#like resistance bands and wrist weights

[seoulmatez]

my cousin and i went to a reformer pilates class this morning and it has me ready to lay back down :’)

[not-neverland06]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY THREE: bondage with nanami.

kinktober masterlist

Nanami, your other half, is meticulous and an overbearing perfectionist on the best of days. You love it about him, love the way that when it comes to you, everything has to be perfect to no fault. You love his dedication to the simplest of things, his attention to detail, you love his patience.

You don't love it when he's using said perfectionism to prolong your time being tied up. You see it in his pretty eyes, that knowing look—he's not taking his time for the sake of perfection, he's taking the time to perv on those frustrated whines that you let out the longer he takes.

Your wrists are bound at your front, a soft shibari rope wrapped around your skin. He had picked it out himself, opted for a more expensive option as it was less likely to irritate your skin—after all, you're being bound to further enjoy yourself, not to decorate your skin with marks he'd much rather leave with his mouth.

Still, he works on the rope around your waist with no sign of eagerness or a rush towards completion. Instead, he continues to watch your body in what looks like a clinical examination, hands working gracefully as he knots the rope against your skin and builds a harness, no doubt good to hold onto so you can't start to shift away once thinks become overbearing. You sit on your shared bed, eyes heavy and stuck on his face as he works—calculated ministries become just a little quicker as you pout.

"Ken," you whine, subconsciously trying to pry your wrists apart to grab at your lover. Your fingers find nothing but air, your arms bound, rendering you useless.

"I'm almost done," he says calmly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He finishes before any other complaints can leave your lips, though you suspect he could have been finished fifteen minutes ago if the sight of rope against your bare skin didn't send blood right down to his cock.

He stands back from where he's working with satisfaction, a pleased look in his eyes that makes you want to squirm, wanting to crawl into his lap and beg forgiveness for whatever you might have done wrong in your past life if it means he'll just fuck you already. But you keep your head up, eyes set on his.

Your legs are bound thigh-to-calf, your throbbing cunt forced onto display by your bindings—if Kento were a worse man he'd leave you like this, bound with a vibrator against your pretty clit for hours on end as he files some paperwork or catches up on the novel he's been reading.

And although the thought is enticing, turning your moans and drawling orgasms into ambient music for the house you share, he's a selfish man at heart and could never deprive himself of you—not when you're like this.

"I think you're beautiful, my love," he leans over you, brushing a cool knuckle over your warmed cheek. A flush spreads across your cheeks, warmth blooming in your belly. His touch doesn't last long, his hand trailing off your shoulder and dipping down to tug at the rope that twists around your torso.

"You're perfect, you know that?" He tries again, and pulls so hard on your rig that your back meets the mattress and, all of a sudden, your Kento is hovering over you, cock hard against his slacks. "And you know that I love you."

"I know," you nod.

His hands fumble for his belt, and he's hooking his cock out of his pants in the same breath—too eager to fully undress. "I appreciate your trust in me," he tugs at a rope around your thigh to get you just that little bit closer to him; you can feel the heavy weight of his length against your stomach—and he can see just how deep inside of you he will be soon enough, "Though I fear seeing you tied up like this… it makes it hard to be gentle with you, love."

You lean up to kiss his jaw, his lips, anything you and reach while bound so intently. "I don't need you to be gentle with me. I am at your disposal."

Something in your lilt breaks the band of resistance that holds your lover still—he groans as he presses forward, pushing into you without any preamble. You're beyond wet, he hardly feels bad for not prepping you on his tongue beforehand. He has plans of ruining you with his mouth once he's fucked you full of him. "How can I possibly deny you?"

As he bottoms out inside of you, Kento grabs the rope that binds your wrist and lifts them above your head, pressing them into the sheets and rendering you completely motionless. Try as you might, you can't move an inch—you're entirely at his lust-glossed mercy. "That's better, hm? Much easier now, yes?" He pushes deeper into you, grunting out as he fills you in. "You don't have to think, don't have to move, you don't have to anything but take me."

The words are familiar to you—you've heard them hundreds of times before. In the throes of ecstasy, they sound like a lullaby to you—though this time there's some truth to his words. A genuine lack of need to move, to speak, to try and keep your hips at pace with his. As Nanami pulls back, drags his aching cock out of you before rutting right back into your tight core, you're able to completely relinquish control.

And god is it narcotic. The ruthless pace that he sets, muscles that cord his arms keep you in place as he bullies his cock into you. His mean thrusts are occasionally broken up with an open-mouthed kiss to your waiting lips, though the world is spinning too fast for you to register much other than raw, undiluted pleasure. You barely have the voice to announce your orgasm, let alone ask for permission to cum, so when your orgasm wracks through you like tropical waves against a cliffside, your lover can't help but bite at your exposed neck in feigned disappointment.

"Oh, love," he coos, but doesn't slow the roll of his hips even slightly. "You know I don't like it when you don't use your words."

You can't, not with the way he's fucking a second orgasm into you before you've even recovered from your first. Not when you're bound so tight that you know you have no way out of his ministries, not that you want one. You haven't felt so blissed-out in a long time, and there is no place safer to lose your mind than in Kento's arms. Though there's a dangerous lilt to his voice when he leans own, thrusts sharp into your overstimulated pussy, and whispers against your ear. "You're going to wait, and you're going to cum alongside me, love."

It's all too much, your vision is near-white with hot pleasure and you worry that you'll never think a straight thought again if he keeps rendering you dumb like this. You try desperately to climb up the bed, away from his overwhelming size, but he's got an iron-wraught grip on your bindings. "Ah," he chides. "Don't run, take me- I know you can."

The moans that rip from your throat are made for porn, especially in conjuncture with his groans and bitten praises. It's not long before his ruthless pace starts to falter, and the slap of skin against bruising skin starts to stutter as your lover reaches climax.

"With me," he chokes, the hand that had held your wrists up finally falling down to rub relentless circles over your sensitive clit. You're overwhelmed, orgasm cresting almost painfully as your mind blanks and you come harder than you think you ever have before. Nanami releases inside of you, his free hand holding you as close as humanly possible through your bindings.

And once he's cum, stolen a few breaths to steady himself enough to lift himself up and look down at you, Kento Nanami fears he might be a bad man. Because with the way you look, tear stained cheeks and complete lack of freedom, he can't help the words that slip from his lips.

"You can handle another, can't you, love?"

tags: @medusamara5 @echodead @aliisinwonderland @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

@sharks31 @lenahathunger @aydene @dreamyokai @n0tviv

@chiiinglebells @timetoletmyimaginationfly @nayely45 @waffless-simp-blog

@zoozvie @gothicchildofthenight @repnights @flwerie @soundofraindropss

@ushijimas1simp @aliidarling @aeswin @peachygelic @silvermet

@rinadisapproves @theshxaverse @cipher00 @milkkteary @snackeyalleyjuice

@cvipped @toadtoru @keiette @satosugu4-ever

@sugurubabe @wickedpoison6 @simp-plague @tojis-ball-sack @ventila98

@xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @oikawasthirdleg @yogichi @theycallmesia

@kdrama-anna @vurelliex @anonnieghost @tadabzzzbee

@luvofbows @crywolfix @hhonaoin @gigiiiiislife @aviesnapkindoodles

@ninikrumbs @bijuu-naginata @baekhyunsbestie @grimmshold @dalnimmie

@domainexpansionmypants @5tarx @1depressedsimp @beachaddict48 @jadeis0nline

@sukunasbbygrl @luna-v-roiya @sukunaspillow @starsval @vamqyx

@laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @mermaid-jewels @sugusmonkeyy @sammywo @noyaskneepad

@astrideverstar @lordchula-thagrandrula @chuuminn @angel1of-death @flooftoof

@rumi-rants @dysphoricsanity @coolcephalopod @satoruslxt @xoxo1mira

@whosmarjj @kikosaidbye @iceddragonfruit @amisuh @lotties-ashwagandha

[fear-is-truth]

IN NOMINE PECCATI — charlie mayhew

tags — mature content﹒porn with plot﹒doctor + priest charlie mayhew﹒fem!reader﹒cnc﹒somno﹒oral (f!receiving)﹒unprotected p in v ﹒wc : 1.5k

a/n: english is not my 1st language but im trying. p.s : “in nomine peccati” means “in the name of sin” in latin

THE DOORKNOB TURNS, allowing a sliver of yellow light to slip into the quiet house as charlie mayhew steps inside. with practised ease, he hangs up his coat and sets his keys down without a sound, as he’s done countless times before. his eyes fall on you, lying sprawled on the couch, bathed in the blue flicker of the television. you’re wearing nothing but a grey t-shirt, the hem brushing the tops of your bare thighs, one arm draped across your stomach, the other lying beside you. he notices the familiar band logo stretched across your chest—you’re wearing one of his shirts, hanging loose over your frame.

the sight tugs at something deep inside his chest, an ache tempered by affection.

an infomercial flickers on the tv, with over-excited voices and pristine images of miracle kitchen gadgets that promise to “slice, dice, and change your life!” charlie reaches for the remote and lowers the volume, careful not to let it die completely—its glow is enough to keep the room from sinking into total darkness. he treads lightly toward you, feeling a bit like an intruder in his own home as he crosses the room. when he finally stands by the couch, looking down at you.

he takes a moment to study you—no, admire you. your face is slack with sleep, lips parted slightly, lashes casting faint shadows across your cheeks. a loose strand of hair has fallen over your face, and he carefully reaches down to brush it away, fingers lingering against your skin as he cups your cheek. he drinks in the sight of you in the eerie blue light, noting every rise and fall of your chest, the slight flutter of your eyelids. there’s an ethereal quality of your slumber, a serenity. so lost in dreams, undisturbed by the world around you.

