of mind. He already feels guilty enough from having stalked you and stolen you away to live in his modest apartment with him, and forcing himself onto you is absolutely the last thing he wants to do.)

He’s not constantly horny, but it doesn’t take too much to rile him up. A few suggestive words and lingering touches can have him needy and eager to touch and please you in mere seconds – casually tell him over dinner that you feel so empty, Asahi, won’t you come fill me up and watch the way his entire body stiffens, brown eyes meeting your gaze and immediately looking at the table in embarrassment, his face flushed a bright red and his knee bouncing under the table as he mutters out a are – are you sure? I don’t want to leave you hungry – not that you haven’t eaten enough! That’s not what I’m saying, I just – um, I uh… Do you really want that?

(His voice gets a bit vulnerable at the end there, his tone higher and his eyes daring to meet yours again, his mousy brown hair falling around his jaw like a halo.)

Leave a hand on his bicep and gently squeeze, biting your lip and making a show of raking your gaze up and down his body and you’ll see the way he gulps, the sound audible as he shudders a breath, his pants already growing tight and nudging against you.

(You can actually feel the warmth of him through his jeans when he does this – cock warm and ready and throbbing.)

For him, your pleasure is the number one priority, and as such it’s his duty to prioritize what you want when you want it, rather than his own desires. You should be in charge, should be the one calling the shots and telling him that you’re okay with him fucking you like he so desperately wants. You should be the one to tell him that it’s okay each time he nervously and compulsively asks you if it’s okay for him to kiss you or touch your waist or unclasp your bra or moan your name or come -

And even once you’re both naked and touching one another, he views his own orgasms as a background to yours. He mostly just wants you to feel good, and he’s pretty much at your beck and call for whenever you’d like to feel the euphoric high that only an orgasm can bring you, in whatever way you’d like him to get you there. He’s game to finger you, to eat you out, to fuck your cute little pussy that makes him moan and whine every time, even your ass if you bring it up.

Asahi never fails to deliver, and he’ll never, ever complain. He loves to touch you and get you moaning, even if he’s a bit shy and flustered the whole time. It makes him so, so happy to know that he’s the one touching you, that he’s the one making you feel so good and satisfied.

But before you begin feeling any desire to be with him in an intimate setting, Asahi still has urges. He still very, very badly wants to touch you and feel you against his skin, to trace out the map of your body and chart every mole, hair, blemish and roll.

You’re just so fucking perfect to him, and he can’t help but desire you physically when he sees the way your breasts bounce as you try to reach the top shelf in the kitchen (he’s more than happy to come to your rescue and grab the jar off the top shelf, secretly smitten with himself because he’d put it there with the hopes of creating this moment).

He can’t help but want to taste your saliva when he sees you sweating on a particularly hot day, the bead rolling down your temple and following the curve of your cheekbones, his tongue coming out to lick a long stripe along his lips because fuck, he bets you taste sweet.

These urges are still present and strong, but because of his commitment to not force you into anything, Asahi finds that he has to satisfy himself in other ways. That is, it doesn’t necessarily feel good to sneak into the extra bedroom he’d transformed into your personal room, but as soon as he catches a whiff of your scent and sees your sleeping, relaxed form on the mattress, his mouth goes dry and he’s shuffling forward before he even realizes it.

You’re sprawled out on the mattress he’d bought especially for you, the soft t-shirt and short set he'd gotten you sitting haphazardly on your hips and riding up to expose a bit of your stomach. It makes him gulp, his eyebrows drawing in a bit as he slowly, carefully, sits down onto the empty space beside you on the bed.

He can’t stop staring at you – you’re so pretty, and as your lips part slightly and you breath, he can’t help but whimper slightly – he can only imagine how it would feel to kiss you, to feel your lips against his own and feel your tongue brush against his.

Would you bite his lip, tease him with a bit of pain before kissing him harder, pushing your tongue inside and moaning into his mouth because it just feels too good? He hopes so, and it’s not long before he’s imagining all of the other things that mouth of yours could do – he’s sure your kisses would feel like heaven against his chest, lips wrapped around a nipple and sucking lightly, tongue flattening out to run over the pebbled skin again and again and making him shiver.

He’s sure that your lips would feel even better lower, pressed against the juncture of his hip and thigh, moving up and to the side, slowly – so fucking slowly – moving towards where he really needs you, where he’s pulsing and throbbing and leaking so much precum that it almost looks like he’s already reached his high.

He closes his eyes briefly as he imagines the way you’d suckle on his tip, your pretty lips puckered and those eyes of yours staring up at him from between his knees, how you’d pull back to press small kisses and kitten licks against his sensitive skin.

The thought has him groaning lightly, a hand coming down to carefully push his boxers down just a hair, just enough to let his cock spring free, slapping heavily against his lower stomach as he bites his lip. He makes sure to settle the waistband just below his balls, a hand idly moving to grope and squeeze as he continues to stare at you. It feels wrong to be touching himself while so close to you, while you’re totally unaware, but he just can’t help it – he’d been furiously pounding away moments ago in his own bed, eyes squeezed shut and flashes of you playing through his mind, but the knowledge eats at him that you’re only a wall away, your pretty body ripe to ogle and fantasize about and right fucking there…

Guilt weighs heavily in the back of his mind, but as he wraps his fist around his base and slowly pulls up, the heaving breath he lets out has the shame creeping to the back of his mind. It’s so much better with you in his sight – he watches the rise and fall of your chest, your breaths and soft and light, matching the pace of his fist with it.

His toes curl and his lip catches between his teeth, the dull, teasing pleasure from such a slow pace making his head tilt back. He stays like this for what feels like hours – his eyes never moving from your sleeping form, his pace matched to your breathing, just simply breathing in deeply and letting his eyes flutter closed as he exhales, the scent of you you you filling his lungs and making him feel dizzy.

Some forty minutes later, Asahi’s breath is hitching, little whimpers and bitten back moans filling the otherwise quiet air, his fist slowly speeding up out of his control, his orgasm slowly building and mounting, his cock so sensitive and hard and wet –

He comes with a strangled, too-loud I love you, his eyes struggling to stay open as he strokes his way through it, his hips bucking up into his fist and cum landing in ropes along his fingers and wrist. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, he’s chanting under his breath, his breathing uneven and labored as he tries his best to be quiet, terrified to wake you up.

You’re still so ethereal in front of him, looking like an angel as he slows his fist to a stop, his entire body trembling at the aftereffects of his orgasm. He swallows heavily, shaking fingers stained with cum reaching out and nearly, barely brushing against the soft skin of your forearm, clenching his teeth tightly at the contact as it sends one last, final push of pleasure through him, a few final beads of cum oozing from his tip and making him whimper your name.

He doesn’t touch you any more than that, scared to wake you up or cross some invisible line of privacy and consent, but thus starts a pattern. He’ll sneak into your room every week or so, spending far too long simply staring at you, moving to every angle imaginable just to see you, to see all of you, all the while furiously pumping his fist, doing his best to bite back every moan because god, what would you say if you saw him?

(He hopes you wouldn’t stop him, that you’d instead berate him for being so dirty, that you’d reach out and stop his wrist, telling him in that lovely, sweet voice of yours to earn it, Asahi, show me that you deserve to come. And god, the fervor and desperation in his movements as he’d lick and suck between your legs is too good to be embarrassing.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

As a general rule, Asahi absolutely crumbles the moment any sort of positive comment towards him falls from your lips. He’s never been the most confident man on the face of the planet, and while time and a successful career have helped mitigate that a bit, he’s still a bit doubtful about himself, always just slightly insecure and unable to believe in himself.

And for the most part he doesn’t mind, but he always, always appreciates your support in the area of his lacking – declrataion of you being happy or grateful or pleased with him leave Asahi’s throat feeling tight and his palms clammy. But specifically, Asahi has little to no confidence in himself in the bedroom – and to hear you say anything even remotely positive about his skills in bed gets him hot under the collar, the desire to please you making his fingers itch and his pants feel much too tight.

His lack of confidence between the sheets stems from the belief that he’s sure that he won’t be able to satisfy you, that his touch and love won’t be enough to get you off, that you’ll end up just using your own fingers because he just wasn’t good enough.

He’s convinced that you’ll grow to prefer your own touches and ministrations over his own, that you’ll simply sigh and roll your eyes when he asks you in that timid voice if you’d sit on his face, if you’d let him play with you, if you could just please let him taste you, he’s been thinking about it all day…

It’s never ending cycle of negative thoughts and assumptions, always absolutely sure that things will go the worst possible way once he becomes intimate with you,  and honestly you’ll quickly pick up on this.

When he’s hovering over you, brown eyes staring wildly down at you, impossibly wide while his mouth opens and closes like a fish, unsure of what to say or do because you’re finally right in front of him, like he’s been dreaming of for months, you’ll notice the way he’s too stiff to move, his every muscle tense and his eyebrows knitted together so tightly that he almost looks like he’s in pain.

(A few soothing words will have him instantly relaxing, though – run your hands up and down his arms, cooing at him that he’s so handsome, that he looks so good over me Asahi, you’re so pretty, and maybe tell him that you’re so excited, you’ve already made me feel so good baby, and you haven’t even touched me yet and you’ll see the way he visibly perks up, embarrassment written across his face but this sort of shy, boyish joy taking over as he leans down and kisses you. The kiss is too sloppy, too needy, too wet, but it’s the push he needs to finally press himself against you, your slick folds against the sensitive underside of his cock making him hiss into the kiss and his arms nearly give out.)

He’s too nervous to try fingering you or eating you out the first time he’s got you naked in front of him, but he also knows that you need prep before you take him, his girth enough to stretch your walls out to a painful degree if you don’t get some aid.  

(Take the initiative and guide his fingers down your body, going slow and making all sorts of keening and sighing noises, until he’s finally pressed up against you. Tell him that his fingers feel good when you’re helping him rub slow circles over your clit. Overdo your hips bucking at the sensation just to give him that extra assurance that he’s doing a good job. Gasp his name as he slips a finger inside and purposefully clench down on him, letting him hear you babble on about how he feels so good and he’s so big and he’s exactly what I’ve been imagining… You’ll see the determined purse of his lips, every ounce of concentration going into making you cry out his name, making you squeal out more praise, getting you to gush on his fingers and tongue and give him what he’s been dreaming of for months – the sight of your pretty body convulsing up in an orgasm, your cunt spasming and clenching down on him like a fucking vice.)

Towards the beginning of your sexual relationship you’ll find that more often than not he’s at a  standstill, something that is more than obvious to you, and in moments like these it’s best if you just tell him what to do. When you take off your bra, breasts bared for him as he unabashedly stares, his lips parted and his eyes wide, guide his hand to squeeze at one, sighing at the sensation and telling him that it feels good baby, you can go a little harder if you want, too.  

When he’s carefully (and almost tentatively) rubbing your back, giving you a massage and doing his best to relieve your back pain without hurting you, moan out his name and tell him right there, god Asahi you’re so good at this. It’ll leave him blushing and squirming, his cock growing hard and suddenly he’s hearing your moans as moans, seeing the pleased expressions on your face as being expressions of pleasure.

You need to follow his every action up with a bit of praise the first few times you fuck – when he slips a finger or two inside, bite your lip and make a show of gasping, telling him that he feels so good, please Asahi, just like that!

When he’s going down on you for the first time, tangle your fingers through his hair and tell him that he’s doing so well, it feels so – so good Asahi, mmm please don’t stop! And when he fucks you for the first time, gasp sharply and moan, tell him that he’s s-s0 big! Stretches me out so good, ngh –

(Asahi has always seemed gentle to you, even after having kidnapped you – tall, sure, but more afraid of his own shadow than anything. But once you moan that out, that gentle man you’re familiar with is gone – you realize just how strong he really is as his hips crash into yours, your cunt stretched and nearly split open with the sheer power and vigor of his thrusts, each one seeming to reach deeper inside of you, coming faster and faster until your moans at all forced, genuine incoherent nonsense slipping from your lips because god, you’ve never been fucked like this before – this fully, this desperately.)

He loves to know that he’s the one making you feel so good, making you cry out and curl your toes. When you say things like ‘so good Asahi’, or ‘yes, just like that’, he’ll become a blushing, flustered mess, but it’ll only drive him even further in his mission to please you, to get you to come.

After all, in his mind, your pleasure is so much more important than his own, and he’ll give you anything and everything he possibly can to get your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your pussy clamping down around him.

His actions will pick up speed and eagerness, and if you weren’t so fucked out while he’s got his tongue against your clit or his cock stretching you out, you’d be able to practically feel the desperation to get you to orgasm rolling off of him in waves.

He just wants to know that what he’s doing is feeling good, that you’re enjoying him, that you’re loving this wonderful intimate moment as much as he is. He loves your vocalness, and it helps his confidence to hear you so openly praising him and his body.

 So tell him, while he’s hovering over you, his cheeks flushed, his hair falling in waves over his shoulders and a few beads of sweat rolling down his temples, how big he feels inside of you, how you’re sure that nobody could fuck you like Asahi can, and he’ll make the cutest little gasp, before he’s thrusting into you even harder, burying his face into your neck and chanting your name over and over.

He loves it.

Breeding  

But unlike a lot of men, this kink doesn’t stem exclusively from a sense of possessiveness or ownership over you. (Of course, he very much is possessive over you and hates the idea of another man interacting with you, but still.)

Instead, Asahi’s fascination with the concept of breeding you mostly stems from a genuine desire to knock you up. Asahi craves a domestic life with you; the mere idea of being one big, happy family is something that makes his heart melt, that makes him giddy with excitement and an embarrassed flush spread across the bridge of his nose. There’s so many cute, wholesome things that Asahi wants to do with his future children; family pictures, reading to them before bed, dressing them up in his latest fashion designs, making them go eww! when they see Mommy and Daddy kissing…

And when you step into the picture, this natural desire for children only steps up, increasing astronomically because Asahi genuinely believes that you’re his soulmate, the woman he’ll spend the rest of his life with, and he couldn’t be happier.

 And while he’d never force it upon you, he really loves the idea of getting you pregnant and giving you the family that you both deserve. He wants to give you the baby he so desperately wants you to have, to see you softly rubbing your tummy and smiling at him, showing the world exactly who you love, who you choose to be with, who you’ll be spending the rest of your life loving and loyally staying alongside. He thinks he’d be a good father, in his oh so humble opinion, and that he’s completely, absolutely sure that you’d be a wonderful mother, and that together the two of you could have a happy, perfect family.

But of course, Asahi is no pure angel saint – he may not be the most possessive over you, but he can’t deny the wonderful side effects that come with pinning you down and breeding you. That is, there’s something about the fact that it’s his cock emptying load after load inside of you that gets him harder than he’s ever been in his life.

There’s something about the fact that it’s his name you’re moaning out to finish inside of you that makes him hot under the collar, his fingers twitching and his thighs flexing involuntarily because god, you’d sound so fucking good moaning his name.

The idea that it’s because of him that the cute little bump throwing your body off proportion even exists makes him feral, hands eagerly ripping at your clothes and slotting you in his lap, grasping at your hips and physically bouncing you up and down on his cock until he’s groaning your name and stuffing you full again and again and again, leaving you dripping white and smelling his cum, like him.

He’s not the most possessive yandere, sure, but even Asahi can get behind the idea of marking you as his own, of claiming you in the most natural, animalistic way. It satisfies something deep within him – the same thing that urges him to rush forward and keep you from getting too close to the open flames on the stove, the same thing that urges him to buy the pretty flowers on his way home from work and tuck one behind your ear. He’s never given much stock to gender stereotypes, but it just feels right to have you be his sweet little housewife, to be your big, strong protector, to be your provider in more ways than one.

And while bringing you gifts and keeping a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach are certainly ways he loves to provide for you, he’s more than willing to provide for your more carnal needs, too.

He’s more than happy to fill you to the brim with his cum, the sticky white dribbling out of you in big globs that he pressed back in with a thumb, voice shaky as he jokes about having to buy some sort of a plug just to keep everything inside.

(The next morning you find a pretty, purple plug on your bedside table, Asahi looking sheepish as he tells you that it’s the only way to really be sure, you know? Can’t have you wasting anything…)

He’s more than happy to keep his cock inside of you after he’s come, to make sure you’re plugged up, to keep you laying so that you’re hips are elevated, so that his cum will surely reach your womb, so that your body will have no choice but to give him exactly what he wants.

And during sex, the thoughts racing through Asahi’s head absolutely reinfornce this – as his high approaches, there’s a mantra repeating over and over in his head to  come inside her, fuck a baby into her, get her pregnant so she’ll never leave you.

His hips will speed up, the sound absolutely obsene as he throws your legs over his shoulders, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he watches your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts, the mental image of you swollen and round and so fucking fertile leaving his head spinning and oh fuck fuck fuck –

He’s coming with a whine of your name, burying his face into your neck and grasping tightly onto your breast, chanting your name under his breath and pressing himself just a bit deeper inside, anything to try and increase the chances of it taking.

The idea of knocking you up clouds his senses as his hips plow into you, the sensation so overwhelming that he’s nearly crying, but fat tears welling up and streaming down his face to land on your own while he clutches onto your hand, the emotional end of realizing that he might get you pregnant hitting him at full speed and making him dizzy with desire and love.

He’ll oftentimes whisper sweet nothings about how beautiful you’ll look, how much he wants to give you children, how deeply he wants to come inside while his hips are pounding away, practically ramming into your cervix with each powerful, passionate thrust.

He loves the idea of having a baby with you, and it’s just an added bonus that giving it to you feels so good. 

Size kink

No matter your size, Asahi will be taller, stronger, bigger.

He’s six feet tall, muscular, and despite his timid disposition, he’s very much a force to be reckoned with. Despite transitioning to a career less focused on physical prowess, Asahi largely retained his physique.

He’s a little softer now, the muscles covered by a small layer of fat, but he’s still got definition lining every inch of his body, the short-sleeved t-shirts he wears doing very little to hide the outline of his biceps. When his shirt rides up as he pulls his hair back into its signature bun, it’s impossible to miss the way he seems to tower over everything and everything, his presence something commanding the room, making everyone else just feel so small.

And while none of it is on purpose, Asahi slowly notices with time just how pronounced this difference is.

He sees it in the way that your palms compare as he timidly snake his hand against yours, swallowing heavily and avoiding eye contact because god, not only are your hands soft and warm, they’re practically engulfed by his, the sight making something scratch at the back of his throat.

He sees it in the way that your arms just barely wrap around his torso when you hug him, your fingers lacing together. (Of course, this took him a very long time to notice – he was too flustered by the fact that you’re hugging him to really notice any details, and even then he’d been too preoccupied by the feeling of your clothed breasts pressing against his chest, willing everything in himself to not get hard, to not let the blood rush to his cock as he imagines the way your legs would feel wrapped around his waist.)

As time passes, Asahi discovers that not only is he noticing these things, but there’s something about the sight that gets him hot under the collar, his breathing more strained than usual and his voice coming out a bit crackly.

And really, this kink stems from his protectiveness of you and his need to feel like your savior, but there’s just something about having you underneath him, seeing how small your body is in comparison to his own that really gets to him.

The idea of you being a fraction of his size, of your body being so much cuter, tinier, and softer than his own is something that makes Asahi blush, the red spreading from the tips of his ears all the way down to his collarbone, the idea that you’re such opposites yet so perfect for one another simultaneously warming his heart and begging him to fuck you because he just loves you so much.

And while your size difference is something that Asahi has always rationally known about, it’s so much different to actually see it, to be physically forced to recognize that he’s just so big compared to you.

When you’re naked below him, looking up at him with those vulnerable, beautiful eyes while you clutch the pillow underneath your head and shakily swallow, Asahi is hit with the sudden realization that you so clearly need him, need his help to do everything, and that includes turning you into a panting, drooling mess with his fingers, tongue and cock.

He loves the foreign surge of dominance he feels, how powerful and manly it makes him feel to see you under him, looking up at him like that, your lips swollen and puffy from kissing and biting them, from enjoying the pleasure he’s so focused on delivering to you.

He loves watching you take his cock; how it stretches you out to the point where you’re tensed up, fisting the sheets and telling him to slow down because you need time to adjust to his massive length.

(Of course, Asahi immediately stops, panic eating away at him because what if he hurt you? There’s not a sadistic bone in his body, and when you have to tell him things like that it only reminds him how easily he gets lost in you, how quickly he succumbs to the carnal urge to just fuck you so hard that you’re screaming his name and showing everyone exactly who owns the tight little pussy he’s fucking and filling with his cum.)

He loves to intertwine his fingers with yours while he thrusts into you, marveling at how his fingers dwarf your own while his cock stretches you out so fully, so completely that it’s almost visible against the skin of your navel.

He’ll purposefully fuck you in positions that really showcase this difference in size, too – of course his favorite is missionary, getting to look at you while he slowly rolls his hips into yours, but there’s something exquisite about folding you into a mating press, too. The way he’s strong enough to practically force your ankles up to your ears, his entire body hovering over yours as he pounds into you, watching the way you seize up because the angle is just so fucking deep.

It’s not his favorite, but he’ll fuck you from behind, the position slowly morphing from doggy into prone bone as he becomes more and more desperate for you, soon laying almost completely on top of you while his hips stutter into yours, the sensation of warm cum flooding you and the feeling of Asahi in every inch of your space making your head spin.

Even non-penetrative positions have this effect on him – watching you settle between his legs and eagerly jerk him off gets him clutching onto the nearest surface, the sight of your fingers, so small and sweet and pretty compared to his own, making his knees feel weak because fuck you’re so delicate compared to him.

And god, your mouth? It’s over for him the moment that your lips wrap around his tip, the sight of a much-too-big cock forcing its way down your throat threatening to bring him to orgasm much, much too soon.

Every part of him is bigger, and he just loves how obvious his muscles and height make it that he’s the protector in the relationship, that he’s the one providing for you, keeping you safe, keeping you happy.

Because after all, he’d do anything to keep you happy. 

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Hair pulling

Quite honestly, Asahi’s not sure where this kink came from. His scalp has always been a bit sensitive, his hair silky and in remarkably good shape for little he brushes it, for how poorly he cares for it. And while he’s kept it long for all of his adult life, he’s still just the slightest bit insecure about being a man with long hair – the lingering stares of others making him slump his shoulders a bit, wishing they’d stop staring.

And so, he’s never really viewed his hair as something sexual – no girl has ever really pulled it, and on the rare occasions when he’s touched himself, a hand never manages to travel north of his chest.

And even on the more practical side of things, he’s never really been one for pain, for enjoying the stinging sensation of sharpness against his skin, of feeling the dull throb of a bruise being pressed on. He’s never really found it to be sexy, and by extension he’s never bothered to explore hair pulling.

But then he becomes intimate with you and as he’s kissing you, tongue tracing the shape of your teeth and moaning into your mouth he feels it –

Your nails scraping against his scalp, digging in and grabbing a fistful of hair, pulling and tugging.

He actually moans, the sound high and whiny and so girly it nearly makes him cry, but he can’t help but beg you to do it again, a hand coming up to secure your place against his scalp.

There’s just something about the your fingers tunnel into his hair, gripping the brown locks between your nimble fingers while his tongue works fast, desperate circles against your clit, his fingers curling and arching just the way you told him to. Every tug at his hair drives him to work harder, to suck harder and lick faster because he just wants to please you, and the way you’re mixing pain with pleasure is making his hips buck against the mattress, unable to control himself as he whines against your cunt.

When your nails lightly scrape against his scalp, Asahi can’t help but close his eyes and moan, the vibrations going straight up your spine as he doubles his efforts, wanting to get you to come to an almost unhealthy degree.

And yet, as your hands pull harder, coaxing him into fingerfucking you harder, moving in the specific motion against your clit he knows you love, all you can do is throw your hair back and moan, little gasps of oh Asahi, oh please – I’m so close, don’t stop!

There’s something about the light touch of pain that makes him shiver, that makes the excitement stand up at the back of his neck, his eyes growing dilated and his efforts even more vigorous because fuck, you deserve to come, and by god is Asahi going to be the man to do it.

It’s become a staple of him giving you head – you always burrow your fingers into the loose, flowing brown locks, pulling him ever closer to your sopping cunt, something Asahi couldn’t be happier about.

And if you really want to leave him a flustered, panting mess, lightly tug at his hair without any warning in a non-sexual context – reach over during breakfast and give a light tug and you’ll see in real time as his face turns red, gaping like a fish and letting a hand drop his fork and wander down to his crotch, the table covering his motions. (Though the sound of a zipper slowly undoing is hardly difficult to identify, nor is the way the slick, clicking noises echo through the room as he shakily tells you to f-finish your breakfast…)

Lingerie

Perhaps it’s a result of his heightened attention paid to fashion, or perhaps it’s just Asahi’s nature, but as his infatuation with you develops, so too does his desire to see you all dressed up for him.

He doesn’t view you as a doll, per se, but Asahi finds that one of his guiltiest pleasures is to put you in clothing he designs specifically for you – pretty colors and cuts he thinks accentuate your curves, always sucking in a sharp breath and muttering out this awed, overtly genuine wow that makes you too embarrassed to respond.

And it’s sweet, more than anything, because the dresses and outfits he creates for you really are flattering – except that as your sexual relationship develops, he starts taking certain liberties, his creations becoming more and more risqué.

The lingerie he designs for you is tasteful, at least – it’s flattering as well, always in shades of pinks, reds, and white to enhance your natural coloring, his fingers always trembling when he helps you put them on, catching a bit of lace between his thumb and index finger and sighing out your name in a tone much too airy to be normal.

You look absolutely stunning – and he finds that fucking you with the lingerie still decorating your body only makes his kisses more heartfelt, longer, more needy because you’re just so damn pretty all dressed up and practically wrapped up like a gift for him.

But really, where’s Asahi’s true lingerie kink lies is not in you wearing it, but rather in him wearing it.

It’s beyond embarrassing to him and something that would take a long time for him to admit, but there’s a certain part of him that would actually like to try on a few of the lingerie sets he sees in magazines, tv and social media. Some of them are just so fucking pretty, soft pastels with lots of lace and ruffles, things that scream feminine and soft, pretty and fuckable.

And while Asahi knows he’s supposed to be the ‘man’ in the relationship, it’s a guilty pleasure that he just can’t shake – and so, when you one day catch him staring at an ad for a brand new baby blue two piece set on his phone, you ask him if he’s going to get it, cocking a brow at him because it’s rare for him to ever buy you lingerie sets rather than make them himself.

(He’d told you once that he can fit them to your body better than any manufacturer can. And what he hadn’t told you is that there’s a certain allure to knowing that you’re wearing something that he made you, not some unknown, random worker with no appreciation for you or your beauty.)

Immediately Asahi is scrambling to cover it up, nervously chuckling and denying your words, but when it shows up the next day and Asahi mumbles if you’d be willing to um, give me an opinion about something, you’re intrigued. And as you open the door to reveal him, familiar brown eyes are unable to meet your own gaze, his body language clearly nervous at your scrutiny.

But really, the sight of the six foot tall, burly man clad  in the soft material hugging his body and bringing out the natural tan color of his skin leaves you oddly breathless, the sight strangely bizarre and erotic.

The bra cups are a bit loose, though you can still see his pretty, pink nipples hard as a rock underneath the sheer material. The bra may be loose, but the pair of lacy, red panties most certainly are not – his cock threatens to burst out of it at any moment, his balls hanging on by a thread to stay inside of the dainty fabric.

And when you take a few steps forward, looking at him with wide eyes, he feels his heart drop when you say oh Asahi, you’re so beautiful.

(If you look closely enough, you can see his balls visibly clench at the compliment, the skin angry and red at the tightness of the panties.)

So while it’s not the manliest thing, Asahi can’t deny that it makes him feel good, and you’re always so touchy and sweet when he’s wearing it.

And so when he’s in more of a submissive mood, wanting you to take care of him, dote on him, love him and show him that you’re just as desperate and hopelessly in love as he is, he throws it on and sits patiently on the bed, waiting with baited breath for you to pull the strap out and make him feel like a good little boy.

(And god his moans are pretty, his little gasps and whines when you toy with the fabric making you power-hungry, the sight of his cute little hole clenching as you toy with him, bent over and panties pushed to the side is the stuff of fantasies – he’s just so fucking obedient when he’s all dressed up for you.)

BIGGEST FANTASY: 

Going hand in hand with his breeding kink and his want of starting a family with you, Asahi has a few guilty pleasures when it comes to the idea of a pregnant you.

He just can’t help it – his biggest domestic fantasy is having a family with you, and every time he sees a pregnant woman out and about something inside of him just snaps, the flood of images of you all knocked up making his knees nearly buckle.

(Of course, in these images you’re sometimes clothes and sometimes not – the clothes, when included, are always too small, making your breasts look even bigger and your stomach ever rounder.)

Something about the roundness of your body, how your curves are enhanced, how you look so fucking fertile really gets to him, especially with how your breasts begin to swell.

Something about watching as your nipples begin to darken, your areolas get larger, and the way the flesh begins to hang heavier, looking so full and ready to be emptied really gets to him, sparking some odd, primal instinct in him that he didn’t even know he had.

He’s staring constantly, brown eyes darting to the way his t-shirts are stretched taut against your belly bump and engorged breasts, how you look so perfect and domestic and like a real mother.

He’ll be much too shy to say anything, too nervous at your rejection of the fantasy he holds close to his heart, but he really wants nothing more than to just latch onto a leaking, aching nipple, wrap his lights tightly around it, circle his tongue over the sensitive skin, and suck.

He wants to taste you; feel the white liquid against his tongue, nurse off of you in such a human, natural way.

He almost feels as if it’s his reward - he put the baby inside of you that’s causing you to produce, he’s the one heading to work everyday, making money to bring back to you and your slowly growing family.

He’s the one that spent hours between your legs, fingering your pretty cunt and giving you load after load after load of hot, potent cum.

He’s your protector, and it’s his deepest fantasy to be rewarded for all his hard work with your breastmilk. He’ll never, ever admit it, but when he fondles your breasts and nibbles at them, sucking at them with a vigor you’ve never experienced before, those are the thoughts racing through his mind. 