his sleeping beauty.

he reaches down again, brushing a thumb over your cheek, a featherlight touch as he marvels at the smooth softness, in juxtaposition to the harshness he’s known all day. you stir slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but he holds still, waiting until you settle again. unable to resist, he leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, lips warm against skin. then he climbs onto the couch, carefully positioning himself above you with his forearms braced on either side of your body, his weight held carefully. his face hovers inches from yours, his gaze tracing every detail—the slight curve of your mouth, the way your lashes fan across your cheekbones, the softness of your expression in sleep.

carefully nestling himself between your legs, charlie’s mind drifts (a bit morbidly) back to the icu, the patients lying motionless in their beds, tethered to tubes and machines, barely clinging to life. hours spent witnessing the slow erosion, orderlies turning over comatose bodies to prevent bedsores—wipe, clean, repeat. he’s grown cynical about them over time, but here, with you—your skin soft, alive, bathed in coloured light—he feels the difference.

fingertips trace your collarbone, meandering through the valley of your breasts,delving to your stomach and finally their destination in between your thighs. no panties, that have been your mutual agreement.

in your dream, there’s warmth, first. heavy and unyielding, a heat that settles over you like fire, burrowing into your skin like ultraviolet rays. your senses wake slowly, your cheek brushing against something coarse, unfamiliar. dark fabric clings to you, wrapping you in heavy folds, thick wool scraping against your neck and wrists like penance. your eyes open to an unnatural red glow that bleeds across the vast, vaulted space, spilling from the stained glass in vivid torrents. it bathes the walls, fills the air like smoke. shadows stretch and twist across the stone, curling toward you as if drawn by some unholy force. the air reeks of incense—an earthy, heady scent invades your lungs,

and then, there’s him.

above you, a figure looms, like a dark angel descending. his face is half-shrouded in shadow, lit only by the crimson light that paints his regal features in blood-red relief. a white collar gleams against the black of his robes. a priest’s collar, you realise.

charlie is dressed as a fucking priest.

your eyes meet, and the face of your lover is a study in contrasts, softened by the lurid red light but edged with shadows that deepen every line, every trace of restraint he’s barely holding onto. hands frame your face, roughened palms warm against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours, a kiss that is equally reverent and devastating, as though he’s whispering a prayer between your lips.

his weight presses you down, rooting you to the altar, cold marble biting into your back and only feeding the heat pooling low in your stomach. his mouth captures yours, lips parting to coax you open. when his tongue slips in, it’s unhurried but intentional, roving over your hard palate and tracing against your tongue. his hands cradle your face, thumbs grazing along your cheekbones, grounding you in an act that feels like the quiet theft of something sacred.

charlie pulls back, lips parting from yours which leaves you breathless and aching in the sudden absence. his gaze holds yours for a moment, then he shifts, hands trailing down your sides, fingers pressing gently against your hips, before he slips down from the altar entirely, lowering himself onto the floor at your feet. his hands rest on your ankles, thumbs tracing over the sensitive skin there as he looks up at you, his eyes darkened in the crimson light. from where he kneels, he seems to take you in entirely, a reverence in his gaze that skirts the edge of blasphemy.

fabric clings to you, unfamiliar and restricting. you glance down, catching a glimpse of black, long and heavy against your arms. the realisation dawns slowly, seeping in with the blood-red light: you’re wearing a nun’s habit. heat coils through you, unsettling, molten desire dripping into your loins like honey. you know what you share right now is both holy and desecrated.

your head drops back against the altar, cool stone pressing into your scalp and your spine arches in a slow, involuntary curve. skilled fingers curl in a languid manner, breaching that sweet spot inside you. a broken moan slips past your lips, and the last vestiges of your willpower dissolves under his touch, leaving only the warmth pooling low in your belly and the faint tremble in your breath. charlie continues to devour your forbidden fruit, claiming it without guilt or hesitation. each swipe of his preachers tongue in and out of your searing cunt carries reverence, as if he’s sampling something holy yet wholly his.

“mghm.. charlie…”

charlie’s head lifts at the soft sound of his name murmured from your lips, breaking the silence of the room. a slow smile spreads across his face as he watches you, noticing the way you shift, lips parted, fingers curling faintly as if reaching for something just beyond reach. licking his arousal-coated lips, he leans in, carefully easing himself back onto the couch, moving with a quiet intent. his legs nestle between yours, fitting into place as he settles. the t-shirt has slipped off your shoulder at one point, revealing the delicate curve of your clavicle. charlie dips his head, letting his lips brush against your temple. fingertips lightly graze your side, tracing the hem of your shirt, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

somehow, miraculously, you’re still asleep. carefully nudging your legs wider apart, he tilts his pelvis to the precise position. charlie bites down on his bottom lip to silence a groan as he eases himself inside you, inch by agonising inch until he’s fully sheathed inside you.



lashes flutter, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he bottoms out, a tingling sensation spreading from the base of your spine to your thighs, his cock nestling deep within you. filling every inch of you with a sacred fullness.

charlie buries his face into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, placing languid kisses up the column of your throat as his hips rock steadily against yours. the glorious stretch coupled with the way his hands and lips are all over you—fondling your breasts and nibbling at your earlobe coaxes out another mewl from you, tightening your grip on his shoulders and leaving pink, crescent indentations. he pauses mid-thrust to mumble an “i love you,” against the corner of your mouth.

velvety walls pulsate around him, milking out charlie’s orgasm as he succumbs to the white-hot pleasure, hips stuttering before he spills himself inside you, warmth spreading low and deep, radiating from your core like an ember kindling to life. waves of pleasure flows through you—a blessing you’d missed, returning to you as if by divine grace.

all around, the shadows seem to swell, the red light growing deeper, darker, as though hell itself waits just beyond the cathedral walls.

MASTERLIST

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[sweetsweetjellybean]

May I ask what present day torn Eddie is doing right now? (If you can share without spoiling anything, of course)

I just miss him so much, okay? 😭🥹

Well, let’s see….

There have been lots of new songs dropping since the beginning of the summer, translating into a very busy time for Eddie. He’s taken on a couple of employees over the last few years and some interns as well. Managing people isn’t Eddie’s strong suit, so the stress of that, combined with handling demanding artists eager to cash in on the warm weather vibes and get singles out quickly, has led to many late nights in the studio. Exhausted, he drops into bed as the sun casts pinks and golds through the window, planting sloppy kisses on the cheek before his eyes close tight.

But it’s not all work. After all, that would make Eddie a very dull boy. Bands and artists have been playing shows all over the city, and the two of you have definitely been indulging. Despite his complaints of being an old man, he drags you into a bathroom at the Salt Shed, ignoring the groans of those still waiting in line.

He's quick to have you up against the wall, kissing like he's making up for every missed opportunity. He spins you around, taking both wrists and pressing your hands against the wall before grabbing at your hips, pulling them back towards him until your ass is sticking out at just the right angle. He works the buttons of your shorts open, letting them slip down your legs to the floor without care. After all these years, he knows your body just about as well as you do. He knows how to make you cum when he takes you quick and dirty.

“You like everyone out there knowing you're about to get fucked, doll?” he asks, spitting into his palm and rubbing it through your folds.

You're already panting, resisting the urge to rest your face against the bathroom wall. He circles your clit before sliding his fingers inside. “Jesus, already so wet for me.”

“Just for you, Eddie.” You bounce your ass riding his fingers. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Missed my cock that bad?” His breath is hot in your ear as the clink of his belt fills the small space. His leaking tip is teasing your entrance when your hips surge backward taking him all the way inside. Your satisfied groans harmonize as the bass pumps against the walls.

A fist banging against the door has the two of you freezing. “Hurry the fuck up in there.”

Your head turns to find Eddie's smug grin. He leans forward, capturing your giggling mouth with his. "You heard the man." His thrusts come hard and fast. Your elbows lock to brace yourself as the fire licks through you, building to an inferno.

“Yes. God. Please, Eddie,” you babble on your exhales spurring him on. Your fingers find your clit, adding to the intensity.

"That's it, doll. Christ, you're so fucking hot." The tempo of his thrusts changes again as his hips slam into your ass. His full length slides deep and wet, sending stars bursting in your vision.

“Eddie, I'm so close.” Heavy breaths increase to full moans that echo off the black painted walls.

"I'm with you. Gonna fill this pussy. Gonna keep going 'til you scream." The sharp sting of his hand coming down on your ass pushes you over the edge. Detonating, your whole body shakes. His arm snakes around your waist, supporting your weight as he holds you in place for his final thrust, his warmth flooding inside you.

Both of you have the good sense to look contrite when you exit the bathroom to find security waiting

"Not again, Ed." The brawny man crosses his arms over his chest. "Aren't you two a little old for this?"

"Sorry about that," Eddie says, reaching out for a handshake with folded bills in his palm. "I'd like to promise it won't happen again, but I can't seem to keep my hands off my wife.”

*Sorry this took so long, Anon. I, too, am very busy, but Eddie has been running rampant in my brain. A meance, as always.*

[bloatedandalone04]

Fever Dream

➪the one where you and hayden celebrate his birthday.

Warnings: fluff, domestic af, hayden being adorable

Happy 42nd birthday to the man himself <3

Word Count: 1.2k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

The light from the sun lit up the room, the recently opened curtains doing nothing to keep the heat or brightness out.

That wasn’t what woke him up, though. 

Oh, no. The sudden weight on Hayden’s waist was what did that. 