              “I’m home!” Asahi calls, closing the front door and letting out a small, satisfied sigh at the sight of his little home. Touches of your style are everywhere - the couch has your favorite color throw pillows, your favorite art is on the walls, pictures of the two of you hanging in frames on the shelf above the fireplace on the far side of the living room. It makes him smile, something warm and fuzzy settling in his chest.

              He slips his shoes off, shrugging off his coat and venturing further into the house. Normally you’d be in the kitchen by now, preparing dinner and wanting to have a nice meal while the two of you discussed your days, telling one another how much you missed the other. When he doesn’t find you in the kitchen, his brow arches and he calls your name once more, a small pang of panic bolting through him at the thought of you not responding.

              “Oh! You’re home!” He hears you exclaim from behind him, and heaves out a small sigh of relief. He turns around with a soft smile on his face, but that smile vanishes as soon as he takes in your appearance. 

              You’re wearing one of his old tee shirts, the material a bit light and comfortable, and a pair of your favorite panties peeking out from under the hem. You look so fucking pretty that it takes him a moment to register your words, brown eyes dilating and focusing on the sight of you in his shirt, the smooth expanse of your thighs, the smile on your face that gets his knees weak. But as he takes in the full sight of you, something else catches his eye – immediately saliva is pooling against his tongue, his fingers twitching and his tongue flicking out to lick over his lips.

Two small, uneven pools of wet form right over the swell of your breasts, staining the fabric a darker shade and making his mouth water slightly. The sight of your chest straining heavily against the shirt has him taking a step forward hastily, aching to get closer and closer.

              You notice his staring, and you scratch the back of your neck a bit awkwardly. “Welcome home, love. Sorry, I was just about to go start pumping but the laundry had me busy. I lost track of time.” 

              He just nods, not able to take his gaze away from you. You blink, before quirking the corner of your lips up. Although your husband had never asked, you’d noticed his affinity for your chest increasing tremendously after you’d begun lactating - he thought he was smooth when he’d oh so innocently walk in on you with your pump, watching your milk fill up the bottle, but you knew better. The fixation in his eyes as he stared was telling, the way he’d play with his hands and fingers, struggling to keep eye contact with you making it oh so apparent. And so, with a confidence that only he could allow you to develop over the years, you realize that maybe it was alright that you hadn’t started dinner quite yet.

              You bite your lip and slowly walk up to him, until you’re close enough to hear the slight wheeze in his breaths. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob as his eyes dart between your face and your breasts, trying to decide where to look. You almost laugh. “Asahi...I have an idea, if you’d be willing to try it out.”

              His gaze meets yours with a bit of reluctance, and his brows tighten. “S-sure! What did you have in mind?”

              You smile, leaning up on your tippy toes and placing a kiss against his cheek. “Well, since I haven’t started dinner yet, and I didn’t get to start pumping, and you’ve been gone all day, working hard and making me proud, I think you deserve a little reward.”

              Asahi visibly flushed at this, and his eyes widened a bit. “A reward? What do you mean?”

              You bite your lip, reaching out to take one of his large hands into your own, before carefully placing it over one of your breasts. He gasps sharply, his entire body tensing as he feels the wetness underneath his palm. You look up at him, doing your best to give him as seductive and sultry a look as you can muster. 

              “Well, I was thinking that maybe I could give you a little treat? As a thank you for everything that you do for me. It’s been waiting all day, and I’m so, so full… would you like that? Do you want a little snack as a reward?” You ask, watching his reaction carefully. His brown eyes are so warm, so genuinely shocked, and for a second you almost wonder if he’ll say no, or push you away. But before you can take back your words, he’s eagerly nodding, walking you backwards into the living room and settling you down into a sitting position on the couch. He crouches below you, on his knees in between your legs, still in the nice clothes he’d worn to work today. You grab the hem of your shirt, carefully lifting it over you and throwing it to some unknown part of the room. The cold air hits you, and you feel your nipples harden and the skin of your breasts tighten up. 

              Asahi lets out a mix between a moan and a whimper at the sight of your bare chest, staring in awe with his mouth open. When you see him not moving, you carefully reach your hands up, cupping your breasts and gently squeezing, causing a small stream of milk to leak out of each nipple.

              “Darling, don’t you want your reward?” You ask, squeezing extra hard, sending a spurt of liquid out, his eyes following the arc as he licks his lips.

Asahi gulps, a low growl escaping him as he gently pulls your hands away, instead latching his mouth around a nipple and sucking -

              You sigh softly, the feeling of his lips applying pressure and his tongue swiping over your nipple much more erotic than you had been expecting. His lips work against you, tongue swirling against your sensitive areolas as his cheeks hollow. He moans against you, the taste of you overwhelming his senses and setting his body alight with pleasure. He can feel his pants growing uncomfortably tight, but he just sucks harder, listening to your coos and cries above him. 

              His hand reaches out to cup your other breast, squeezing a bit more firmly and watching the milk leak, before he leans back, releasing the nipple from his mouth with a popping sound, and squeezes once more, harshly, watching as a stream of milk arcs through the air and directly into his parted, awaiting mouth. You both moan, and he swallows. He rubs his fingers over your nipples, and looks up at you, licking his lips. 

              “I think it’s time you showed me just how good you taste down here, too.” He says, grinding his clothed erection against your crotch. You moan, nodding your head and tangling your fingers into his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed at the sensation.

            And, thirty minutes later as he’s pulling out of you, hissing slightly at the overstimulation, Asahi can only pant, a hand once again coming up to lightly squeeze at your breast, the kiss he gives you heated enough to have you melting against the mattress, too relaxed to even notice the way he pushes himself back in again, gasping into your mouth and pushing through the overstimulation because he needs this, needs you.

            After all, he can never get enough of you.

[i-know-you-know-we-know-lee-know]

Is it showing off my new lower back tattoo? ★

Pairing: Rex x GN!reader

Characters: Rex, reader, Fives, Echo, 501st (there but only Fives and Echo talk)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Reader wears a dress (we're all pretty princesses), mentions of getting a tattoo, mentions of choking, mentions of water, allusion to alcohol consumption. I think that's it plz let me know if i missed any <3

Word count: 615

A/N: You know that line in guess that's talking about showing off a lower back tattoo? Yeah, that's kinda what this fic came from. Except it has nothing to do with a lower back tattoo or underwear.

EVERYBODY, IM BACK *sobs in the corner of shame* im so so so so so so (so) sorry i left you guys for genuinely a year (so sorry) but i pinky promise ill try extra hard to not let writers block and life get in the way of you guys anymore. Im working on a few other (much longer) things but i managed to cough this one up in a few days hope you love it <3

Ps: it feels wierd to be posting fics on this account again lmao

Star Wars Masterlist｜Main Masterlist ｜Navigation

"So, how do I look?"

You step out into the room, giving a little twirl and a smile towards Rex. The strings of the lace up back were hanging down, you probably hadn't been able to tie them correctly in the cramped room you had to change in.

He could feel his face relaxing into a soft smile, one that would surely get a few teasing remarks had he been facing the other way towards his men, and the rest of his body relaxing too. He leaned against the wall, all his weight on one shoulder, one leg crossed over the other. "Do I even have to say it?" He murmurs, cocking his head to the side. "Beautiful."

You scrunch your face up, trying to hide the pleased smile that breaks out on your face but ultimately failing. "You flatter me." You say, turning around so your back faces him. "Could you-"

His hands are already on the strings of your dress before you finish the sentence, slipping the ends of the ribbon through the eyelets on the side of the opening.

Once you turn around, he hears three sounds in quick succession. First, a sharp intake of breath, almost a choke on air. Then, an actual choke, this time on water (he hopes its water, his men shouldn't be drinking at this hour) and a few spluttering coughs. Then, nothing for a few seconds. The third sound comes in the form of spoken word rather than noises of surprise. "General- I didn't know you had a tattoo-"

Rex couldn't help but smirk as his knuckles brushed up your back along the aforementioned tattoo. The twisting dragon inked across your back was nothing short if intricate, thought there was no color it was the most detailed tattoo he had ever seen. It covered almost the entire expanse of your back from just under your ribcage to your shoulders. The size of it was shocking, especially when you got a closer look at the one with the tattoo and realized they didn't look like the kind of person who would have a tattoo in the first place.

He could practically hear your smugness. You loved surprising people with your tattoo for the first time. "You like it? I got it a few years back on Coruscant with this guy." You turned your head to the side to look over your shoulder at the clone who had spoken, tilting your head towards him.

That got an even bigger reaction out of the men gathered behind him. And again, he couldn't help but smirk as his men spoke over each other about him of all people going with you.

"Wait- does that mean you have one too?" Ah, Echo always the one with the important questions.

"Have what?" Better play innocent, maybe they'll drop it. He finishes lacing up the back of the dress and ties a small bow at the top.

"He does." You interjected, stepping away from his hands and turning to face him again. An evil glint was in your eye, and you did that cute little nose scrunch thing again. You opened your mouth and he half thought you were going to tell them where it was but instead you said, "Well, im off. Important things to do, bad guys to kill."

And with that, you flounced out of the room, dress laced up beautifully, the person inside it even more so.

He couldn't help but smile and shake his head, turning to the side to eye his men with a scrutinizing gaze. Fives crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes, a grin spreading across his face.

"So... you and the general?"

"Shut it Fives."

[ask-outside-stars]

a planned baby is just as good as an oops baby @ ford BREED 👏 THAT 👏 (NOT A) TRIANGLE 👏

Now if only those two goobers could stop dancing around each other and communicate openly and honestly about what they both want XD (To breed that triangle/be bred lmao)

Spoilers for the Outside Stars sequel fic below the cut 👇

Stan punched in the code for the vending machine - which had thankfully been repaired after Will’s rampage years ago - and descended into the bowels of the lab, whereupon he found Ford face-down at his desk and snoring loud enough to wake the dead. 

In the past few years it seemed that Ford’s decades of sleepless nights had finally caught up to him. Despite a significantly better sleep schedule, it wasn’t uncommon to find him napping while slumped over a table, sprawled on the couch, or in one memorable instance, standing upright on the deck of the Stan O’ War II while a seagull made a nest in his curls. Will was usually with him more often than not, but at the moment he was alone. 

Stan padded forward on slipper-clad feet until he was standing directly beside the sleeping scientist. He smiled. Ford used to be such a light sleeper, flinching and waking at the sound of a pin drop. Now, however, he actually managed to sleep through the night, no longer plagued by hyperawareness. Stan supposed Will was the one to thank for that vis a vis being a good spouse and bedmate.

Cipher being a good influence. What has this world come to?

He reached down to jostle his brother awake, but stopped when he caught sight of what the man had been working on. A drop of Will’s time potion was sandwiched between two flat glass panes and lifted to a microscope for examination. A journal - one of the many newer ones that Ford had made - was turned to a page covered in his looping, swirling script.

I’ve taken the liberty of examining William’s gift in greater detail. It’s not that I doubt the veracity of his claims to its potency, but rather that I find myself curious about its chemical composition. Liquid time, what is that precisely? On the microscopic level, it is completely sterile like an unopened bag of saline. It does not appear to be organic in nature, but rather manufactured. This aligns with what William had previously mentioned about it, that he had made it himself in Time Baby’s absence. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be made of molecules heretofore unknown to science, which I have dubbed “Chronatoms” for simplicity’s sake. 

Stan gave a derisive snort. Chronatoms, really? Ford made a sleepy little sound and shifted slightly, revealing more of the page.

William has stated that this concoction is roughly fifteen years worth of time, reverse-engineered to have the opposite effect of its more traditional form. Theoretically, upon consumption, Stanley and I will age back fifteen years to when we were in our mid-forties. However, I find myself curious as to what effects this serum could have on beings who are not as old as we are. If Dipper or Mabel were to get ahold of it, would they revert back to childhood? The thought disturbed me, so I decided to test the serum on a fruit fly, Drosophila Melanogaster. With a lifespan of only fifty days, they would make a perfect test subject.

I had hypothesized that exposure to the serum would revert the insect back to its larval form, or even an egg, but it disappeared completely! Out of curiosity, I examined its habitat that I had been keeping it in and saw that the banana it had been feeding off of earlier this morning had also reverted back to a more complete state.

This brings up the frightening possibility that, in great quantities, William’s gift could potentially make it so that one never existed to begin with. My mind reels at the possibilities. Fifteen years equate to countless generations of fruit flies, erased from the timestream with the application of a single dose. All the more reason to be wary…

Stan’s mouth turned down at the corners a little. Ford’s findings were disturbing, to say the least. 

“Mnm… Stanley?” Stan flinched at the sound of his brother’s sluggish voice, which sounded all the louder in the stillness of his lab. “What are you doing down here?”

“Came down to talk to ya, but I see you’re busy,” Stan replied with a nod to Ford’s haphazard setup. “I’ll come back another time.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright. I always have time for you,” Ford said as he sat up and adjusted his glasses, his back popping and crackling like bubble wrap being wrung out.

Damn if hearing that didn’t bring a smile to Stans’ face. “I just wanted to talk to you about why you’ve been moping around the house all week. It’s got me, Shermie, and the kids worried.”

Ford seemed to sit up straighter at that. “I didn’t mean to frighten anyone. I’ve simply been… preoccupied with my studies.”

“Uh huh. Pull the other one, why don’t ya?” Stan scoffed.

“Pull the other what?”

“It’s an expression, ya knucklehead. I’m just sayin’ that I know you’re lying to me. Can’t con a con artist, remember?”

Ford sighed and leaned back in his chair, thoroughly chastened. “Yes, you’re quite right, Stanley. I apologize for attempting to deceive you. I suppose I’ve had quite a bit on my mind as of late.”

Stan twirled his wrist in a go-on gesture, and Ford did so. 

“Even with William’s generous gift, I find my thoughts turning towards the future and what that means for me. For us as a family, you included. If we accept his gift, what will we do with the extra time? Could William’s gift be provided ad infinitum until we eventually grow bored of eternal youth?”

“Yeesh. That’s kinda dark, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“And besides, once again you’re thinking too hard. The answer is simple: we do whatever the hell we want with this extra time! We can watch the niblings get married and have kids. We can explore even more of the world. We could, I dunno, build a new Mystery Shack somewhere and scam tourists on a global scale. And I bet you could probably invent all sorts of new nerd gadgets.”

“Hm…”

Stan perched on the edge of the desk and Ford barely managed to swipe his journal to safety with an offended noise. “But the question, Poindexter, is what do you want to do with that extra time?”

To Stan’s not-quite surprise, Ford’s face flushed beet-red and his glasses fogged slightly. “W- well, I… I’ve had some thoughts. Things that I wasn’t quite able to do while I was in the portal.”

Stan leaned forward with a playful leer, his eyebrows bouncing. “I sense something juicy you’re not telling me.”

Ford pushed his chair back from the desk, clutching his journal to his desk and rose with a huff. “That is none of your business, Stanley.”

“But it has something to do with Cipher, am I right?”

Ford squawked indignantly and fumbled for his journal as his hands suddenly spasmed and nearly caused him to drop the thing. 

“Th- that… how did you know?”

“Call it Twintuition, but I bet there’s something you want to do that you’re too scared to talk to Cipher about.”

“I…”

[aylish91]

Its a late night and i had a scenario for the Leviathan Au…

Reader was born a mer, and actually the last of their species due to the unfortunate involvement of humans, and nightmare decides to take in reader because of this.

Maybe a comfort scene where reader is grieving over the loss of the members from her pod and the loss of her species in general and nightmare finds them alone? I would love to see what your take on this would be..

A morsel for your soul dear Anon. I may have misread it the first time, but we got there! hahaha! Have some first meetings and hurt/comfort.

Thank you for reading and requesting!

Why do you Weep?

The deep was… different. The pressure made your fins heavy and breath hard. You knew in time your body would become more accustomed to it and work out its difficulties, but for now, it was one more reminder of how much things had changed.

You missed the shallows and the reef. You missed your reef. You missed the laughter and anticipation of waiting for hunting parties returning with jellies and siphonophores.

You missed everything.

Sometimes you wonder if it would have been better if you had stayed behind. At least then you could have been lost with all the others. As it was, your mother’s panicked pleas were the only thing keeping you going. She and your father had given up so much that you might survive…

It hurt.

Flaring the soft ridges of your spine and fins, you forced yourself to dive deeper. You weren’t sure how far you had swum to reach the trench, but your mother was adamant that your safety hinged on descending “past the edge of day”.

Humans couldn’t follow unaided.

You knew you had reached it when a thin barrier of dark magic barred your path.

Though you were still cautious, crossing the border had been an immense relief. The waters had turned far too dark from the addition of nightfall and you were on the verge of collapse. Finally being able to search for a place to rest gave you hope.

The ledge you eventually found was large enough to lay but not inlaid enough for any sort of proper protection, but you made it work. Your pitiful nest may have lacked material, but it was enough to sleep on for a night. Besides, in the end, it didn’t really matter.

Your fins bristled.

If it had been any darker, you would never have noticed the massive tentacles creeping around the ledge ready to encase you. Quickly dodging, a growled reverberating voice sent true fear gripping your soul.

 “Why do you weep, little fish? What causes you such trepidation?” Though the words were that of concerned question, their tone and the intent boiling the water proved otherwise. Any genuine concern was replaced with that of mistrust and hunger.

You were nothing more than a trespasser. Prey to be chased and hunted.

Instincts had you darting up and away, but what you thought was an exit quickly turned into a trap. The tentacles were merely a distraction for the dark leviathan before you, his large skeletal hands loosely surrounding your escape. All you could do was flair your fins in hopes the flash of blue and white would warn against attack or consumption.

The titan only gave a pleased hum, a single slit of an orb casting eerie shadows. It made you distinctly aware of other flashes just out of sight of its light.

“Oh my~ A Sea Swallow? It has been quite the amount of time since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing one of your kind. What brings one this far into my territory? And in such a state? Pushing boundaries again, or simply a mistake? Please, do tell.”

A spot of jittering red passed overhead.

You couldn’t speak, terror allowing your poison to coat your body. At your silence, the titan leaned closer with a growl.

“What’s the matter? Has my appearance truly been this much of a surprise as to capture your tongue?”

The silhouette of a very large shark passed on the right. You flinched at the movement, the giant’s eyelight dilating to flick over you. Your soul was pounded in your chest as you shook but your words remained locked away.

Slowly, he leaned back.

“Pity. These circumstances have been less than appealing. Perhaps… a gentler touch is needed…” His fingers closed around you. “Come. I wish to know what has driven a Blue Angel this deep.”

You didn’t fight. You couldn’t. You were helpless as he dragged you further into the dark unknown.

***

You found yourself wandering back to the rim. Time had played a big part in your return, but it didn’t make the journey any easier. However, once there, you couldn’t bring yourself to cross the precipice of the deep. You stayed at its mouth, gazing back toward the reefs and shallows up ahead.

The silence was deafening.

Despite everything you had gone through, the growth and strides you had made, the water felt heavier now than in the depths. The colors were too bright, sunshine overwhelming instead of warm. Everything felt like it was too much.

There was no one to greet you home.

…

You couldn’t do it.

As tears burned the corner of your eyes, you found yourself wishing you had never taken the trip. Flashes of your past had you breaking. Sobs wracked with heavy tears filled the silence. In your grief, your fins paled in their droop as you floated freely in the open water. They pulled you slowly down to drift past the cliffs and crags as you sank.

You were numb, watching the light above dim the further you fell. One moment became two, two became four until time drifted with you into nothingness. It took a sudden uplift in the water for you to regain any sense of reality. A familiar glow cutting through your metaphorical darkness.

Nightmare’s face hovered above you, his tentacles flaring below. The subtle brush against your fins had you registering his hands carefully cupping your form. In a way, it reminded you of the very first time you passed into the realm of the deep, the soft rumble of his voice pulling you further from the oblivion.

“Where are you, little fish? Your mind has taken you beyond my reach.”

His words were oddly quiet, eyelight dim as it searched. It stirred something within you, helping you feel for the first time just how cold you had become. Slowly, you moved enough to grip one of his clawed fingers. His thumb, though hesitant, came to stroke your soft underbelly.

You felt muted and far away.

“Everyone is gone... It’s too quiet.”

“Something tells me it's not the boys to which you refer.”

Tears once again threatened to spill. “My family. My pod... They—”

“Are down in the deep.” You felt the water shift from his shuddered intake of breath. “Those that came before might not be with you Angel, but that does not mean there can’t be others. Has our time meant so little that you cannot see them for what they truly are? What we, are?” You had never heard him take such a gentle but firm tone. So quiet. Reserved for only the two of you. You could feel the overwhelming intent in each word. It spread comfort with promises of so much more.

“We may not be able to bring back your past, but do not forget your future in your grief. The present is still here, waiting. The shiver would be very disappointed if you forgot that.”

“All this time I was just— How? How do I keep going? It hurts! Nothing’s the same anymore!”

His giant skull came to bonk and nuzzle into yours. “With time, nothing ever is. There is always change, no matter how subtle. We grow, we love, we lose. Currents move and sands pass. It is unfortunate you should have to face such things so soon, but we are here, and we can help carry the burden.” A claw caressed your tear-stained cheek. “Share your sorrows, that I might ease your pain. You are not alone.”

For the first time since the incident, you felt a deep sense of release. The ache in your soul softened. Gripping tighter, you pressed back with a desperation you didn’t know you had.

“I wish you could roam in the shallows. If you were… Should I ever get the courage to go back, I would have liked you to be there.”

“Perhaps…” He hesitated, eyelight darting away as a hint of color bloomed on his skull. “Perhaps when you are ready, I will be.”

You met his gaze in confusion. “But, how—”

A gentle claw pressed against your lips with a mischievous chuckle, water rushing from Nightmare’s sudden descent. “Now now, my Angel. All in due time. For now, let us return. The others await your return home.”

…

Home.

… You smiled, leaning more into the giant. It looked like there would be someone to greet you after all.

[takadokii]

✴ extra: insatiable yearning !! ‧₊.࿐

summary Suguru likes helping you cook, but sometimes he's plagued with an insatiable hunger for you; he knows it's wrong, but only certain thoughts can stop them. pairing geto suguru x f!reader tags cunnilingus (f & m receiving), unrequited feelings warnings slight smut! slight angst, word count 1.1k links collection ; taglist

this is an additional chapter of my series "caught in the middle", if you enjoyed this, consider checking it out! 🩵

Suguru enjoys teaching you to cook.

It started with a genuine concern for your health when he discovered you lived off of microwave meals and had developed into a sort of guilty pleasure for him as time passed.

He would start off simple, teaching you when to use oil instead of butter, how to know when the rice is properly cooked, and what spices and herbs add the best flavour to it.

He liked holding the wooden spoon up to your face after it cooled down a little. At first you’d be hesitant, testing the temperature with your lip before putting the food into your mouth, letting out a noise of contempt as soon as the flavour set in.

He enjoyed letting his hands linger on yours whenever you were cutting spring onions, tomatoes or carrots, he showed you how to use your fingers to measure where to cut next and he liked the little pause and jolt your body would do whenever he’d lean in close and tell you you were doing a really good job.

He enjoyed the fact you’d bring cookbooks into school, showing him whatever recipe you wanted to try next. Sure, a few times he lied to you in his expertise about it and had to hastily try the recipe out at home before going to you and pretending as though it was a long passed down recipe that had been in his family for generations.  

You’d read the steps out to him, sitting on the counter as he washed, prepared and measured the ingredients, you’d swing your legs a little and Suguru had a hard time holding back from the temptation to reach out and hold your thighs in place.

Cooking was something important to him, just as you were and as he felt these parts of him connecting, colliding in a way that made it impossible for him to think about one without the other, he feared the thought of connecting you to the pleasure and peace he found in food.

Despite loving to cook, Suguru was also an enjoyer of eating, he enjoyed trying all sorts of different tastes from different cultures and could warm up to the idea of just about anything, he thinks that everything one consumes has an effect on one's soul.

Eating, could be in its simplest form the consumption of nutrients, keeping his body alive and strong, but it could also be tasting, savouring the flavour of something delicious, exciting, sweetness melting on his tongue.

When he connects his love for you to his love of food, he realises quickly he needs you just as much as he needs to eat, hungers for you like a starving man every time you stand just close enough for him to reach out to you.

When you gift him a “Kiss the Cook” apron for his birthday he can’t properly contain his smile, and uses it as an excuse to come by your house more often in hopes you’d do so.

Once growing more comfortable, you started the habit of being a bit more hands-on with your assistance.

Tying his apron drove him crazy, you’d always stand much closer than anyone would deem necessary, pressing yourself into his back as you tied a small bow.

You’d lean up then, your chest pressing into his back and he can feel the firmness of your breasts when you’d whisper with a smile into his ears. 

“Done.”

When you move to look him in the eyes he’s still thinking about you, the counter is still empty and he can’t help but think about sitting you down on it and eating you out pushing your panties to the side and making you cum on his tongue until your legs would quiver on his shoulders.

He imagined the look on your face, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you came undone for him, the sweet noises you would attempt to muffle with your hand.

He’d pause, just as out of breath as you seemed to be, leaning up for a quick kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue.

He’d whisper into your mouth with a teasing smile, a feign pity at the thought you could dared to assume he was finished with you, “Done?”

Before kissing a trail down your body and diving his mouth between your legs again.

But what really pushed his buttons was when you’d tuck the loose strand of hair behind his ear for him, whenever he was leaning forward and it was obscuring his vision.

You’d do it so gently, letting your finger graze his neck before letting it fall back to your side again.

He’d gulp and let out a shaky breath, irritated by how oblivious you were to the effects you’d have on him.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, but he barely hears it, trying to focus on not cutting his fingers off while chopping the onions.

He continues cooking, looking down he imagines you sitting there, on your knees, choking down his length, spit running down on chin as your nails would dig into his thighs.

Your eyes were near to closing, in an attempt to shove his dick even further down your throat, but he wouldn’t let you.

He’d keep the hair from your face, to return the favour as he pulled on it, making you look up at him.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

He finished cutting the spring onions.

“Everything’s fine,” he chuckles and puts them in the pot without glancing your way.

He feels bad, occasionally, when he’d sit across from you as you ate the shared creation you had made and sees you gulp down the food so innocently, loudly exclaiming your fascination with the flavour as he is still caught up in these lude thoughts he had about you.

But he can’t help it, because despite sitting across from him, his hand doesn’t dare to reach out to yours and all he can think about is the tingling beneath his skin of a touch unfelt, a one sided tension flowing through his veins.

He allows himself to think of you like this, despite knowing how wrong it is, how disgusted you’d probably feel if you were to find out but he thinks these might be the only thoughts that can distract him from how madly in love with you he is.

He sighs and eats his food, hungry for something else.

is this kinda sanji coded? anyway, my first smut I'm sorry if my words during those scenes arent as descriptive or eloquent yet, I'm sure ill get the hang of it soon :)

thanks for reading! <3

much love, jae 🩵

[magpiepills]

Misunderstood

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!resder

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Marcus has a bad day at work and needs you to help him feel better.

Warnings: SMUT, established relationship, PIV, oral (f and m receiving) fingering, big dick Marcus, multiple orgasms, thumb sucking, cum eating, cum swapping, dirty talk, some degradation, use of a tie as a leash sort of?, alcohol consumption, pancakes, cardigans, NPR, idk what else man, this is not fluffy Marcus.

A word from the author: this is a repost! I’ve got no idea what happened here. I was up at 5 am writing Marcus Pike smut. I haven’t even seen the mentalist. Thanks to the magic sluts, home is where the whores are!

The door opened and closed with a familiar sound, but ushered in an energy that was foreign to the serene atmosphere of your apartment. “Fucking…art crime.” Marcus muttered, taking off his jacket as if it was responsible for his sour mood. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his once crisp white shirt, now wilted with sweat and the dirt of the day.

You dried the last plate and put it in its slot in the cabinet before going to greet your love.

Quiet, like you were approaching a deer, trying not to startle him, you sank onto the sofa beside where he slumped, jaw set and eyes boring into the middle distance.

“Marcus, I'm glad you’re home. I'm just about to start dinner. H-how was your day?” Your voice was soft and warm, meant to soothe, but it was a foolish question. The crease between his eyebrows was all you needed to see.

Thinking better than to press him, you went to the bar cart and poured a generous splash of whiskey.

“Hard day.” Was all he offered.

Finishing the glass in two gulps, Marcus handed the glass back to you, “more” he requested wordlessly. You obliged, another heavy pour and this time he drank it slowly, turning the glass in his hand to watch the light shift in the etched glass while you watched, eager to help him forget whatever had him wound so tight.

Of course no one saw what you saw. They saw his easy, affable manner, his smooth shaven jaw, his casual Friday cardigans, how he listened when people talked, how he laughed at dumb jokes, how he always refilled he coffee pot, and they saw all of these qualities, and they chalked them up as weakness.

They didn’t see how his eyes glowed dark, how his hand held firm in your hair, cracked against the round of your ass, didn’t hear him whispering into your ear all the methods he had thought of for ruining you while he waited for the coffee to brew in the break room.

Maybe they’d regard him with a bit more authority if they heard how commanding he could be when he sat his glass on the coffee table and told you to come suck it. Maybe if they saw how he slipped his tie over your head, wound it around his fist and tugged your face to the straining erection under his sensible slacks they’d take him a little more seriously. If they could just see him now.

Your knees burnt as they dug into the rug that sweet Marcus had carried up the stairs to your apartment for you. Your eyes watered as his cock filled your throat, nudging almost far enough to make you gag. “Yeah. Just like that, baby. Breathe through your nose. Get it wet.” He eased his grip on the tie enough to let you move, making room to wrap your hand around his shaft and pump it while you hollowed your cheeks over the fat head of his cock, lips sliding smoothly over his foreskin, before you pulled it gently down and sucked in earnest. You wanted for all of his focus to be solely between his legs. You watched his eyes as he watched you spit on his cock, using your hand to spread it up and down his length while you licked his balls, cradling them on your tongue. You worked him steadily while his head fell back against the couch, eyes closed as he rocked his hips to meet your mouth. “Fuck. Fuuuuuck. Oh, baby. Suck it so good.” His hips rocked more urgently, his words slurred as he inched closer to his release and you eagerly waited to taste his cum. You’d let him film your mouth then show him how it covered your tongue, dripped down your chin before swallowing it down and pushing the drops that escape back into your mouth before you open, letting him see that you’ve gratefully swallowed every drop.