His eyes opened and instantly landed on you, the grin you wore making a smile form on his lips that he had no control over. His hand reaches out and runs over the skin of your thigh, his fingers lazily drawing various shapes as he gazes up at you. “Good morning,” you say cheerfully, looking down at the ring that hadn’t left his finger since the day you slid it on there. It was a match to one of the two on your own finger, with the exception of his band being a little wider than yours.  

“Morning, baby,” he mumbles back, rubbing his eye with his free hand and looking at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It read 9:23 in the morning and Hayden was surprised you were up before him as you were usually not a morning person whatsoever. “You’re up early.” 

You nod and watch as he turns back around to face you, pushing the comforter down a bit and exposing his bare chest. 

“What’s the occasion?” He asked with a small smirk, already knowing the answer.

“Only the most important day of the year,” you answer, placing your palms flat against his chest, your fingers gently digging into the defined lines. “The one day I can spoil you without having to hear you complain about it.”

Hayden hummed, wrapping his hands around your wrists and giving them a sharp tug that had you falling against him. Your chest pressed to his as his hands moved to your waist, keeping you close to him with a lazy grin on his face. “I’m still going to complain about it,” 

His hair was messy, his eyes half open and his face glowing from getting a decent amount of sleep. He looked perfect. He looked damn near edible. 

Your eyes flicker over every freckle that littered his face before landing on his lips, the same ones you kissed for hours on end last night. Lifting yourself higher on him, you press a chaste kiss to his mouth before pulling away all together and straddling his hips once again.

He pouted at the short lived kiss, making you place one hand over his mouth when he tried to lean up and connect your lips once more. Keeping your hand pressed against him, you reach behind you with your other and grab the gift bag you bought earlier in the week. 

You squeal in surprise when you feel his tongue stick out and lick a stripe up your palm, quickly pulling your hand away with a look of fake disgust on your face. “Ew, gross,” you laugh quietly, wiping your hand on his shirt that you stole the night before. 

You never thought you’d be one of those girls who wore their boyfriends clothing, but here you were. Hayden owned so many t-shirts, all so different from each other, it was hard to resist slipping one over your head every once in a while. Plus, they smelled like him - a smell that became your favorite scent in the world. 

He didn’t seem to mind, either, as his pupils grew every time he saw one of his shirts cascading down your body. They were always so big on you, something that brought out a possessive side to him that he didn’t even know he had until he met you. 

You place the bag on his chest with a smile on your lips. “Happy birthday!” 

Hayden grins up at you, his eyes squinting slightly due to the sunlight. “Thank you,” he carelessly pulled away the blue tissue paper you so carefully tucked away in the bag and grabbed the glass mug from inside. He shook his head as he looked at it, reading the cheesy pun that was printed on both sides of it. 

“Now you have another one to have on display since you refuse to actually use them,” you tease, laughing when he rolled his eyes. 

“I’m saving them for retirement,” came his reply, one you’ve heard countless times now. “And I don’t want to accidentally break one.”

“Well, lucky for you,” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders and making the shirt fall off a bit, exposing your bare shoulder to the chilled air of the room. “To accidentally break one, you’d actually have to use it first.”

Hayden took one hand off the mug and gave the side of your thigh a gentle slap, making you jolt forward in surprise. Your mouth shut as he set the item aside and reached in for the second object, pulling out a chain with a clasp on the end of it. 

“Open it,” you encourage quietly, watching with a nervous smile as he did as you said. Inside the clasp was a small picture of the two of you on your wedding day, your smiles as wide as ever as he held onto you from behind. You bit down on your thumb as his smile grew, his eyes never leaving the picture. “That’s my favorite picture from that day.”

It just so happened to be the one you never got printed into a bigger version to hang on the wall amongst the others. You didn’t see the point of putting a picture he already saw everyday in the clasp and instead remembered that this specific one was pretty much one of a kind.

“Do you like it?” You ask once you realized he hadn’t said anything. 

His blue eyes meet yours and he nods, the small smile never leaving his lips. “I love it,” 

You sigh in relief and reach out to hold the chain in between your fingers. “I was thinking you could attach it to your keychain, or wherever, really. It’s totally up to you. Maybe you want to just keep it in your drawer or something,”

Hayden silenced your rambling by leaning up and pressing his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up. He pulled away slowly, his eyes opening and staring into yours. “Thank you, baby,”

The way he murmured the pet name had your heart beating rapidly in your chest and heat flooding your body. Before things could get too heated, you pulled away and swung your legs off the bed. “You’re welcome. Now, come on, I have our whole day planned-”

You were cut off by your own squeal as Hayden dropped the chain onto the sheets and wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you back and nearly tossing you beside him on the bed. 

Your head hit the soft comforter when you landed, his arms tightening around you as he moved to hover over you. The sheets fell from his body and pooled around his legs as he placed multiple open mouthed kisses on your neck. “We’re going to be late for breakfast,” you say through laughs, titling your head just slightly as he trailed his lips up to your jaw. 

Hayden hummed, running his nose over your cheekbone, his hooded eyes meeting yours. “I’m sure whatever you had planned for breakfast would’ve been amazing,” he trailed off, grabbing your hands in his and pinning them above your head. His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, a cloud of lust quickly forming in the blue orbs. “But I’d rather have something else.”

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

7 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙚𝙚! 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙞𝙣 — 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙚: 𝙬𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1.2k

𝙖/𝙣: EEE THE FINALE 🩵

𝙩/𝙬: light restraints, rough tickles

𝒍𝒆𝒆: changbin

𝙡𝙚𝙧: jeongin

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @sunsetsandsunshine

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

Changbin wiped the sweat from his brow as he finished his last set of deadlifts at the gym. The room was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional clank of weights being replaced. 

He'd been pushing himself hard for the past hour, focused on his goal of building strength and endurance. The workout had been intense, but Binnie thrived on the challenge.

He walked over to the bench to grab his water bottle, feeling a satisfying exhaustion. As he took a long swig, he didn't notice the door to the gym opening quietly.

Jeongin snuck into the room silently, a mischievous intent in his eyes as he watched  the older working hard in the gym. He'd come to the gym for his own workout but had been sidetracked by the sight of Changbin. His eyes sparkled with a playful idea.

Sneaking up behind Changbin, Jeongin watched with a grin as Changbin set down his water bottle. 

With a quick, practiced motion, he grabbed a pair of resistance bands from the nearby rack. Changbin was too absorbed in his post-workout routine to notice Innie approaching.

“Hi, hyung!” Jeongin called. “Hey, Innie.” Changbin replied like clockwork, turning with a smile at the sight of the maknae. “Didn’t see you come in.”

“Mhm…how long have you been here? You look worn out.” Jeongin asked in genuine concern. 

“Three hours. I just finished, though.” Binnie replied, and Jeongin tutted. “I told you not to work too hard.”

“I won’t…” Changbin chucked. 

“Come lay down on this bench, I’ll massage you.” Jeongin called. Binnie accepted graciously. 

A little while later, Innie finally decided to put his plan into motion. “How would you feel about some tickles, hyung?”

Before Changbin could react further, Jeongin darted forward, catching him off guard. With a swift move, he managed to wrap the resistance bands around Changbin's wrists and ankles, securing them to the gym equipment.

“Jeongin—AGH!!“ Changbin screeched as Innie’s fingers began their dance over the older’s ribs. 

“Stohohohohop!! Whahat’s with you guys all TIHIHIHICKLING MEHEHEHE!!” Changbin squeaked, twisting on the bench as Jeongin grinned teasingly down at him. 

He moved from Changbin's ribs to his armpits, making sure every inch of his torso was subjected to his ticklish assault. 

Binnie’s cackles was a mix of protests and genuine laughter, and he squirmed against the bands, trying in vain to escape. “Ohohoho gohohohodds I CAHAHANT TAHAHAKE IHIHITTT!!” Changbin gasped between fits of laughter. His face was flushed, tears of laughter threatening to stream down his cheeks.

Jeongin paused for a moment, his fingers hovering above Changbin's belly. "Oh, we’re tapping out already?" He teased. "I was just getting started!"

Changbin tried to catch his breath, his laughter subsiding into occasional snickers. "Plehease, Jeongin, I can't breheathe! This is tohorture!"

Innie shrugged, but descended his fingers onto Binnie’s sensitive waistline anyway. "You know, you’ve been working so hard. I thought you deserved a little fun."

Changbin’s laughter filled the gym, a plethora of giggly noises escaping him as his face turned red, and tears of laughter began streaming down his cheeks. “PLEHEHEHEEASE!!”

The maknae’s grin grew wider as he continued his relentless tickling, while Changbin’s laughter just became more frantic. 

Innie knew just where to focus his attention, his fingers skittering down the rapper’s body and making their way to Changbin’s feet. 

He grabbed a couple of light exercise balls and began rolling them under Changbin’s feet. The sensation was maddening, and Changbin’s laughter turned into high-pitched squeals.

“EEHEEEKK—JEONGIN Plehehehhease nohohot my feehheheheet!!” Changbin gasped, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. His soles twitched and he tried to pull his feet away, but the bands prevented any escape.

Innie held up the exercise balls, lined with their swirly grips that he knew would drive Changbin absolutely mad. 

Jeongin grinned mischievously and slowly began to run the object over the soles of Changbin’s feet. The touch was gentle at first, barely grazing his skin, but it quickly escalated to a more focused tickling. 

Changbin’s laughter erupted once again, now mixed with high-pitched squeals as he tried to pull his feet away. “NOHOHO cahahhan’t tahahahake ihihit!!”