You don’t get to show him though, because he’s hooking his thick hungers back into the circle of fabric around your neck and pulling you off of him with a wet pop and a hiss. He smacks your cheek, more affection than sting, but you can feel how much he needs you to surrender to him. He’s in no mood for putting you in your place tonight. Keeping his fingers looped through the fabric he sits up straighter and watches as you rub your pussy with your hand under your dress, suddenly shy as he looms over you. Marcus watches a moment before he sighs and nods, as if finally understanding. “Sucking cock makes your pussy wet, hm? Can’t help but get on your knees and rub your pussy, huh, baby?” An image floats before his eyes, you on your knees, sucking him deep and hard while he watches you fuck yourself on that dildo he bought you, the one with the suction cup, the one he could stick on the mirror in the hallway so he could watch the way your pussy stretched and gripped the purple silicone, taking it and his cock at the same time. He files that thought away for next time, too far gone to fool with toys right now.

“Take all that off.” He gestures at you, tugging his own shirt over his head, hurriedly kicking his pants to the side, naked so he can feel your hot skin on his when he pulls you to the floor by his tie around your neck, the only thing you’ve left on. He lays you down between the couch and coffee table, a narrow space just big enough for the two of you. He likes how you’ll let him take you however he wants, wherever he wants. You’re a vessel for him to fill. Marcus takes a moment to smooth down the striped fabric of his tie, admiring the way it falls between your breasts. You try not to squirm, but you’re dripping for him, an achy throb in your cunt that only his cock can quell.

You love Marcus when he’s a gentle, tender lover. Love him when he brings home fresh bread from the best bakery, when he makes you pancakes while he listens to Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me on lazy Saturday mornings, when he holds your hand in museums, squeezing you as you lean your head on his shoulder, lost in the romance of the Baroques and the Rococos. You love him now as he pushes your knees up, grabbing your hand, showing you how he wants you to hold yourself open to him, giving him unfettered access to your puffy, slick cunt. Using his thumbs, he spreads you open, slips over your folds, teasing your clit with a roll of his digits, teases your entrance with them, pushing his thumb into you just one knuckle deep before dragging it back out to distribute more of your wetness, replacing it with his other thumb before repeating the motion, alternating thumbs, sliding up over your clit, faster and faster he moves, dripping saliva onto you to add to the squelching sounds. Winding your hips, you focus on your orgasm, just in reach when suddenly you’re being stretched further, two thumbs in your fluttering cunt, flat fingers against your clit making you cry out, body taut as your orgasm is pulled from you by the hands of the only man that owns you this way.

Before you can catch your breath, his hand is back on the tie, pulling you up to watch as he spears into you. He wishes he could go faster, he needs to be inside, but you’re so tight and his cock is so big he has to go slow. Wet thumb sliding around, over your clit and around his cock where he’s desperate to enter you, soothing the skin there with his touch, gentle despite his frenzy. You dare to look up and see him, snarling, mad with lust, teeth bared and chest heaving. “Fuck me Marcus. Please, daddy. Need your big cock so bad.” You whine. He doubles his efforts at your provocation, pushing in further, shallow thrusts becoming faster and deeper until he’s all the way in, head firmly pushed into your cervix and balls against your ass. There’s no air left in your lungs to ask him to please move already. Mercifully, he doesn’t wait long. He studies your face, your wet eyelashes, your mouth agape, cheeks and chest flushed pink, the face of a woman in need of a good fuck and he relents. He starts slowly, picking up speed, pulling out and slamming in and just the right angle to drag the coarse hair at the base of his cock over your swollen clit. It’s a lot. He sees it in your eyes, feels it in the way you squeeze his cock so tight. You’re close.

“You gonna come on daddy’s cock? Hm? You wait all day just for me to come home and fuck you like this? Treat you like a slut? Fuck you on the floor?” You try hard to answer him but all you can force out it a pathetic “yesyesyes!” As you squeeze your tits and pluck at your nipples the way he does, but not quite the same. It’s almost enough. Marcus can see that. He sees you right up against your second orgasm but unable to grasp it. He needs you to get there so he can follow you, Jack and Jill and the pail of water. He keeps his steady rhythm, holds his angle, and reaches to hold your cheek in his warm hand. He rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down until you open your mouth for him to slide it in, letting you taste yourself on his skin when he presses it into your tongue. It’s enough. More than enough. Your legs shake and your legs tighten around his waist. Words and meaning are lost between you. “Fuck, baby. Oh fuck. Oh! Ohhhhhhh.” He whimpers as your orgasm milks him of his own, draining every drop of cum from him.

You collect yourselves slowly, arms around his neck, him settled over you, kissing your face, whispering his love, his tie still hanging loose around your neck. You scratch his back, kiss his shoulder, and tap his side to let you up, you stand on shaky legs, not quite ready for gravity. You wonder what to make for dinner, consider resorting to takeout so you can just eat in bed. You think aloud, expecting some input from Marcus, but instead he holds your hips and directs you onto the couch, positioning you with your knees at the edge and your elbows on the back cushion so he can kneel behind you. You gasp, “Marcus! Marc-!” But he pays you no mind. Just licks messy stripes through your sensitive pussy, tasting himself, tasting you, humming at the vulgarity of what he’s doing, teasing your clit to make you shiver and flinch. Satisfied at last, he eases you onto your back to kiss you deep, sharing your combined flavor before taking your hand and leading you to the shower. Dinner can wait.

[farmerlarrry]

I Wanna Be Yours - Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: You meet Joel at a bar and you're left wanting more of him.

wc: ~3.3k

tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI)! no use of y/n, no outbreak!Joel, reader is younger than Joel however age is not specified (is of drinking age though), Joel is mid to late 30's, alcohol consumption, sexual thoughts (!!!), takes place at a bar in Texas, flirty!Joel, unwanted male attention (but also wanted attention...), idk there's not much tbh (if you feel like I should add something, please let me know) no beta we die like men

a/n: I didn't proofread as intensely as I normally do, but I'm trying to challenge myself to write & post more so here is the result. Also, I couldn't stop thinking about this concept, so I wrote it. Hope you all enjoy! (I also have an idea for a part two... if any of you are interested, let me know!)

if you are interesting in getting notifications when I post new works, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and turn on notifications! :)

You haven’t seen your best friend in over a year since they moved to a small town in Texas. Between work and just life in general, it’s been hard to find a time when both your schedules just so happen to perfectly align. After a lot of planning and a four hour fight with a two hour layover, you’ve finally made it. Unfortunately, your stay will be short—you only have three nights and four days with them, but it’s better than not seeing them at all. Your best friend made sure to plan some fun filled days, and regardless of how tired you are from your long travel day, you don’t want to waste any of the time you have with them.

Tonight, the two of you are hitting the town. Your friend has been going on and on about this one bar in particular. The drinks are cheap, the crowds are wild, and the music is good. On top of that, you will also be meeting some of your friend's coworkers, who quickly turned into some of their closest friends. Although you were excited, a part of you felt nervous.

It’s been a while since you went out to any bars or clubs. When you were in college, you and your small group of friends were frequent nightlife goers, but once everyone started getting jobs and moving away, those wild nights became few and far between.

Butterflies began to form in your stomach as the two of you approached a building from a side alley. You could feel the vibration of the music run its course through your body before the bar came into view; usually, this was a sign that tonight was going to be a good night.

When the building came into view, it wasn’t exactly what you were anticipating. The dim entrance made your stomach churn, igniting a sense of danger in your mind. A large man stood to the side of the closed metal door, his arms crossed as he stared straight ahead with a grim, intimidating expression. It was definitely not like any of the clubs or bars back home, where everything was well lit and definitely not as secluded as this one is. Your body language must’ve been telling because your friend let out a loud chuckle, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you closer to them.

“I already know what you’re thinking,” they say between their small giggles. You respond with a apprehensive look, causing them to become even more amused. A part of you felt like this was some sort of prank. “It doesn’t look like much, but I promise you, this is the place to go.”

You raise your eyebrows in suspicion. Your friend shakes their head in a joking manner, lacing their arm through yours and guiding you to the line that has begun to form.

Your friend spent most of the time in line on their phone trying to get a hold of their friends, who are supposed to be meeting the two of you there. One person wouldn’t pick up, so they’d call another person, only for the first person to call back. It was a mess, but in your eyes, it was an entertaining mess watching your friend struggle between the calls.

The two of you finally make it into the bar. Dim, red lights barely illuminate the large building, and you are immediately met with a humid heat and the smell of sweat and pure alcohol. Your nose twitches at the smell. The music, at least, is good; you can feel the thumping of the beat in your chest.

As you’re taking in the atmosphere, your friend grabs the back of your arm, pulling you in close to them and tilting their phone away from their mouth.

“I think I know where they are, I’m going to try and find them,” they shout into your ear, and you simply nod in response. Your eyes are locked onto the small, but crowded, dance floor straight ahead of you. “Why don’t you go get a drink at the bar? I’ll be right over, okay?”

They point in the direction of the bar, and you follow with your eyes. A drink will surely help with the nerves you’re feeling right now. Your stomach feels like a scrambled mess. Your friend quickly disappears in the opposite direction, still trying to reach someone on their phone.

You have to push your way through the crowd to make it over to the bar, situating yourself between two men. As you wait for the bartender to come over, you tap your fingers along the edge of the wooden top, looking around at the people surrounding you.

"Well, aren’t you a pretty lady?” The man to your right sneers at you, causing you to snap your head in his direction. You immediately notice his eyes are locked on your chest, not even trying to hide his obvious obsession with your cleavage. A feeling of insecurity comes over you as you begin to regret your outfit choice. Sure, you wanted attention, but not this level of creepy attention and definitely not from this man.

Not wanting to cause a scene, you just give the man an unauthentic smile, positioning your body away from him. You can feel him lean in behind you, and as he begins to say something, the bartender, a girl who barely even looks old enough to work at an establishment like this, promptly comes up to you from the other side of the bar. She gives a deathly glare to the man bothering you, causing him and his friends to leave.

“What can I get for you?” She says with a sweet smile.

“Tequila soda, please.” You rest your palms against the edge of the wooden top, leaning in toward her as you speak. “With an extra lime, too.”

She gives you an assuring nod, quickly turning on her heel to begin her work. As she’s walking away, your body is firmly slammed up against the bar top, the edge ramming into your ribs and knocking the wind out of you. Your body rocks back and forth as some sort of commotion unfolds behind you, with someone keeping your body pinned down and making it impossible for you to straighten upright.

Watch where the fuck you’re goin’.

Why don’t you watch your fucking mouth, old man.

Old ma– you wanna take this shit outside, you fuckin’ punk? Huh?

Your ribs get slammed against the edge again before you are finally set free, pushing yourself upright. You feel a hand glide along your lower back, making you turn your head from side to side, trying to see who is touching you.

“I’m so sorry ‘bout that, miss,” a faint voice says, obviously directed toward you. “Are you alright?”

You nod your head slowly as a tall and quite handsome man appears off to your side, making you turn around to see him fully. His dark hair is messily tousled on top of his head, a few half formed curls peek out from the nape of his neck. He is staring at you intensely with kind yet very obviously tired eyes. You can feel your mouth grow unbearably dry as you take his good looks in.

“Ye—yes,” you stumble on your words, continuing to marvel over the man before you. His eyes are wide as he darts all over you, bringing up his hand to gently move a strand of hair out of your face. He gives you a genuine, kind smile before letting his hand drop.

“People are...” He lets his voice trail off, sucking in some air through his teeth. He quickly looks around him. “I'm—”

Although he’s shouting, you don’t catch his name over all the noise, bringing your eyebrows together and turning your ear toward him.

“Joel,” he said louder, leaning in closer. You pull back, nod your head and shout your name back to him. His lips curl up into a charming smile. “That’s a beautiful name, miss.”

His compliment makes your heart flutter, and you drop your gaze down to your feet for a short moment before meeting with his eyes again. Joel nudges the man who was standing to your right out of the way so he can take his spot; your arms brush up against each other’s in the process, causing a chill to run up your arms. You slowly turn to face him, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. The bar light illuminates his face a bit better than before, he is absolutely beautiful.

“You from around here?” Joel asks and cocks his head slightly to one side, tilting himself a bit closer to you.

“No, just visiting a friend,” you respond, lifting yourself up ever so slightly on your tiptoes and angling your chest toward him. This is exactly the kind of man you want attention from. “You?”

His throat bobs, and his eyes quickly dart down and then back up to your eyes.

“I— I am from around here,” he says with a slight chuckle, which causes you to giggle alongside him. You can see a bead of sweat beginning to form alongside his temple.

Suddenly, his attention shifts away from you and he subtly points to behind the bar, causing you to turn your head. It’s the bartender from earlier, and she has your drink in hand with an apologetic smile showcased on her face. You were so wrapped up in the essence of Joel that you completely forgot you even ordered a drink.

“So sorry, we had some issues at the other end.” Her voice is high pitched and sweet sounding. “Do you want to pay or open a tab?”

As she slides your sweat clad glass across the bar toward you, Joel leans across you, closer to the girl on the other side. You can feel his hand find its way between your shoulder blades, running it up to the backside of your neck. A chill runs down your spine, causing a hitch in your breathing.

“Put it on my tab.” He shouted, and although he was just mere inches away from you, his voice still sounded so distant over the music and people talking.

The bartender raised her eyebrows and gave him a curt nod, quickly making eye contact with you and giving you a sly smile. Your heart fluttered at the gesture, even though a part of you knew this probably meant he wanted something in return. At this point, it was something you were definitely willing to give if he continued to play his cards right.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, not even sure if you spoke loud enough for him to hear you. As he pulls away, the two of you lock eyes, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“A lady as pretty as you should never pay for her drinks,” he responded confidently. You could feel your cheeks fill with heat.

Joel is now peering down over you with dark eyes, his left forearm laying against the wooden bar to support his body, and his other hand still loosely wrapped around the side of your neck. Goosebumps spread across your skin as he slowly rubbed the pad of his thumb over your soft skin.

You look up at him with wide, innocent eyes. He has his lips slightly puckered as he traces his eyes along your skin. You watched as the muscles in his chest twitched. A burning sensation begins to burn deep inside your chest; you didn’t know how much longer you could take this. At this point, you didn’t want him, you needed him.

He let his hand glide down the side of your neck, over your shoulder, and then down your arm before retracting it, grabbing his glass of whiskey off of the table and taking a smooth, long drag. You continue to watch him with your swollen bottom lip tucked between your teeth, subtly bobbing your head along to the music.

“What do you do for work?” Joel’s voice has changed now, it’s much more lustful than before, and you can tell that he’s trying to hide his desire. His throat bobs as he swallows. You were glad you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

“I work in an office.” You try to steady your breathing, not wanting your words to come out shaky. “I’m an assistant to the company’s CFO.”