Instead of stopping, Jeongin fixed his nails, their sharp manicured spikes gliding gently over the sinks of Binnie’s sole. 

The nails danced over the sensitive arch with deliberate, feather light touches, increasing the intensity of the tickling. Changbin’s laughter became desperate, his body writhing uncontrollably.

“NOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHORE!!!”

The tickling was relentless. Each time Jeongin’s fingers moved from one foot to the other, Binnie’s laughter reached new heights. 

His body writhed against the resistance bands, struggling to escape the maddening tickling. The bands stretched and creaked under the force of Changbin’s thrashing.

“Come on!! I can’t believe you think I’m the most ticklish. Just look at how you’re screaming!!” Innie scribbled a little harder to prove his point. 

The maknae tickled the rapper with a grin, a genuine smile as he watched poor Binnie lose all his senses (including his stress) through his loud, high-pitched cackles. 

Suddenly, Jeongin heard a sound that made him freeze in place: Changbin let out a loud, pained wail.

The sound was so abrupt and intense that Jeongin immediately stopped his fingers. His heart raced as he looked at Changbin with concern.

 “Hyung!! Are you okay?” He ran over to Changbin’s cheeks, squishing them between his fingers as Binnie giggled deliriously. The loud scream had been an involuntary reaction to the overwhelming tickling, but the intensity had made it sound more painful than it was.

“I-Ihim okahay…gods, I didn’t know I was that sensitive…” Binnie whined. 

Jeongin ran to his feet to undo the bonds, but Changbin stopped him with a whimper. 

“What’s wrong? Does something hurt?” Innie’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

Changbin fidgeted with the mat beneath him, his face flushed not just from the tickling but also from a hint of embarrassment. After a few moments of awkward silence, he looked up at Jeongin with a shy, almost hesitant expression. “Um, Innie…”

Jeongin looked at him, listening. 

“…Would it be…okay if you tickled me a little more? I mean, if you don’t mind.” Changbin stuttered, face burning at the request. 

Innie’s smile only grew more wide, a happy expression. “Oh? So you want more tickling, huh? After all that?”

“Mhmmm…” Changbin squeaked. 

Jeongin grabbed the top of Bin’s foot again, this time immobilizing it properly. “Oh, you want more, huh?” Jeongin teased, his fingers moving rapidly. “Well, you’re going to get it!”

“AHAHHAAHAAHAA!! IHIHIHINNIEEE!!” Bin yelped, high pitched laughter pouring from him desperately. 

“So, which foot is more ticklish…? This one? Or maybe this one?~” Innie mused. Binnie could barely respond, his voice lost in a torrent of wild laughter and screams. The tickling was so intense that he was squealing incoherently, his pleas drowned out by his frantic laughter.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity to Binnie, Jeongin decided to give him a break. He slowed down, easing his fingers away from Changbin’s body. The tickling stopped abruptly, and Bin slumped forward, gasping for breath and trying to calm his racing heart.

Undoing the bonds, Jeongin dragged his hyung back to the dorm, sitting the older on the counter and running him a cooling bath. 

Changbin pouted at the maknae as Innie walked over with a comforting smile, placing his hands on Bin’s plush thighs. 

“Oh, my hyung…how was this week?” Innie cooed, gently squishing the older’s cheeks. 

“It was good…” Binnie whined, and Innie laughed as the dwaekki became increasingly shy. “I liked today…”

Jeongin smiled shyly. “Just make a request to Sana and she’ll wreck you whenever. Just know that we all love you, hyung.”

“Love you too.”

[qrfit]

Day 5 of 5 day workout week:

Woohoo! It’s Friday! We did it! 🙌🏽 And, it actually FELT like a Friday, ya know? Good vibes, positive energy, and the overall feeling that things (whatever they may be!) will somehow be alright. I’ve missed that feeling! I was long overdue. I took that energy into my gym and had another fun, non-scripted, all encompassing workout to round out the work week! That’s 5 out of 5. And it wasn’t easy! But, I’m damn proud of it.

-So, for Fun Friday, I went back to my HIIT circuit of lower body, upper body, then a cardio interval. I did completely different exercises from Wednesday and increased the weight at different points. Dumbbells, resistance bands, aerobic step, wrist weights, and ankle weights all made an appearance. I finished on the mat with the ankle weights and added a deep glute segment. I will be feeling THAT all weekend. 😖

Bonus: I worked in 12 burpees with squat jumps and 35 pushups! New high totals for me! Challenge day 20 in the bag! ✔️

Gotta close out with a shout out to @m0tiv8me and all of Fitblr flexing on this Friday! Keep rocking those gains!

💪🏽👊🏽

[be-my-ally]

Director Elvis & Model Bunny

So this comes off of the yet to be released/finished big bunny #3 but essentially, it’s post the flight in #2 and after Elvis has taken her in the morning to his rehearsal just because I thought she'd be very amenable to his suggestion.

you may have deleted it but too late jade, i saw the message, and you got me hooked please never think you're being too demanding I love it - if someone else is writing this too, or if you were gonna use it for yourself then pls god pls i need that too but uh…. i couldn’t resist. So happy birthday @whositmcwhatsit (even though I’m like half hour late) xxxxxxx 

summary: bunny + elvis get up to fun with a camera. 

warnings: 18+, apologies for the use of Priscilla but I swear she’s barely there. Watching a tape of two girls w/o their consent, video recording (with consent), fingering, p in v sex - elvis cums in her. this has not been edited.

wc: miss concise smut strikes again - 4.5k. 

I was imagining (not wearing this suit but still) Elvis from this day in 1974 in case you were wondering.

You sit there primly, for the rest of the rehearsal, ignoring your newfound nakedness under your skirt - unable to draw your eyes off of his wrists, his waist, now you know the story of those innocuous little white bands. Waiting to be dismissed, sent home - although you hope that you might, one day, get another invitation. He finishes, stripping off the weights as he’s laughing and thanking the sound guys - although he's shouting back at one of them as he stalks across the stage to where you’re sat to the side of the front row.

“That interference needs to be cut by tonight, it’s messin’ with my ears, I don’t care if you have to go out and buy a whole new fucking system - just get it done.” Despite his harsh words by the time he’s kneeling in front of you he’s smiling slightly bashfully. His eyes crinkling at the edges as he mutters to you - 

“Don’t know why I keep ‘em around.” He offers you his hand, pulling with his suddenly weightless feeling muscles to yank you up with him. His arm coming around your waist. He stands there, legs spread and solid, holding you to him, brushing your hair off your neck to whisper in your ear. 

“Wanna come back with me, honey? C’mon baby,” He’s pleading with you, entreating you to follow him, babying tone convincing you as if you even needed encouragement. “How - How’d you feel about, I got some things we could watch, we could," He stutters a little, perhaps a little nervous about his next suggestion - you think it's sweet, "we could - I sure would love to tape ya, baby.” You lean back, brow furrowing as your mind runs through what he’s suggesting. 

It’s not something that’s unheard of, especially in the circles you’re running in - hell, half the tapes on Big Bunny were pornographic, but to feature in one yourself? Watch one, with Elvis? It takes a minute for your brain to process. He strokes his hand up your back though and that’s all it takes for you to succumb, nodding desperately. He kisses you as a reward, and you feel yourself melt further, the thought running through the back of your head that you’re not wearing any panties, and god are you about to drip down your thigh? You clench your legs together as he shifts, switching his hand from around your waist to your wrist, pulling you along with him. 

He practically shoves you into the car, his knee jiggling - in nerves or anticipation you can’t be sure. Ironically, he places his hand upon your thigh stilling your own movement while he jostles you with his. His grip is tight, and you can feel the cold of the rings pushing into your bare skin - tiny skirt riding up, in contrast to the burning heat of his fingers. He stares out the window, quiet, for the extent of the drive and none of the boys look surprised to see you accompanying him despite his lack of explanation. You squirm in your seat, unsure why it’s so much more embarrassing for them to know you’re being brought back for sex now than it is on the plane. But you do your best to try to ignore the heavy atmosphere. Elvis leans back, finally facing forward, kicking the seat in front of him when Red gets a bit too loud. The blatant control - the wordless authority he carries with him making your heart beat a little faster in your chest. He finally glances over at you, appraisingly running his eyes from your head to your knees. He smirks as he watches you unable to stay still under his gaze and you’re relieved when finally, finally you’re pulling up into the delivery bay of the hotel - letting him escape into the building without a crowd. He whispers to Marty as he clambers out, a hand held out for you to clutch, before he pulls you with him up to his room. It’s unnerving you - the uncharacteristic silence on the way up and it causes you to shift around anxiously, as much as you can with his tight grip on your hand, but as soon as you’re through the door to his room he’s drawing you closer. 

He presses his lips to your neck, brushing your hair away from it, holding you close. Almost immediately his hand is travelling up your thigh, bunching your skirt at your waist - his large hand span holding it against your skin. Your nakedness, sticky from the morning activities and arousal from the car ride, being slowly exposed. You’re looking up at him, making eye contact through his coloured glasses when he pulls back a little, silently pleading for both more and less, desperate at least for a kiss. His lips are barely a breath away from yours when there’s a knock on the door, and he pulls away. You brush your skirt back down, trying to look slightly put together again as best you can while practically trembling with anticipation. Marty’s pulling a black rolling bag behind him, leaving it in the centre of the room, 

“Thanks man, that’ll - that’ll do just there. I’ll sort it out.” Marty nods, slightly uncomfortably looking, clearly trying to ignore you. 

“Sure thing E, uh, enjoy.” The door shuts with a click as he leaves and Elvis is quick to unload the set-up from within. You awkwardly hang around, hands rubbing at your arms as you wait for him to be done; 

“S’ok baby, why don’t you get comf- oh, actually, how’s about you - no, no, hang on a second baby - Jerry’ll be knocking any minute now with some things for you.” He gestures to the bed from where he’s bent attaching cords and wires to the little television set, “Why don’t you get comfy in the mean time.” You frown, a little confused as to what you need Jerry to bring you but you don’t question him, following his directive to sit down, perching a little tentatively on the bed. It’s mere moments before he stands, glancing over the set-up with his hands on his hips, nodding, pleased with himself. He’s starting to pull out what looks an awful lot like a tripod - you don't know why you're surprised that he would have the full professional kit - when the door goes again. He nods at you, asking, “Could you get that honey?” You’re already up and heading towards the door before he finishes his question - hopeful it was Jerry and anxious to see what he’d brought with him. It was, and you smile at him as you open the door - he’s always polite to you, 

“Hi, uh, here.” He thrusts a shopping bag into your arms, and you take it with some surprise, 

“Oh - uh, thank you, wha-“ He cuts you off before you can ask what it was, leaning around you in the doorway to speak to Elvis, 

“I’ll be next door - some of the boys are going out, so if you need anything else you’ll have to talk to me.” He pauses, “Remember, we’ve got a show tonight although it’s a late one so,” He glances at the clock, Elvis not even looking up from where he was continuing to pull out and twist screws on each of the legs of what was certainly a tripod. “So, someone will be coming by in uh-about four hours - around 5 so you can start getting ready.” Elvis looks up at that, 

“You think I don’t know my own damn schedule?” Jerry looks slightly taken aback, and quickly attempts to backtrack as Elvis stands up, 

“No - no, I was just, it just normally takes a while to get uh all of this, just, just making sure, uh, bunny, here knows we’re on a tight schedule today was all Boss, of course you know.” Elvis has made his way over to the door, and as Jerry is finishing his attempt at a defense, he’s got a hand grasping the door, bracketing you with his arm, staring him down. It makes you shift a little nervously at the tension, clutching the gift bag, you trip a little as you shuffle your feet and fall into Elvis, who grunts slightly as he takes your weight leaning on him but continues to stare down Jerry. 

“Sorry - sorry E, I wasn’t, I wasn’t trying to suggest anything -“ Elvis lets go of the door, 

“I’ll see you at 5.” Shutting it practically straight into Jerry’s face. Elvis turns to you, his face unimpressed. You worry it’s going to put a damper on the afternoon, and he tuts at you as he looks you over, eyes cloudy through his glasses, lips pressed into a line. You don’t know what to say for the best, unused to his sudden changes in temper. But he solves the problem for you, running his hand through his hair and jabbing a finger into the bag.

“Now, why don’t you run along and put that on for me. Getcha lookin’ all nice and pretty and then we’ll have some fun.” He directs you into the bathroom, his stomach resting on your back as he manhandles you to face the right way. You head into the bathroom, slightly taken aback by the sheer volume of products already lined up on the counter; having clearly been deposited with his luggage whilst at the rehearsal.    You settle the bag on the toilet seat, for lack of other space, rifling through the layers of tissue paper. There’s a smaller bag from a drugstore inside - you laugh as you unload it, realising that it looks like a man desperately raided the Revlon counter, and that that was almost definitely what happened. But still, theres an eyeliner and shadow and a lipstick that almost perfectly matches the one you were wearing earlier. You set them to one side, and delve a little lower finding a little pile of underwear. You pull it out, unfolding them across the counter. You look back into the bag, checking there wasn’t anything else, surprised that this would be the lingerie of choice. A simple white set, practically plain cotton - just a little lace band around the waist, and cups. You nibble your lip, worrying for a second that it’s a joke in some ways or that in this form and situation you’re not going to seem as attractive - when he could have his pick of literally everyone on the ground versus his limited choices in the air. But you knock that thought out of your head, muttering to yourself, don’t be ridiculous, you’re attractive, he wants you, he wouldn’t have asked you here if he didn’t. 

You dress yourself, wondering how on earth they knew your exact size, and freshen up with the provided make-up. You check yourself out after finishing your eyeliner, giving yourself a final little pep-talk, before throwing your dress back on. You consider your shoes, before remembering how much he’d liked your feet before, and leave them in the bathroom - heading back out to him. 

You pad out of the bathroom, toes digging into the carpet. Elvis is sat against the headboard, legs out and spread, tiparillo in his mouth, shirt unbuttoned so low that it’s practically entirely open - his chest and stomach peeking out. He’s watching something on the screen, although he looks over at you as you walk over, smiling approvingly at your bare feet. 

“Why’d you cover up, baby?” You look down at yourself, shifting from foot to foot, 

“I, I uh didn’t -“ He pulls the slim cigar from his mouth, 

“Go on bunny, take it off little ‘un,” You finger the hem, until he encourages you again, “Do it, baby.” You pull up the dress and he groans as you reveal the underwear set, trying to be a little bit sexy as you do, throwing your dress over a chair in the corner. “Oh lord baby, now c’mere.” He pats the bed next to him, eyes moving back to the screen. You settle next to him, flushing as his arm wraps around you, pulling you to press against his side and thigh. 

“What are you - is that?” You were trying to play coy at first, pretending you didn’t know that he was watching a home movie, but you hadn’t expected to see, her. He’s put on a tape of his ex-wife - you blink, you’re watching Priscilla, the mother of his child, roll around on a bed with another girl. It’s not as risque as it could be - they’re both, technically dressed. Although, in a very similar set of bra and panties that you were wearing - both of them in a little white set. But then it suddenly becomes significantly more explicit, Priscilla’s manicured finger running across the other’s covered mound. 

“Yeah bunny, yeah it is - just, just sit and watch baby, gonna make a little film of our own later.” Your mouth opens of its own accord, wondering if this was how Elvis felt earlier, watching you and Maggie make-out. Priscilla and the unnamed girl are now wrestling on the bed, hair flying and the camera zooms in. “See, bunny, the focus now, isn’t on the action - I’ve changed the composition of the frame, just with the camera movement.” You nod in agreement, but honestly, you couldn’t hugely tell the difference other than the fact that you were seeing everything closer up now. 

“So, are you - is it you filming?” You lean harder onto him as he grips you close, pulling your legs over his, rubbing his hand up your thigh. 

“Yeah baby, I - uh, I don’t needta see myself though, I’m just outta shot.” You nod, that makes sense - while you couldn’t imagine Priscilla would be pleased that other girls were watching this her image wasn’t as necessary to protect as Elvis’ and you can’t imagine how dramatic it would be if a video with him in was accidentally left somewhere or lost. You shift, it seems that the last night and day has been awakening all sorts of feelings that you didn’t know you had, arousal growing as you continue to focus on the girls on the screen. The film seems to be coming to a close, Priscilla disappearing from the shot and Elvis’ cigarillo is done with, tapping it out on an ashtray on the bedside table. He uses his newfound free hand to curl it around your bare stomach, and you can’t help the way your muscles tense in response to the feel of him.

On the screen the other girl is now nude and you can’t help but compare her body to yours, assessing how her nipples pebble and tighten against her chest. You watch her trail her hand down her tummy to her clearly slick folds, curly hairs glistening a little in the strangely bright lighting of the film. Your breath hitches as you watch her sink a finger into herself and Elvis chuckles a little at your reaction, his finger tucking into the leg of your panties. Your heart is starting to pound with the anticipation of it all, his long finger just barely brushing over you inner thigh. He pulls you onto him a bit further, tucking his head into your neck. His pouty little lips are kissing the side of your neck, just below your ears and as he moves down to your shoulder you squirm, his sideburns tickling you as goosebumps start to form on your skin. The film cuts out then, just as he starts to suck down on your collarbone, and you lean against him harder as he leaves a perfect purple bruise. You moan, eyes falling closed but then he pulls away, almost a moment too soon. Pushing your legs off of him, and rolling you to be sat by yourself on the bed, he stands. He leaves you there, bereft of his touch, as he busies himself setting up the camera on the tripod, and turning some music on. 

“Ok darlin’, there’s no audio baby, so don’t you go gettin’ all embarrassed about those little bunny squeaks.” You suddenly realise what he means - that you’re going to be the sole person in the film. 

“Uh, ok - El, have I - you’re gonna tell me what to do though? Right?” He laughs, 

“Of course honey, I’m directin’.” He situates himself in a chair, just behind the camera, lighting a full-size cigar he’d pulled out from a little silver case. He’s almost too attractive like this, shirt open, trousers tight on his thighs. His hair is soft, falling onto his forehead when he doesn’t push it back and his face, despite its growing soft edges, is focussed on watching you. You squirm, as he presses the button to start the recording. 

“Right bunny, sink on down now, that’s it.” He adjusts the angle on the camera to better catch you from above. “That’s it baby, no - no actually, actually, kneel up for me bunny.” You do as he directs - this, you can do. Pushing your chest forward and spreading your knees. You lean up, rolling your hips a little to the beat of the song playing. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s it.” He puffs the cigar, his own legs spreading, you swallow, the outline of his cock gently hardening becoming more and more obvious to you. “That’s it baby, go on - move onto your hands and knees now, look at the camera.” You follow his directives, trying to lower yourself down as seductively as possible. You look up at the camera, knowing it’s getting both the perfect shot of your face - a perfect recreation of how you would look looking up at him on your knees between his thighs, as well as a perfect shot of your cleavage where it’s spilling out of the soft little bra. 