Joel’s eyebrows twitch as he nods, looking down at his drink and swirling it around a few times.

“That sounds—“ His voice is hesitant.

“Super fun,” you cut him off and say in a sarcastic tone. “It totally is.”

Joel breaks out into a wide smile. You’re positive he chuckled, but it’s hard to be certain over the noise. You look down at his hands and see some dirt clinging to his arm hair. Construction? Maybe a contractor?

“And what do you do?” You say, grabbing one of his wrists and running over the dirtied spot with your index finger. He quickly pulls back, rubbing off the dirt with his other hand. Pink spreads along his cheeks.

“Christ, that’s embarrassin’… seems to never come off no matter how much I clean m’self.” His tone is flustered as he continues to try and remove the stubborn dirt. “I’m a carpenter, though; I work alongside my brother.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, chewing slightly on the inner flesh of your cheek. “So… does that mean you’re good with your hands?”

You question him flirtatiously, looking back down towards his big hands. Your comment makes Joel choke on his drink, his cheeks growing an even brighter shade of pink now. Your eyes dart back up to his face, this time you don’t break your gaze away from him, watching as he tries to hide his smile from you.

“I— I guess you, you could say that,” Joel manages to get out, bringing his hand up to the back of his neck and rubbing the side.

His well fitted shirt strains against his bicep, causing you to become distracted by Joel’s physique again. He is well in shape, likely due to his line of work; he has toned arms, broad shoulders, and nice chest muscles that the fabric of the shirt clings to. Without much thought, you begin to run your eyes along his body, your eyes meeting with the sliver of skin just above his pant line that’s exposed. Your eyes wander even lower when Joel suddenly hooks his finger under your chin, a smirk planted on his face.

“You’re trouble.” He leans in close, only leaving a few inches between your faces. You look up at him through your brow line, the corners of your lips curling upward. You love where this is going, soon all of your desires will be met, and he will be all yours.

Just as your eyes flutter shut, Joel is yanked away from you. A man with dirty blonde hair has his hands around Joel’s shoulders and is shaking him back and forth. Joel is very clearly perturbed, his face twisting up in frustration.

“Joel,” the man drags out his name with a wide grin, clearly he’s had one too many drinks tonight. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you… a couple guys from the job site are here ‘n wanna play pool. Whatdya think?”

Joel flashes you a quick smile before turning away from you and saying something to the man. Whatever he is saying appears to be causing conflicting emotions between the two of them. As they begin shooting back and forth, a feeling of insecurity quickly comes over you, causing you to turn your head away and look out into the crowd of people dancing.

As you take a small sip of your drink, Joel firmly places his hand on the small of your back, making your stomach jolt. You quickly turn your head back toward him. His mouth is near your ear, and you can feel his hot breath tickling your skin. The sensation causes heat to begin pooling in between your legs. You gulp.

“It was a pleasure talkin’ to you, darlin’,” his voice is smooth as honey and seductive. “I hope to see you around.”

Before you could think of anything to say back, Joel already had his back toward you, walking away accompanied by his friend. You’re stunned by his quick exit, your fingertips pooling with blood as you grip onto your drink glass. There’s no way I misread that entire situation, you think to yourself, left somewhat confused. Why would he leave like that?

The conversation was just as quick to end as it started, but it— he— left you wanting more. A sense of clarity came over you, a fire burning deep in your chest. You wanted more.

A voice inside your head echoed with “no, don’t leave” as you watched Joel disappear into the crowd. You could not move to make your deepest desires come true, and even if you could, did you really want to be the sex crazed person chasing after someone you had just met? As he fully disappeared, his scent lingered where he once stood—a faint smell of dirt, whiskey, and sweat. You thought it was strange that the combination was quite a turn on for you, but it was the indication of a hardworking man— and that was sexy to you.

All you could think about was how badly you wanted Joel. The way your body reacted every time he touched you was unlike anything any other person had been able to make you feel. The way his voice drew you in and his eyes hypnotized you. All you wanted at this moment was to see him bare, hovering over you while sweat dripped off of him and his face twisted with pleasure as he filled you up with his girth. You want to moan his name over and over as he explores your body, desperately wanting to know how his tongue would feel swirling around your swollen, throbbing clit that begged for his touch.

Closing your eyes, you bring yourself back to reality. You let go of the air that you had been holding in your lungs, your chest burning as it escapes. Being this attracted to someone was definitely not on your bingo card for this trip. Bringing your glass up to your lips, you steadily draw in the liquid, desperately trying to calm yourself down.

“Bitch,” the faint sound of your friend’s voice comes to you as a relief. They come up to your side, looping this arm around your waist. They have their eyes narrowed at you, a slight smirk appearing the longer the two of you look at each other.

“What?” You feel your eyebrows twitch.

“Who was that handsome fella you were just talking to?” They’re full blown smiling now, looking past you in the direction Joel went. You try to fight your smile, but ultimately fail. Your bestie begins to laugh, grabbing onto your arm and causing the heat to return to your cheeks.

“How long were you watching?” You suddenly feel shy, covering your face with one of your hands.

“Well, I wasn’t just going to come up and ruin whatever was going on… unlike that bastard that pulled him away from you.” They narrowed their eyes once again, obviously upset about what happened. “So, what’s his name?”

“His name’s Joel,” you say, leaning in closer to them.

“Oh,” their eyes widened. “And are we hoping we see Joel again tonight?”

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, dropping your eyes down to your glass as you run the moistened tip of your index finger around the rim of your glass.

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling to yourself. “I hope so.”

dividers are from @saradika | link

banners were made by me :)

[vastnez5]

The Effects of Fast Fashion on Ethics & The Environment

How does fast fashion impact our world?

Fast fashion might make trends affordable, but its impact on the planet and on workers is steep. Let’s take a closer look at what’s really happening behind the scenes.

Fast fashion gives us trendy, cheap clothing—but at what cost? Behind the low prices are underpaid workers, poor working conditions, and environmental destruction. By supporting fast fashion, we’re contributing to waste, pollution, and unethical labor practices. But the good news?

We can make a difference.

I give you a challenge, Try to reduce that number even by one if you can. Even just $20 can add up quickly each month.

SCRIPT

Now how do we avoid this? Fast fashion has become a global issue, fueling overconsumption and harming the environment. In A Conscious Shift, Christine Nzinga Blake and Yesha Callahan emphasize how our shopping habits drive unsustainable practices. But we can make a difference by changing how we purchase clothes. First, prioritize quality over quantity. Instead of buying multiple trendy pieces, invest in timeless, durable clothing that lasts longer and reduces waste. Second, embrace alternatives like clothing swaps or renting. These options let you refresh your wardrobe without buying new items, which is a simple way to reduce demand for fast fashion. Third, get creative with what you already have. Restyling or altering older clothes can give them new life while helping the planet and your wallet. As A Conscious Shift explains, even small changes in how we shop can have a big impact. Let’s take steps toward thoughtful, sustainable fashion choices that protect the planet for future generations.

CBS News provides an informative video on the environmental effect of fast fashion.

"Three-fifths of all garments end up in landfill within a year of being produced."

This statistic from Anastasia Denisova, a researcher and writer focused on fashion media, sustainability, and ethical consumption, on page 6, is a sobering reminder of the impact of fast fashion on the environment.

3 BRANDS AND THEIR ISSUES

H&M

H&M has made a goal to reduce greenhouse gas emissions but this has gone nowhere.

Their business model is unsustainable and unethical.

The majority of materials used are unsustainable and not eco-friendly.

ZARA

Zara's shop network, which spans across over 96 countries, requires a lot of resources to build, transport, and operate.

They exploit workers, to pump out a ton of low cost clothing for little-to-no pay.

Zara's reliance on cheap clothing for large profit has caused the use of petroleum-based fabric such as polyester, that can harm the environment immensely when discarded in large amounts.

SHEIN

With such low prices comes a cost, horribly treated workers.

Having things such as microtrends causes people to purchase clothing and throw it out after one use.

The products are low-quality and contribute to carbon emissions.

ALTERNATIVES TO THESE BRANDS

Afends: XS-XL This brand has purchased acres of farmland to grow hemp plants.

337 BRAND: XS-L This brand makes clothing from low-impact materials.

CHNGE: 2XS-4XL This all-inclusive brand uses 100% organic material.

Honest Basics: XS-2XL This brand keeps prices low while having sustainable products built to last.

MUD Jeans: W25 L30-W33 L32 for women and W28 L34-W36 L34 for men. This brand offers a repair service for their jeans, and also uses organic and recycled cotton.

Yes And: XS-XL This brand uses non-toxic dyes and lower impact materials.

When you spend a little bit more on sustainable clothing from companies that treat their workers properly and pay them a livable wage you feel good, and you are contributing to a good cause while your clothes last longer as well.

While it’s true that fast fashion provides affordable clothing and creates jobs, we must ask: at what cost?

The exploitation of workers, including paying wages far below a living standard, cannot be justified by low prices.

Addressing these issues requires holding brands accountable and choosing alternatives that prioritize ethical treatment and fair pay for workers worldwide 

The fashion industry shows how important consumer habits have on the world around us. Every purchase shows the never-end cycle of fast fashion. As Lindsey Reid, a contributor to the University of Alabama at Birmingham's Human Rights Blog, notes, "Fast fashion thrives on overconsumption and a disregard for ethical responsibility," asking us to consider the consumer role in this cycle. Turning to secondhand fashion stores, supporting brands that are ethical, or even simply thinking about our choices on what we buy can make a lasting change for the planet and the people. While critics, including people who own these industries and some consumers argue that fast fashion is an affordable solution to those with low income, we must think about the hidden costs on the environment and the workers. While some may say that low-cost clothing is essential for many, Alexandra Wolff a sustainability advocate who writes about the fashion industry, notes in her article “Zara and Sustainability: The High Cost of Low Prices,” "Low prices come at a high cost, with workers in exploitative conditions and the planet paying the ultimate price.” Finding alternatives such as thrifting long lasting clothing is affordable and ethical. Sustainable fashion isn't out of reach, it's a path to a better future.

WHAT YOU SHOULD DO INSTEAD

Shop second-hand 

Support sustainable brands

Reduce your waste 

Is your mind blown?

WORKS CITED

Assoune, Alex. “The Truth about Workers Conditions in Fast Fashion.” Panaprium, Panaprium, 27 Oct. 2021, www.panaprium.com/blogs/i/fast-fashion-workers-conditions.

Bick, Rachel, et al. “The Global Environmental Injustice of Fast Fashion.” Environmental Health: A Global Access Science Source, vol. 17, no. 1, Dec. 2018, p. N.PAG. EBSCOhost, https://doi-org.libproxy.cnm.edu:8443/10.1186/s12940-018-0433-7.

Blake, Nzinga Christine, and Yesha Callahan. “A Conscious Shift.” Essence, vol. 50, no. 4, Sept. 2019, pp. 84–86. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=138076754&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

Denisova, Anastasia. “Fashion Media and Sustainability: Encouraging Ethical Consumption via Journalism and Influencers” 2021, Directory of Open Access Books, https://library.oapen.org/bitstream/handle/20.500.12657/53515/9781912656912.pdf;jsessionid=7308ECEDA63438C4CB0EB5DC0182A61A?sequence=1.

Denton, Allison. “The Cost of Looking Good: How Fashion and Trend-Based Consumerism Impact the Economy, Law, and Environment.” Indiana Journal of Global Legal Studies, vol. 30, no. 2, July 2023, pp. 363–89. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=174865933&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

Hackett, Lisa J. “Addressing Rage: The Fast Fashion Revolt.” M/C Journal, vol. 22, no. 1, Mar. 2019, p. N.PAG. EBSCOhost, https://doi-org.libproxy.cnm.edu:8443/10.5204/mcj.1496.

Joy, Annamma, et al. “Fast Fashion, Sustainability, and the Ethical Appeal of Luxury Brands.” Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body & Culture, vol. 16, no. 3, Sept. 2012, pp. 273–95. EBSCOhost, https://doi-org.libproxy.cnm.edu:8443/10.2752/175174112X13340749707123.

McCosker, Jaclyn. “The Impact of Fast Fashion on Garment Workers.” Good On You, 28 Feb. 2024, goodonyou.eco/impact-fast-fashion-garment-workers/.

News, CBS. “The Environmental Cost of Fast Fashion.” YouTube, 28 Apr. 2022, youtu.be/H2bxO-PgcT0?si=XzJVgM0pxpPNstkS.

Nguyen, Lei. “The Danger of Sweatshops.” Earth.Org, Earth.Org, 4 Mar. 2024, earth.org/sweatshops/.

Reid, Lindsey. “Fast-Fashion: Unethical and Unsustainable.” UAB Institute for Human Rights Blog, The University of Alabama at Birmingham, 22 Jan. 2020, sites.uab.edu/humanrights/2018/04/26/fast-fashion-unethical-and-unsustainable/.

Robertson, Lara. “How Ethical Is H&M?” Good On You, 30 Sept. 2024, goodonyou.eco/how-ethical-is-hm/.

Schoenherr, Neil. “How Fast Fashion Hurts Environment, Workers, Society.” The Source, WashU, 11 Nov. 2020, source.washu.edu/2019/01/how-fast-fashion-hurts-environment-workers-society/#:~:text=Approximately%2085%20percent%20of%20the,pounds%20per%20American%20per%20year.

Smalling, Sydney. “The Rise of Fast Fashion and The Lack of Protections in the Garment Worker Industry.” SMU Dedman School of Law, International Law Review Association, 2022, www.smu.edu/-/media/Site/Law/students/law-journals/Fall-2022-Case-Notes/Smalling_2022-Case-Note-Final.pdf.

Wolff, Alexandra. “Zara and Sustainability: The High Cost of Low Prices.” FG Conscious Fashion, FG Conscious Fashion, 8 Aug. 2024, thefashionglobe.com/zara-can-never-be-sustainable/.

[clownakai]

Pokémon AU: Accidental Baby Acquisition (part 2/2)

The first thing Shuuichi does is crouch in front of the Pokémon. In the dark, he can faintly make out its eyes, so he tries to redirect his gaze a little to the side so as to avoid agitating the hatchling in case its night vision turns out to be that much better than his.

He could use his flashlight for this, but there's no guarantee the Pokémon wouldn't react negatively to having all that light suddenly shone in its face after being alone in the dark for who knows how long; the last thing Shuuichi needs is to waste even more time calming it down— if the hatchling doesn't straight up claw his face off in retaliation, that is.

"Hey, there," he tries again, hoping to garner a reaction this time around.

It's not clear how or why, but the general consensus is that, be it through tone, body language, or something as of yet unobserved, Pokémon are capable of roughly understanding humans even from a young age. In theory, if Shuuichi can manage to project a calm and unthreatening presence, the hatchling should rule him out as friendly and in turn be more willing to trust him (granted, this one seems to have gotten a little too reckless for its own good to begin with, walking up to him and chewing on his clothes just like that, but Shuuichi would still rather be safe than sorry).

The Pokémon stares at him for a long moment. Then it inches closer, resting one of its front paws on Shuuichi's knee (that's definitely a single-clawed limb) and giving the hand he's offering a perfunctory sniff before bumping its head against his palm.