“That’s it baby, lie down.” You lower yourself down, ass up, unable to stop yourself grinding against a roll in the comforter underneath you. Elvis laughs, rolling his sleeves up, exposing his slim wrists, diamond encrusted Elvis bracelet jangling with the movement as he rubs himself over his trousers. “Roll over now baby, you can touch your little tits - but not, don’t touch that wet yittle cunt yet.” Your hips jerk, and your breath catches, 

“Oh, oh god, Elvis - that’s, that’s - have I really gotta wait?” He chuckles at you, 

“Yeah baby, go on now, roll over.” You do as he says, “That’s it baby, doing so well for me, that’s it now, suck those little fingers baby and You can touch.” 

“Touch my- my, pussy?” He shakes his head, 

“No bunny," He tuts, as if you're a child not listening to his instructions, "You’re not ready for that yet, touch those little nipples first.” You follow his instructions, wetting your fingers before bringing them down to circle your nipples, the fabric of the bra starting to go see through with your saliva. “That’s it baby, just like I did it earlier, pinch them a little, just a little bit.” You do and you can’t prevent your hips from wiggling, surprised at how much it’s turning you on. You’re starting to feel your pooling wetness dampening your panties. 

“Please, please let me touch,” He hums, 

“Not yet, yittle, not yet, go on now, down your stomach,” You trail your hand down, “Hold it there baby, just, just look at me.” You look over at him, “Hands on your thighs, just barely touch yourself honey, watch me.” He’s pulling his cock out now, ringed fingers grasping the chubby thing. You’re forced to watch as he jerks himself off, clearly well-practiced in the motions, his head falling back in pleasure, sweat starting to form in the hollow of his neck, bracelet jangling and necklace bouncing on his lightly haired chest with his movements. You would never admit it but you’re forced to swallow as drool starts to form in your mouth, your hands clenching on your inner thighs, trying desperately not to touch as you watch him. He rolls his head forward again, making eye contact with you as his hips jump from him brushing a thumb over his tip, a high-pitched moan escaping his lips. You can’t help it but respond in kind. 

“Go on then bunny - you can touch, but just, over those little panties for now - let the camera pick up that little wet spot, that’s it baby - that’s the angle, perfect. Lord, Jesus Christ, ain’t that a picture.” Your hand finally moves across to touch yourself properly, and you get a flashback to the way Maggie touched you last night, you try to copy her movements. Rubbing your clit over the fabric, your hips circling, before running your finger down, pressing the damp fabric into you a little bit. You moan, watching Elvis pull his hand away from himself, as if pulling himself back from the brink. 

“I can’t - please, please let me take them off,” He makes a considering humming noise before finally, finally, he agrees, 

“Strip them little white panties then doll, get ‘em off and throw them over here.” You do as he requests, and though you’re not wholly unsurprised you’re still slightly taken aback when he sniffs them before pressing the wet spot to his cock, using your slick as lube to move the fabric up and down on himself. Your fingers nudge against your folds, spreading yourself to allow for a finger to sink in. It meets little resistance; your vagina having had more of a work-out the past few days than it had in years. Your entrance is still a little sore, but you’re so wet and slippy that this is barely noticeable to you now in the moment, just adding a little edge to the feel of the second finger joining your first. You curl them, trying to hit the right spot inside you,  while your thumb circles your clit again. Your head presses against the bed as your eyes roll in pleasure, glad that there wasn’t any audio being recorded as your noises get louder and louder - more and more explicit. 

Suddenly, with your eyes closed you hear the click of the camera turning off and then you feel him, kneeling onto the bed, over the top of you. He pushes your hand out of the way, pulling your fingers out from yourself.  He’s grasping your hip with one hand, as his other tugs on himself once, twice, before moving his hand to spread your labia with two fingers, stroking down you with a third. He pushes one into you, his skin-warmed ring knocking against you. It’s so much thicker than your own, and he mouths at your neck, moving down to your breast, pulling on a nipple with his teeth as he sinks a second into you. You gasp as he crooks them in just the right way, your hips circling - you’re so close that you’re shuddering to completion as soon as he brushes a finger over your clit. The external stimulation mixed with the internal enough to send you over the edge. Your whole body tenses, stomach undulating as your toes curl and you tremble, moaning into his mouth as he kisses you - filthily, practically devouring you, his tongue forced into your mouth swallowing your noises.

Your lips are bitten raw by the time he pulls away, and you lie there, shakily taking a breath but it’s not long before he’s pulling you back to him, rolling you onto your front again. Your roughened nipples rub against the comforter as he pulls you back, pulling your hips up to meet his. He manhandles you into the perfect position for him to enter you from behind, sinking in to the hilt in one long stroke. You’re more than ready for him, if you hadn’t been before then your orgasm had certainly lubricated the way and you grunt into the sheets as he grips your hips and fucks into you. You don’t expect the force of his thrusts, the power from that famous pelvis, you know how little sleep he’s had the past couple of days. But still, he’s a solid form behind you, thick and sturdy. His stomach knocking against you as he drives into you with force. 

“That’s it - my sweet -  little - bunny, take it. Take - it.” He leans back slightly, his hand coming down to lightly stroke around your stretched hole, feeling the tightness in the skin right around the entrance, and the looseness that surrounds. Your mouth falls open in surprise, the touch unexpected, noise catching in your throat at the feeling. You can feel the sweat dripping off of him now, its cooling dampness making your bodies slide against each other. He pulls his hand back, spanking your ass, causing you to shudder against him, the tinge of pain mixed with the pleasure, and it causes him to rock perfectly against just the right spot in your walls. Getting in deep enough that you can feel his hips against yours and you can no longer work out where you end and he begins. You can feel yourself getting to the edge again and his hand slips further up, as if a reminder that it’s Elvis behind you can feel that bracelet rubbing against you, and his huge TCB ring catching on your skin, and he brushes his fingers over your clit, capturing it in his fingers. A moment later you’re shaking as a second orgasm crashes over you. You’re relieved he’d put you in this position, your arms giving out on you, only being held up by his hands on your hips, as you’d have simply collapsed had you been held in any other way. He chases his own completion, praising you the whole time that he fucks into you, 

“Yes - that’s it, god, lord, yes bunny, go for me again, that’s a good girl, such a good yittle girl. Gonna turn that camera back on - get a good look at you like this. Yeah baby. Gonna turn it back on.” You can feel his release inside of you as you hear his high-pitched whimper. He presses into you, placing a kiss on the back of your shoulder, before he pulls out, rushing to turn the camera back on. You can hear the whirr of the zoom as he focusses it onto his seed dripping out of you. It matches the feel of your trembling skin, and you hold still, letting him capture the shot. You hear the click again a moment later, and you relax onto the bed, collapsing on your front. You’re sure you’ll be lying in a wet spot but you find it hard to care. He pats your shoulder, 

“Gonna have something new to watch for the next flight huh?” 

[animarumaeternae]

((ALT TEXT))

Lost tail to a collapsed building

Herbicide, courtesy of Draxum

bags contain : minor tail repair kit, extra rations, herbicide ointment ((in case of spill)), first aid

tracker/vitals/comms in arm band

Hamato clan symbol tattooed on inner wrist

7’2” tall

41 years old

Raph lost his tail in the early days of the invasion, he struggled without the extra weight to support him for months, with multiple near-death experiences before Donnie managed to piece together enough scrap metal to make him a prosthetic.

Raph’s tail acts like any other prosthetic, he is able to move it ((to an extent)) and remove it for general maintenance, as well as when he’s sleeping.

Raph’s rank is Sergeant, he oversees various resistance Units, and joins Leo and other officers of similar rank, in the war counseling room. As Raph aged he began to see the merit of planning and strategy, though oftentimes, in the heat of battle, he disregards the rules to do what he thinks is right. Most of the time, resulting in the salvation of more lives.

Masterpost

[green-alien-turdz]

Favorite singer? I personally like Destroy Boys

Ion really got favourite's of things. But I can list some mfs I listen to. I just burned a new cd not that long ago, so imma just list off some of the bands and some song recs for those (and I think I've heard destroy boys before. Not personally a fan, but their stuff seems pretty cool).

CRASS: They've got a bomb. End Result. Big A Little a. Systematic Death. Do they owe us a living?

VOID: My rules. Condensed flesh. Who are you?

Dead Kennedys: Dog Bite. Kill the poor. Holiday in Cambodia. California uber alles.

Poison Idea: In my headache. Its an action.

Capitalist Casualties: Greedy Bastards. Mouthfed. Violence Junkie.

Nuclear Man: Nuke-Man. Warhead.

Limp Wrist: Fake fags. Dead Weight. Just like you. Thick skin. Want us dead. Spun.

Subhumans: I don't wanna die. Rats. Apathy. Work-Rest-Play-Die. Mickey Mouse is dead. No.

Discharge: Why? Drunk with power. Ain't no feeble bastard. Does this system work.

Icons of Filth: Fucked up state. Why so limited? Mentally murdered.

T.S.O.L.: Abolish government/ silent majority. Red shadows. Flowers by the door. It's gray.

S.O.A.: Warzone. Gang Fight.

The Disrupters: Animal farm. Rot in hell. Pigs in blue.

Government Warning: Killing for fun. Slave labor. Factory line. Paranoid mess. Endless slaughter.

Disrupt: Protest.

DIRT: Master race. Eyes to see. Hiroshima. Democracy.

Negative Approach: What ever I do. Ready to fight.

Minor Threat: I don't wanna hear it. In my eyes. Seeing red.

ILL Repute: Book and its cover.

Conflict: From protest to resistance. The serenade is dead. Berkshire cunt.

The Shitlickers: Warsystem.

Suicidal Tendencies: Two-sided politics. You can't bring me down. War inside my head. Institutionalized.

Aus-Rotten: The system works for them. When you support those fucking bastards. (They also have a version of Berkshire cunt)

Ultra Violent: Dead gerneration. Where angels dare not tread. Crime for revenge.

Disorder: Fight the right.

Civil Disobedience: Manufactured citizens. Planet of the fakes.

The Crucifucks: Legal genocide. Annual report.

A Global Threat: Fucking racist maggots.

Urban Waste: No hope.

Feederz: Jesus. Gut Rage.

Black Flag: Nervous Breakdown. My war. Rise above.

[faytelumos]

Growing Pains

This is inspired by @thepenultimateword's reformed villain prompts.

cw: self deprecation

---

"This is your new costume," the lady said, pushing a plastic-wrapped, puffy square under the glass. "Inside, there's a voucher for tailoring and for a pair of shoes to match." Breaking Point — er, Turmoil — nodded and took the package in unsteady hands. "This is your tracker, you'll need to wear it at all times, it cannot get wet," the lady droned on, slipping a band through. She hadn't even looked at Turmoil yet. They nodded, taking the bracelet from under the glass. "You'll wait there," she pointed to some desolate, plastic chairs, "until your sponsor arrives to get you. Good luck and stay safe." It wasn't genuine. It kind of sounded like a line a customer service rep repeated ad nauseam.

Turmoil took their pittance of a parting package and sat in one of the hard, cold, plastic chairs. The two enforcers in the hall shifted their weight, perhaps uncomfortable with Turmoil's presence. They couldn't quite tell, but they resisted the urge to reach out with their powers. It was way too early to go breaking their new rules.

They hunched forward, rested their elbows on their legs, and looked down at their new costume. They didn't get to design it. And they hadn't picked their new name. It didn't work like that, apparently. They could maybe change their costume when they had proven themself as trustworthy. But no one had mentioned when they'd be able to change their name.

The new costume was… it was hard to tell through the shrink wrap and under the florescent light, but it looked like some purply-silver getup. There was a pattern, but it was too hard to see. Where everyone got the idea that mental powers were purple, Breaking Point had no idea. But it probably could have been worse. And at least now, they were dressed in something passably casual, some blue jeans and a mint, striped button-up. They'd been afraid they were going to walk out of this place wearing that green jumpsuit.

Somewhere up the hall was a loud buzz. Turmoil and the two enforcers looked up. There were bootsteps, more than one pair, and then a third enforcer and a large man came around the corner.

To say Seismic was intimidating was an understatement. He was easily over six feet, with the shoulders, chocolate curls, and thick, short beard of a cartoon lumberjack. But he wore a baggy tee that said "talk nerdy to me" instead of flannel, and his expression read more cool curiosity than manly indifference.

"You my kid?" he said as Turmoil rose cautiously to their feet. They hesitated. They… weren't young enough to be— "Turmoil?"

"Oh, uh, y-yes." Seismic nodded and kept walking, leaving the third enforcer behind to go to the woman behind the glass. He signed the checkout sheet, then turned and came back to Turmoil. "Uh, thank you f—"

"Yeah, yeah, you're okay," Seismic said, holding up one hand for peace and the other out for Turmoil's stuff. "We can talk on the sidewalk; let's just get you the hell outta here." Turmoil nodded, looking down and offering the things in their hands. The sooner they left the bars and cages, the better.

Seismic tucked the costume under a thick arm and then loosened the tracker bracelet. He reached out and grabbed Turmoil's hand—

—poor kid looked to be all skin and bones, and they shook like Mister Ede's chihuahua—

—Turmoil yanked their hand back as if burned. Seismic looked up, incredulous, and then seemed to understand.

"My bad," he said, carefully holding the bracelet open. Turmoil looked down, trying to hide the way their eyes burned. The echoes of Seismic's emotions lingered, sticky on Turmoil's skin. They reached forward, careful not to touch him again, and he gently tightened the band and locked it in place on their wrist. "Alright," he grunted, and he started walking and motioned for them to follow.

Turmoil stuck close to him, especially as they approached the three security gates. Each buzz and clang felt like a bundle of chains falling off of their shoulders, getting farther and farther from the dirty gloom of this place. Seismic lead them casually out of the facility and into the parking lot. Turmoil blinked at the sharp, evening sunlight, raising a hand to shield their eyes. It was bright outside. And kind of muggy.

"How's the free air taste?" Seismic asked. They looked over to him, still reeling slightly from his touch.

"Uh, it's not exactly free air," they uttered, looking down at their hand. Seismic's mind had been sharp and dominant. Mine. Danger. Protect.

He let out a huff of a chuckle. "Okay, how's the semi-free air taste?" They looked up at him again.

In the natural light, it was easier to see the inhuman details about him. His eyes were a stunning citrine in the light. His hair, dense and curly, swayed just a little, unnaturally, with every minute motion of his head. And his skin, a sun-loved tan, glittered ever so slightly. It made him look… not quite angelic. Maybe just etherial. Maybe just soft.

"It tastes… smoggy."

He laughed briefly, looking around them at the busy street and nearby buildings. "Alright, Debbie Downer, let's get you the hell home." He turned and started walking, and Turmoil followed close beside him. "The other kids are excited to meet you," he said.

"I… thought this was a hero team?" they asked. He blinked, then shook his head slightly.

"Er, yeah. Most of them are in their late twenties. Sorry, I just always call them my kids." They nodded, touching their hand lightly to where he had grabbed them.

"It's okay." They hesitated, and he didn't say anything. They wanted to know more. This would be their… home from now on. "You must be, like, the den father," they ventured. He chuckled, a broad smirk stretching across his face.

"Yeah, basically. A couple of 'em even just call me dad." They nodded, looking down to the sidewalk again. The way Seismic felt about Turmoil, even after just barely meeting them, they weren't surprised. Well, they were surprised. Surprised anyone felt that way about them. A failed villain, a wet dog of a person, now also a lame excuse for a hero. But not surprised that others felt comfortable enough to call him dad.

He suddenly put a hand on their shoulder, giving them a soft squeeze through their scratchy button-up.

"Don't worry about anything right now," he said, looking down at them. Without the sunlight in his face, his eyes were a striking, warm amber. "Let's just get you settled in and put some real food in you."

---

Turmoil was the latest of four rehabilitation cases. The house, a completely normal-looking thing in a completely normal suburban neighborhood, had three sponsors.

The other one Turmoil needed to expect to see a lot was Overcast. They recognized that name immediately; Overcast was a brutal fighter, and she'd killed more than one villain in the field. But Seismic had laughed at the horrified look on Turmoil's face and given them another shoulder squeeze.

"She's harmless," he said as if she couldn't conjure a lightening storm from a clear day.

When the two walked into the house, it surprised Turmoil how… homey it was. There was a beaten-up couch sitting on what was once a plush, light gray, furry rug. The hardwood was scratched up and scorched in several places, just like the off-white walls. There was an electric fireplace with picture frames, crocheted animals, plastic floral arrangements, and post cards atop, all beneath a five-year-old TV. Across the living room, in the dining room, the chairs at the table didn't all match, and there was a pile of jackets and coats against one wall.

Seismic stepped in and around Turmoil, then nodded at the person sprawled across the couch. She lifted her head, black hair and cat-like eyes making her stand out against the cream fabric.

"Nine Lives, Turmoil. Turmoil, Nine Lives."

Turmoil offered a pittance of a wave, caught up in the sharp, yellow eyes. The woman sat up fully, and it seemed her eyes were the only obviously feline trait about her. She looked… guarded. She looked pretty.

"Nice to meet you," she said quietly. It wasn't genuine.

"Nice to meet you, too."

"Where're the others?" Seismic asked, pulling the still-wrapped costume out from under his arm. Nine Lives scratched her chin with long nails.

"Back yard, I think. I don't know; I've been reading."

"Helpful," he said. She huffed dismissively, then laid down again, disappearing into the couch beneath an almost-white afghan. He shook his head. "Your room's this way," he said, already walking up the hall. Turmoil followed. "You'll be sharing with Third Degree." They stepped into a door on the left, and he moved aside so they could see in. The room was pretty evenly divided into two parts, with a bed and dresser on each side. The left half of the room was decorated with band posters, samples of black and shining rock, a fish tank with a turtle, and clothes lain out on available surfaces. On the right half, the bed was dressed with a blue-white comforter and gray sheets, the walls and wardrobe bare. "Overcast will take you shopping soon, same time we get your suit tailored," Seismic said, hefting the costume. "Feel free to go nuts; we can get S.A.I. to cover all of it."

Turmoil nodded, their chest tightening. They still weren't sure about Overcast, dreading meeting her and making a bad impression and earning her ire. But more than that, they just didn't want to disappoint Seismic. They were getting this opportunity because they were young and hadn't killed anybody, not because they really had the ability to be a hero. And Seismic was nice, and anything Turmoil did would reflect on him. "Thanks," they choked. Seismic put a heavy hand on their shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly.

"Take your time, kiddo. Dinner'll be in about an hour."

---

next

[makingwordsgo]

Please go check out my new fanfic on AO3 and leave a comment ❤️

In a race against time to shield her daughter from her husband's avarice, Layla forges a celestial contract with the Spirit King, binding Lucy to the Leo constellation for protection and a future marriage. The bond demands formidable magical strength; otherwise, it drains life force over time, marked by a swirling gold band. Lucy defies odds by surviving the bond at ten, later fleeing her father when the bond weakens. Joining Fairy Tail, she clashes with Loke but finds an undeniable connection, her bond mark warming in his presence. Resisting their bond, Lucy gradually sees beyond Loke's facade. However, looming threats from the celestial realm seek to sever their bond, even if it means Lucy's demise.