Shuuichi takes it in stride and carefully runs his hand over the hatchling's skin: it's rough but surprisingly uniform, not unlike the plates of a Golem. He mentally places the Rock-type hypothesis above the Ground-type one: the mud-eating points more towards the latter, but any wild Pokémon in such a desperate situation could have done that. The skin, however, so coarse and unyielding to the touch, doesn't seem to be a consequence of dehydration and is much more likely to be naturally found in the former. There's also a chance he might be dealing with a dual-type— Rock/Ground would compliment each other nicely and eliminate the issue of dissonant clues.

Once he's reasonably sure the hatchling isn't going to attack, Shuuichi tentatively slips both hands underneath its front limbs, secures a hold around the small, freezing torso, and proceeds to almost faceplant as soon as he tries to heave the Pokémon up: the little guy is deceptively heavy. Not that Shuuichi still wouldn't be able to lift it now that he knows, but those must be at least fifty kilograms of rocky baby right there; suddenly, the thought of the hatchling being born prematurely feels mildly haunting.

Said hatchling is clearly displeased by Shuuichi's attempted manhandling, and makes its opinion known by indignantly squeaking up at him while wriggling out of his grasp. Shuuichi lets it go without a fight, heaving a defeated sigh as he starts patting himself for any leftover snacks he might have neglected to take out of his pockets. He does find something— an energy bar of all things—, and while it's far from being ideal for Pokémon consumption, it'll have to do this time.

If at first the hatchling had recoiled from the alien crinkling of the plastic wrapper, it switches gears as soon as Shuuichi tears the packaging open, squeaking again and impatiently clawing at his knees. Good to know whatever the energy bar is made of still registers as edible.

Shuuichi tears a piece off the small tablet and silently offers it to the Pokémon, palm up. It pretty much inhales the morsel, happy noises erupting from its throat as it chews: it kind of reminds him of what Hana sounded like in her early training days, back when she was still a Houndour and would sink her tiny baby teeth into his ankles at every opportunity.

The onslaught of memories gives Shuuichi pause. This hatchling is most definitely nothing like Hana, but with how quickly it devoured that bite of food... It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?

Standing up in one fluid motion, Shuuichi crushes half of the energy bar in his hand, then leans down and lets his arm drop until his clenched fist is at snout level with the hatchling, who immediately attempts to latch onto his wrist, short but pointy teeth scraping against Shuuichi's skin. Certain that he has the Pokémon's undivided attention, he starts making his way out of the room, hand never straying too far from the little one's snout.

To his surprise and relief, the hatchling follows diligently, eating up every crumb that Shuuichi progressively dispenses as they go. Soon enough they're out of the refrigerated room, and Shuuichi can finally get a semi-decent look at the Pokémon under the moonlight filtering from the nearest window.

That's... Shuuichi has no idea what that is. He's almost completely certain that it has to be at least part Rock type now that he can see its skin more clearly, at least, and he certainly doesn't mind being able to get a good look at its features, but not even the triangular black markings below its eyes nor the peculiarly shaped tail— not quite a fan as Shuuichi first thought, but more akin to a conical base surrounded by long, plate-like scales— manage to ring a bell.

The hatchling yawns and shifts, revealing what looks like a dark spot on its belly. Upon closer inspection, however, the strange diamond-shaped mark turns out to be an area where the Pokémon's skin is even thicker, to the point it truly feels to Shuuichi as if he were touching a stone slab when he tentatively pokes at it.

That jogs his memory, but not enough to actually spark recognition. He thinks he's seen something like this before, but he can't put his finger on it for the life of him.

Pokédex it is, then.

Shuuichi punches in a general description— coarse skin, conic tail, diamond-shaped patch on belly— and filters out every Type except for Rock and Ground, finding himself pleasantly surprised when a match pops up within the first three results.

"Larvitar," the Pokédex's robotic voice crackles, "the Rock Skin Pokémon."

Shuuichi mutes the device, skimming the entry by himself. "Would you look at that... Rock/Ground. And you actually need dirt in your diet. You only like me because of the mud, don't you?" The hatchling stares cluelessly up at him, then sneezes. Is there a single coherent thought behind those eyes? Shuuichi won't know until he sees them during the day.

... Where did that come from? He can't just take the Larvitar with him, can he? The extra expenses alone would put a significant strain on his wallet, and that's without considering the sheer amount of time Shuuichi would need to spend with the baby. The additional complications of a premature birth are merely the icing on top of what promises to be a disastrous cake: it just wouldn't be sustainable for him to take the Pokémon in.

On the other hand, Shuuichi didn't exactly get where he is by doing what's best for him. Plus, the hatchling is unfairly endearing.

He fishes a poké ball out of his pocket, absentmindedly tapping a rhythm on the tiny sphere as he toys with the idea. Bourbon chooses that exact moment to open the comms line and snap at him to hurry up and finish doing his job. Shuuichi shakes his head: no time for hangups.

"Hey, buddy." He nudges the Larvitar and shows it the poké ball, offering the item up for inspection. "You wanna come with? I know it's sudden—" and you probably have no fucking clue what a poké ball is even for— "but I don't think staying here is a good idea." Fuck, he really hopes the hatchling at least grasped the general sentiment of what he just said.

He's rewarded with a long, flat stare. Then, two tiny claws rise to nudge the poké ball back and forth until they meet the release button. Shuuichi holds his breath. He hears a click, and in a flash of crimson light he's left crouching all alone.

In his hand, the poké ball shakes one, two, three times; the latch seals itself shut with a click and a burst of sparkling dust, and absolute silence falls once more... For about two seconds.

"Do you want me to set the charges off while you're still in there, Rye?"

Shuuichi elects to ignore that. "I'm done," he says instead as he pockets Larvitar's poké ball and goes to close the refrigerated room's door before leaving the floor altogether. "But I found a room full of rare eggs. The charges shouldn't be strong enough to make the Pokémon ignore all the Repel that's been sprayed around it, though, so I'm leaving them there."

He descends the stairs in quick strides— Bourbon can be frighteningly precise with his little 'fumbles' sometimes, and Shuuichi would rather conclude the assignment without needing to stitch anything up— before adding, "It might be worth it to look into your sources.”

The blond's venomous reply gets lost in the aether when Shuuichi removes his earpiece and pockets it; he can faintly make out Scotch's silhouette at the edge of the open fields, a shadow amongst shadows waiting for him to get a move on. Once he's joined him, Shuuichi won't have to worry about potentially missing important directions from Bourbon: he'll have the pleasure of receiving them with zero added insults, because Scotch is nice and reasonable like that.

The other sniper makes no mention of Shuuichi's tardiness, no doubt too tired to care at this point: he merely pivots and starts leading the way to the car, where Bourbon has been operating from. It's a short trek this time, as after Shuuichi and Scotch did away with the surveillance the blond had parked much closer to the warehouse to oversee the operation from there.

"All set," is the first thing Scotch says upon getting in the car. Shuuichi follows suit, taking up the spot next to him and setting the now almost empty bags at his feet; the front seat is entirely occupied by Bourbon's equipment, and neither of them feels like provoking the blond's ire by shifting something.

Bourbon's only answer is a noncommittal hum, although it's only a minute or so later that flashing lights and cacophonic noises begin to erupt from the depths of the warehouse. Within seconds, dozens of Pokémon pour out of the building and disappear into the night, their distant cries the only sign there was ever anything in there at all.

"Good luck to the local wildlife managers." Scotch mutters, eyes trained on the few shadows that have yet to blend into the surrounding vegetation. "I don't think I've seen a single Pokémon native to this area tonight."

"Hardly our problem," Bourbon snorts from the front as he turns off his equipment and puts the car in reverse. "Tell Gin we're done. I'm busy."

Shuuichi sighs, certain that he's the one being spoken to because the blond would never bark an order at Scotch like that, and takes out his phone to confirm their success to the silver-haired operative. In the process, the remaining half of the energy bar he used to bribe Larvitar slips out of his pocket, catching Scotch's eye.

Now, that wouldn't usually constitute a problem: they all have to resort to those from time to time. Except that, now that Shuuichi can see it better, the wrapper is clearly labeled 'Pecha'. Coincidentally, that's Scotch's favorite flavor and one of Shuuichi's most loathed— way too sweet for his taste.

"Hm," he says, staring at the damning evidence.

"Is that from my fucking stash?" Scotch hisses through his teeth.

"... No." Shuuichi immediately lies, because he's an idiot.

Bourbon makes a noise that honestly belongs in the jaws of a feral Mightyena. "You stole Scotch's food?"

"No, I didn't."

"You did!"

"You fucking stole—"

Scotch takes advantage of the petrifying quality of Bourbon's incoming tirade to reach for the energy bar. Unfortunately for him, Shuuichi notices and, faster than any of them can blink, shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

A moment of blissful silence envelops the car. Scotch stares into the void, lost for words. Shuuichi tries to chew the energy bar. He fails, defeated by the abhorrent taste.

Thus, the yelling starts.

Prev | Next

[resextensa0]

DAIDO MORIYAMA

NOBUYOSHI ARAKI

In the tumultuous 1960’s photography sought it place in the public discourse; in Tokyo the photographic world was buzzing with the ambitious exhibition A CENTURY OF PHOTOGRAPHY (1968),   while in the publishing world the major happening was the the launch of the magazine Provoke, created and published by art critic Koji Taki, poet Takahiko Hokada and photographers Yutaka Takahashi and Takuma Nakahira. With the subtitle “Provocative Materials for Thought,” the publication reflected the heated climate of the time. “Images do not constitute thought in themselves,” Provoke’s editorial roared. “What we photographers can do, indeed must do, is capture with our eyes those fragments of reality which are utterly impossible to capture with existing world, and actively keep creating materials to confront those world and thoughts.” To overcome what they saw as staged, it was necessary to challenge the idea of neutrality of the image and of photgraphic equipments, investigating layers that are barely visible. Takahiko Okada suggested that the truth of the image lay in the investigation of the human being who should confront the forms of organization of society, the economy and the family, in search of subterranean, unknown, and demonic forces. Moriyama debuted in the magazine’s second issue, released in 1969 under the theme “Eros”; in this issue Okada wrote about the relationship between image, eroticism and fetishism. The poet argued that the material progress of society offered false cultural progress in exchange of for the increasing repression of individuals’ sexual desires with repression turning into the consumption of images “The excessive maturation of capitalist society, like rotting overripe fruit, causes sexual phenomena and sexual images to spread.” Replacing reality with a simulacrum brought the sexual debate closer to discussion about mass society, and the consumption of images. “Representation of reality seems more real then reality itself, at which point that conduit is not only not performing its function but is generating, in a like manner, the perverted phenomenon in which what the media delivers is received and fetishistically enjoyed”, he summarized.

Roland Barthes wrote in his essay “Camera Lucida - Reflections on photography” that one of the distinguished marks of our times is this overturning in which our lives are based upon a generalized imaginary; Such a reversal inevitably raises the ethical question—not because the image is immoral or diabolic, but because, if generalized, it ends up derealizing the human world of conflict and desire, rather it wants to illustrate it. What characterizes so-called advanced societies is that today they consume images rather than, as in the past, beliefs. They are therefore more liberal, less fanatical, but also more 'false'—less 'authentic'.

Noubuyoshi Araki the same age of Moriyama began developing his style from a homemade collection of photographies, he quickly connects the phots with his personal style, which at the time were associated with copy, mass media and printed materials. At the same time he was presenting sexuality in an explicit fashion. There was a fake quality to the staged photos in which Araki himself appeared, mixing fiction with reality. 

Facing sexual repression was, therefore, also freeing photography from a narrow view of reality.

[tidesfate]

Some more thoughts for Moras Main non-tes verse (aka The Outer God of Knowledge until i have a better name)

Much in line with the general backstory I have for it now, it was the original blueprint of creation crafted by the original Gods of the universe. It did get into a testing phase before being decidely 'imperfect'. It was then taken apart, stripped of pieces that would be used in creation, and then left as ideas and concepts undesired to rot in the void. Its sentience was an accident that was unforeseen and could not be killed once it was truly 'born', for it had begun to stick its tendrils within times before, during, and after it.

Its initial nature was neutral, and purely curious there is a chance its original domain was Curiosity itself before gaining that of knowledge, fate, and memory through its original area. Its goals were as simple as gaining more information. The entity was provided no guidance and simply left to its own device; finding through this how much easier it was to gain through manipulation. How much more knowledge could be gained through breaking something and then putting it back together, only to repeat. The entertainment it could gain through trickery. Respect through recognition of the mind, and fear of intellect.

Mora does feel an absence; that built of the pieces that were torn of it, those of which it is unaware of. Consumption of knowledge and memory fills this hunger momentarily before it returns- and it becomes more jaded as it runs out of new things to gain. (unlike TES verse, the universe is a lot more vast however and this widely opens up how much it has or has not gained).

Apocrypha is a realm between reality, and spans through the cracks between nearly all of it. What it is is more than likely the remnants of the original design, much like Mora. The husks of the former universe, which Mora inhabits and rules and has made its own. Its appearance currently has no difference from that in TES, other than maybe the areas where more modern tech is present. It is a plane of alien architecture, curling and spiraling bookshelves, oceans of ink, landscapes of unknown flora and fauna, and a roiling sky of green miasma pocketed with voids of tendrils and eyes.

Still something akin to a hive-mind, like I have it in canon. Where it can be in multiple places at once, think different things, or even disconnect pieces of itself. This is important for later bullet.

Mora cannot leave Apocrypha. It can send pieces of itself like feelers into reality, but much like a fish out of water these will wither if kept out for too long. Too long of course can be anywhere from a day to a thousand years dependent on how thin the walls between reality and its own realm are; some areas the two touch much closer, and those spots you may find more anomalous properties within reality.

Mora can work around this issue to an extent through the means of vessels. It can use living beings from reality, from true creation, and put a chunk of itself within. This acts as a protective barrier to its matter, though the vessel will begin to malform and distort the longer Mora is within it / the more of its power is used within it. Once the final chunks of creations make is eaten away from the vessel, the time begins to tick upon the piece of Mora. Mora also does tend to thin or completely snip its connection to these piece of itself to avoid withering the vessel and therefore that piece of itself too fast, but does put what it has gained at risk of having to regather the knowledge and memories and all that makes it up from that piece back should it completely disappear.

More will be added as I think about it cause I am rotating this verse in my head

[poppy-in-the-woods]

Playing God | Chapter One: The Worst

Plot: Sadie is a vampire hunter with a problem: the members of her favourite band are vampires. She spent the last five years since she found out training to take them out, one by one, beginning with the youngest, guitarist Tim Henson. But things rarely go as planned, and Sadie's life will be turned upside down after her first encounter with Tim.

Pairing: Vampire!Tim Henson x Vampire hunter!OFC

Word count: 3352

Rating: Mature/Explicit.

General tags: vampire au, arranged marriage, smut, violence, blood, biting, implied homophobia, misoginy, lgbtq characters, slight gore.

Chapter tags: violence, alcohol consumption, asshole brother.

Author's note: Per @veronicaphoenix advice, I have decided to cross-post this on here too, but if you want to read it on AO3, here's the link. As always, English is not my first language, this is not proofread, yada yada yada, you know the drill already. Hope you enjoy!

Learning that her favorite group was made up entirely of vampires was not easy for Sadie. Another girl would have loved that, but Sadie came from a family of vampire hunters, and she felt betrayed. She knew it was stupid to feel that way, because it wasn't like they'd done it to pick on her specifically, but she couldn't help it. So, she set out to finish off all of them, starting with one of the guitarists, Tim, since he was the one who had been a vampire the least amount of time. If she could kill him, the others would fall, one after another, sooner or later. After all, even though there were several of them, they only had to separate them.

A couple of years earlier, Sadie had had her initiation ceremony in which she had killed her first vampire, and in the five years following the perceived betrayal, she trained hard, driven by hatred until she was considered one of the best hunters of her age within the family.

On her twenty-fifth birthday the opportunity presented itself: like vampires, hunters moved around a lot, and it was the first time in years that Sadie's family was in not just the same state, but the same town as the band. It had taken some effort, but thanks to internet forums and their own research skills, they had found their address. It was funny that there were several fans who were closer than they thought to the band's real address.

With the help of her siblings, Sadie had spent a month watching them, studying their patterns, all the while monitoring social media, and she knew they were all going to be at a club that day, celebrating the anniversary of Tim's conversion. Confident in her abilities as a slayer, she insisted on going alone.

A nice dress and a couple of fifty-dollar bills were enough to convince one of the employees to sneak her through the service door, where her purse would not be searched. Once inside, she headed for the restroom. As soon as one of the cubicles was free, she entered it, skipping the queue and earning a few angry exclamations. Without paying attention to them, she took the silver stake out of her bag and hid it in the shaft of her boot. She checked that it did not stick out or show too much of its outline and stepped out, again ignoring the protests.

She searched for them by looking around, but there were too many people. Determined, she made her way to the bar, which, being slightly elevated, offered a better vantage point.

“Hey, can I have a Shirley Temple?” she asked the bartender.

The guy ignored her. Maybe she shouldn't drink anything, even if the cocktail was non-alcoholic; it wasn't a good idea for her to feel like going to the restroom in the middle of the job. She had to be focused and in top form to kill the greatest living guitarist.... well, the greatest undead guitarist. A shudder ran down her spine.

Tim's affair with vampirism had been no accident, he had been chosen for his talent. He was the youngest of the band, and although the others treated him like the little brother, the truth was that none of them had reached a century of life. They were all the offspring of a vampire who was about five hundred years old, but from the first year of his new life, his sire had trusted his new siblings to take care of him and teach him everything he needed to know about being a vampire. Like, for example, how to feed.

The door to the booth was open, so he smelled her before he saw her: blood uncontaminated by alcohol, foundation, hairspray, metal, and a very faint vanilla-based perfume. The mixture stood out powerfully among the rest of the smells of the place, and it was not unpleasant at all, so he looked around for her. The girl in question must have been about twenty-five years old, and she was making her way through the crowd with determination and in a somewhat aggressive manner, as he couldn't help but notice. When she reached the bar, she leaned forward, highlighting the heart-shaped neckline of her dress and said something, trying to get the attention of the bartender, who ignored her as he continued to prepare cocktails.

“Did you see anything interesting, Tim?” asked Scott, the other guitarist in the band, seeing that his attention was elsewhere.

“Maybe,” he replied in a casual tone, trying not to sound too excited.

He pointed at her with his chin. The other three members of the band then looked at the girl, who was still trying to get served.

“Too muscular for my taste,” said Gober, the bass player.

Her arm muscles were certainly quite pronounced, though not so much so that she looked like she was a professional lifter, but more like someone who worked out often.

“Gym chicks take care of themselves, she sure tastes good," said Clay, the drummer.

“I saw her first,” said Tim defensively.

“We know, man, relax,” said Scott.

“And even if that wasn't the case, we'd bring her to you, it's your night,” added Clay.

The anniversary of a vampire's turning was an important day, or so he'd been told; it didn't seem to Tim to be any different from any other night of hunting, and it never did; unless his maker was there to host the party, of course.

“Would you rather go get her, or shall we bring her to you?” Gober asked.

“I'll go.”

Without taking his eyes off the girl, he got up, walked out of the booth and slipped through the crowd with little effort. He stood next to her and only then looked at the bartender.

“Hey, man, you have an unattended customer here,” he said.

“She can wait, just like everyone else,” the waiter replied without looking at him.

“I thought this was supposed to be an exclusive club,” the girl protested. “Is being rude part of the exclusiveness, or is it just your personality?”

“Ha, ha. Look, honey, I have a lot of cocktails to make, my co-worker is not here, so I also have to tend the bar in her place. Your drink is way down on my list of priorities, got it?”

The girl nodded and turned her back to the bar, seemingly resigned.

“I'm sorry,” Tim said.

“At least you tried,” she sighed. “I'm Sadie, by the way.”

“Tim,” he introduced himself. “Hey, if you want, my friends and I have drinks in our booth.”

“Shouldn’t you ask me for a dance first?” she joked.

“Would you like to dance?”

“Sure, why not?”

They danced for a while, though it was clear they'd both rather have been doing something else. Sadie seemed uncomfortable with his hands on her waist, and dancing was not Tim's favorite activity. After what he considered a reasonable amount of time, he invited her to go with him once more, and this time she accepted.

Taking her by the hand, he led the way through the crowd back to the relative silence of the booth; it was soundproofed so that only a third of the noise reached inside. Glass panels up to half-height let you see what was going on in the rest of the club, yet it could be turned into a private space just by closing a couple of curtains. It was a perfect place for a group of vampires to do their thing with some innocent girls. That night, however, Tim didn't feel like an audience, and he didn't want to share her either. Still, he introduced her to the others.

“Guys, this is Sadie. These are my friends: Scott, Clay and Gober.”

“Gober?”

“His name is also Clay,” Scott explained, “that's why we call him by his last name, to avoid confusion.”

“Oh, I see. Nice to meet you.”

“Guys, it occurs to me that maybe Tim and his new friend would like a little living space, maybe we should go for a walk, you know, see what's going on,” Gober suggested, getting up.

“Yeah, yeah, that's a great idea,” said Clay, mimicking him.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Scott.

The other vampires left, leaving her alone with Tim, who drew the curtains. It was good enough for her that he wanted privacy; by the time they returned, she would be long gone and the only trace of her presence there would be the corpse.

She had expected to have to use her charms to lure him in, and that things would have to get a bit physical for her to get close enough to stake him, though she hadn't expected to get his attention so quickly. She smiled at him as he poured her a glass of champagne, but didn't drink; she needed to be sober for what was coming.

“Are you from here?” He asked her, pouring himself another glass, but he didn't drink either.

“No, from Illinois,” she said, “and you?”

“From Texas. But you know how it is with music, you have to go where the money is.”

“It makes sense,” she replied. “So you're a musician... and those are your bandmates, I guess.”

“Exactly,” he confirmed.

As if she didn't know precisely who they were; she had followed them since their beginnings, when she was a teenager and Tim was still human. It wasn't until he made the switch that she realized they were all vampires at a show she went to, her first concert. She had been so excited to go to a concert, and felt herself explode with happiness when they appeared on stage... Maybe if she hadn't pushed her girlfriend to get closer to the front row, she would never have realized what they were. A mixture of anger and disappointment rose in her throat, threatening to overflow in the form of words. Swallowing down, she pushed them back inside her.

“And what are you celebrating?” she asked, looking at the display of expensive alcohol on the table.

“Oh, well, it's private,” he replied evasively. She arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “I'm just embarrassed.”

“Come on, it can't be that bad,” she encouraged him.

“It's my birthday.”

“Happy birthday!” she exclaimed, feigning as much enthusiasm as she was capable of. To give it a little more realism, she toasted him and pretended to take a sip of the champagne. “A birthday is a great thing, why didn't you want to tell me? Don't you like your birthdays?”

“It's not that, it's just... I don't know, after a certain point I think it's a bit silly to celebrate them, you know?” He said, shrugging. “I mean, when you're a kid it's okay, for the presents and stuff, but then it's a bit... meh.”

Sadie thought back to her own birthdays: every year since she was fourteen, her parents had gifted her some new weapon, and before that she'd barely get any toys, as her parents had preferred to give her books. They had encouraged her reading habit on purpose, since, in addition to high school, as a hunter she had had to pass some exams, both practical and theoretical.

“Yes, they can be,” she agreed. “Sorry, I didn't buy you anything.”

“That's all right. We could celebrate in another way,” he said, caressing her bare knee suggestively.

Her heart raced at the prospect of finally being able to kill him. She smiled wickedly before launching herself at him and beginning to kiss him voraciously.

It wasn't what Tim had expected, but he wasn't going to complain about her initiating it, was he? He was about to bite her when he felt it against the base of his sternum, hard and hot as red-hot iron.

“Silver,” he hissed.

The stake was more like a stiletto, narrow and sharp; enough to kill him if it ever pierced his heart. All she had to do was apply a little pressure, and he'd be dead... but she didn't do it. She looked him in the eye, frowning, and let out a grunt of frustration.

“Come on, what's stopping you?” He asked, showing his fangs as he spoke. “You got me now, kill me.”

“I can't,” said Sadie, pulling away sharply, the stake still in her hand. “I can't destroy so much talent.”

“So, you knew who I was, huh?”

“Of course I know! I've followed you guys from the beginning, and when I found out you'd let yourself be turned into a monster, I hated you. I hate you.”

“Bullshit. Deep down, you're just a groupie. You adore me,” he contradicted her.

Using his telekinetic powers, he snatched the stake from her. As the metal fell, clattering against the floor, he caught her, forcing her to lie on the couch. She struggled, but in the end, he was stronger, and managed to hold her back.

“Come on, what's stopping you?” she asked, mockingly, using his exact words. “You've got me now, kill me.”

Tim moved his lips to her neck, ready to feed on her blood, but when his fangs were already grazing her skin, he stopped.

“Fucking kill me now!” she exclaimed, a note of defiance in her voice.

“No,” he said, pulling back enough to look at her face, “I don't do that.”

“Kill me, I tell you!” she almost begged.

“No. A life for a life,” he said, getting off her.

“You're going to regret this,” she assured him, picking up the stake and putting it back in her boot.

“Probably you will too,” he replied.

She scowled at him intently before darting out the door of the booth. Tim slumped onto the couch, sighing.

With the music thundering in her ears after the relative silence of the booth, Sadie pushed her way through the crowd toward the door through which she had originally entered. She stumbled out into the alleyway, and leaning against the wall, breathed in the sour, putrid smell of garbage emitting from nearby dumpsters. That helped clear her nostrils of Tim's natural perfume, so sweet and alluring. Unfortunately, the stench also helped to accelerate the vomit rising in her throat.

She spat it to the side, her heart pounding in her chest, like a little bird wanting to escape from a cage. She stifled the scream of frustration that threatened to come out of her mouth, and then realized that she had left her purse in the booth. Feeling like breaking something, she took a deep breath, examining her options:

She couldn't go back in through the door she'd come out of, since it wouldn't open from that side unless she had a key, which she didn't have.

She couldn't go back in through the front door, because she didn't have a seal, and even if she could, she wasn't going back to the booth. No doubt Tim's friends had seen her leave, so they would have returned. By now, she was sure he had told them what had happened, and they probably wouldn't be so understanding.

She could only walk home and hope the scolding wasn't too much.

It took her all night to walk home from the club, taking obscure routes to avoid being seen by police. If there was one reason no one walked in Los Angeles, it's because it's not a city made for pedestrians. At least her boots weren't stiletto-heeled.

“Honey, what happened?” her mother asked when she saw her arrive, at about seven in the morning, disheveled and sweaty.

Her parents, Serena and Jonathan, her older brother, Jack, and the one after her, Luke, were eating breakfast in the kitchen. Her two younger siblings, Tony and Annalee, were nowhere to be seen, and Sadie assumed they were still asleep. Since they were still in high school, they were allowed a little more leniency with schedules, especially on weekends.

“Nothing. I couldn’t do it.”

“Well, don't worry, another opportunity will arise.”

“Of course. I'm going to sleep,” she announced.

Ignoring her mother's protests, she limped upstairs to her room and forced herself to remove her makeup and put on her pajamas before collapsing into bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

When she woke up it was almost three in the afternoon, and she was very hungry. She went down to the kitchen and opened the fridge, where her mother had left a portion of food in a container.

“You didn't have the guts, did you?” said Jack, the first-born son, three years older than her, behind her. “You had a chance, but you just couldn't do it.”

“Why are you saying that?” she asked, turning around with the container in her hand. She closed the fridge and sat down at the kitchen island, ready to eat like it was all right.

“Because I can't believe that you, Sadie, have beaten hundred-year-old vampires, but you haven't managed to take this one, who, according to all our data, doesn't exceed a decade of life.”

“The window closed too soon, okay?” She said defensively, “I miscalculated.”

“Yeah, right. Where's your purse?” Jack asked suddenly.

“What?”

“You didn't have it with you when you came in this morning,” her brother continued. “You left it there, didn't you? That's why it took you all night to get back. At least tell me you had one of the fake IDs on you.”

“Of course I had one of the fake IDs on me, I'm not an idiot, okay?”

“I hope so. I'll tell Dad we need to change the locks,” Jack sighed. “And I'll take care of that vampire.”

“No! Tim's mine.”

“Then don't screw it up next time.”

God, I'm the worst, Sadie thought.

The contents of Sadie's purse (if that was her real name) were scattered on Tim's bed. He examined the items, one by one: a very simple cell phone with barely any power left, a wallet with some cash, a Nevada driver's license, wet wipes, a bottle of alcohol-based hand sanitizer gel, shea butter hand cream, a sample of perfume that smelled vaguely of vanilla, a set of keys on a metal key ring that read " Souvenir from Pasadena," the keys to a car, and a small knife camouflaged as a key.

Tim hadn't told the others what had really happened in the booth. Instead, he had made up a story about how Sadie had refused to have sex with him and left before he could bite her. His friends had laughed for a while and then found him another girl to feed on. The rest of the night had gone well.

He didn't know why he had taken the purse home. It's not like he was going to return it, right? The address on the driver's license probably wasn't the current one, or wasn't even the real one, and even if it was, he wasn't dumb enough to show up at a house full of slayers. He should have let the club's employees take care of keeping it, in case she came back for it. Anyway, it was too late for that now.

Between the stake and the contents of her bag, there was no doubt in his mind that she was a professional vampire hunter: a normal girl wouldn't have a solid silver stake (even if it was as thick as an ice pick), nor would she be as skilled in fighting. Obviously, she was counting on the surprise factor to achieve her purpose, not just brute strength, which made him think she had been preparing for a long time to kill him. Nothing had been casual: the dress, makeup and footwear had been carefully chosen, and most likely the date as well.

She'd said she hated him, yet he'd detected something else on her lips (and in her scent) when she'd kissed him: desire, fervent and deep, and unless it turned her on to kill, he was sure it was for him.

Maybe we could get laid and then try to kill each other, he joked to himself. God, I'm the worst.