A blonde sat delicately perched on a cliffside across from a cascading waterfall, her body leaning against a metal barrier as her feet dangled above the water below. She hummed softly, the tranquil melody contrasting with the weight of her thoughts. She knew her old friend would come—he always did, and they had much to discuss.

Only three years remained, and the prospect of leaving her daughter alone with her changed husband sent chills down Layla's spine. He had once been caring and attentive, a wonderful husband, but the allure of wealth had transformed him. Now distant, distracted, and often angry, he tried to shape Layla and their daughter into a mold of respectability, forgetting their humble origins. His demands to sever ties with friends and his outbursts of anger revealed a man she no longer recognized.

Layla couldn't bear the thought of her daughter falling prey to the greed-driven men who sought to exploit her for their gain. This was why she was here—a promise, unbreakable and sacred, to protect Lucy at any cost. The agreement she sought with her friend would bind Lucy's safety in the years to come, safeguarding her from a fate Layla couldn't accept.

The pressure around her swelled, time seeming to halt. Silence enveloped the cliffside, the roar of the waterfall silenced in anticipation of his arrival.

“Old friend, you shouldn’t sit like that; you might fall,” his voice was soft yet carried authority.

Layla looked up, grinning mischievously. “Chill out, Stach-face, it's perfectly safe. Besides, time is running short, and I do enjoy living on the edge.”

He stared at her pointedly, and Layla stood, brushing off dirt as she faced him.

“I didn’t call you here for a lecture. I...” She paused, weighing her words carefully. “I need your help.”

“What kind of help do you require? You know I can't intervene with the magic drain,” he responded.

Layla waved off his concerns. “It’s not that.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “I wish to forge a celestial bonding contract for my daughter.”

His eyes widened, revealing his understanding of the gravity of her request.

“That is not a request to be made lightly, Layla,” he cautioned.

Layla's gaze dropped momentarily before she raised it with determination. “I understand the importance, but I have no other choice. Lucy needs protection, and I can't leave her to the whims of that man,” anger tinged her voice, her body shaking with emotion.

“Very well, with whom do you wish to form the contract?”

“The strongest member of the Zodiac. I trust no one other than Leo the Lion. No one would dare break their bond under the risk of forfeiting their life,” Layla declared boldly.

“Layla, you understand the magnitude of what you're asking. Should the bond fail, both their lives could be forfeit. This is powerful magic, and more harm than good could come of it,” he warned.

Layla's eyes hardened, her resolve unyielding. She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a swirling gold tattoo around her wrist.

“Or have you forgotten our own bonding contract?” Layla's voice softened, the gold tattoo pulsing under his gaze.

He looked away, his eyes filled with regret.

“I'm sorry; I didn’t mean to make light of our situation, but it is because of our circumstances that I must ensure this is done right. Layla Heartfilia, do you pledge your daughter Lucy Heartfilia to the bond?” he asked.

“Yes,” Layla responded without hesitation.

“Do you accept Leo the Lion as her faithful protector, and in turn promise her hand to Regulus when she comes of age in her eighteenth year?” he continued.

“Yes,” Layla affirmed.

“Then as it is spoken, it shall be written. Lucy Heartfillia belongs to the stars under the protection of the constellation Leo, Leader of the Zodiac. May she live a happy, fulfilled life in starlight.” Magic surged around them as starlight bloomed across the space before fading.

“It is done. I hope you know what you’re doing, Layla. Don’t let our fate become hers,” he cautioned before vanishing, leaving the world to resume its motion.

Layla sagged against the fence, drained by the weight of her choices, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry, Seirio,” she whispered, feeling a fleeting touch on her back before it vanished.

With a sense of urgency, Layla stood and hurried home. Her daughter needed her now more than ever.

[sankaran1]

## The Ultimate Guide to Essential Gym Accessories for a Better Workout

Whether you’re a seasoned gym-goer or a fitness newbie, having the right gym accessories can significantly enhance your workout experience. From improving your performance to ensuring safety and comfort, the right gear can make all the difference. Here’s a comprehensive guide to essential gym accessories that can take your fitness routine to the next level.

### 1. **Quality Gym Bag**

A sturdy and spacious gym bag is crucial for carrying all your workout essentials. Look for one with multiple compartments to keep your items organized and easily accessible.

### 2. **Water Bottle**

Staying hydrated is key to maintaining energy and performance. Invest in a durable, reusable water bottle. Options with insulation can keep your water cool throughout your workout.

### 3. **Workout Clothes**

Comfortable and breathable workout clothes are essential. Look for moisture-wicking fabrics to keep sweat away from your body, and ensure proper fit to avoid any discomfort during exercises.

### 4. **Training Shoes**

The right pair of shoes can prevent injuries and improve your performance. Choose shoes that are suitable for your specific workout type, whether it’s running, weightlifting, or cross-training.

### 5. **Fitness Tracker**

A fitness tracker can help monitor your progress, track your heart rate, count steps, and even analyze your sleep patterns. Popular brands include Fitbit, Garmin, and Apple Watch.

### 6. **Resistance Bands**

Resistance bands are versatile tools that can be used for strength training, stretching, and rehabilitation exercises. They are portable and come in various resistance levels.

### 7. **Weightlifting Gloves**

Protect your hands from blisters and improve your grip with weightlifting gloves. They can also provide wrist support during heavy lifts.

### 8. **Foam Roller**

Foam rollers are great for self-myofascial release, helping to relieve muscle tightness and improve blood flow. They are an excellent tool for post-workout recovery.

### 9. **Jump Rope**

A jump rope is an excellent accessory for cardiovascular training. It’s portable and provides a full-body workout, making it a great addition to any fitness routine.

### 10. **Yoga Mat**

A good-quality yoga mat provides cushioning and support for floor exercises and stretching routines. It also ensures a non-slip surface for better stability.

### 11. **Sweat Towel**

Keep a sweat towel handy to wipe off sweat during your workouts. This helps maintain hygiene and comfort.

### 12. **Headphones**

Music can be a great motivator during workouts. Invest in a pair of wireless, sweat-resistant headphones for an uninterrupted workout experience.

### 13. **Fitness Apps**

Utilize fitness apps for guided workouts, tracking progress, and staying motivated. Apps like MyFitnessPal, Nike Training Club, and Peloton offer a range of features to support your fitness goals.

 14. **Adjustable Dumbbells**

If you prefer working out at home, adjustable dumbbells are a space-saving alternative to a full set of weights. They allow you to easily change the weight to suit different exercises.

### 15. **Kettlebells**

Kettlebells are excellent for strength and conditioning workouts. They come in various weights and can be used for a wide range of exercises.

### Conclusion

Investing in the right gym accessories can enhance your workout experience, improve your performance, and help you achieve your fitness goals more effectively. Remember to choose items that suit your specific needs and preferences, and always prioritize quality and durability. With the right gear, you'll be well-equipped to take your fitness journey to new heights.

Feel free to leave comments or share your favorite gym accessories! Happy lifting!

[twignotstick]

TMNT: SECOND SHOT - Arc 1, Chapter 7: An Act of Creation 🎭

<- Chapter 6: Pursuit of Progress 🌇

Warnings (if there's anything I should add here, tell me please!): violence, medical procedures, a lot of yelling, body horror

Words: 3,542

Summary: Everything falls into place.

----------------------

‘WE NEED TO RUN!’

The scavenger was barking orders, trying desperately to get through to his older brothers. His oldest was mounted furthest away, roaring and growling as loudly as he could to scare off the beasts threatening his family.

‘GAH! What the-?!’ The hunter growled, tossing a metal monster off of him. ‘THAT THING STUNG ME!’

The scout rushed to the hunter's side, examining the bleeding wound in his neck. ‘I thought I saw it bite you?’

‘Well, it sure FELT like it stung me!’ The hunter barked, before suddenly losing his balance and putting all his weight on the scout.  

‘Father, what do we do?!’ The protector squeaked, tossing more bots off his shell. There were already dozens of bite marks and cuts covering the leathery carapace, splattering blood.

Their father stood stock still, breathing faintly. Staring into nothingness and chattering under his breath, ‘He's returned for me… to take my life as he vowed to do… he's come for my life…’

‘Hunter?’ The scout chirped, shaking the limp form of his spiky brother. ‘Scav, he's not waking up! What's happening?!’

The scavenger, trying to ignore the fact that they were quickly becoming surrounded, gasped in realization. ‘A sedative,’ he hissed, before repeating louder, ‘They're trying to administer a sedative! Don't let them get to your neck!’

‘Why can't we- AGH!’ The protector barked as he yanked a beast from his neck and shattered it on the wall, splashing a liquid coming from within the thing's throat through the air.

‘What does that mean, Scav!?’ The scout squealed, holding tightly onto his brother and curling up on himself to keep distance from the monsters.

‘Its a chemical that makes you fall-’

The protector fell limply to the ground.

‘-asleep.’

The rat was easily overtaken. He panicked more the closer the bots got, and didn't even realize the ones creeping up behind him.

The scout yelped when he, too, was attacked from behind. He tried to shake the beast off, but he didn't dare shake too much for fear of hurting the already wounded brother in his arms. When he felt the jaws lock around his neck, he screamed for his only conscious family member to get it off.

The scavenger's eyes flitted around the tunnel, searching desperately for some way to gain the upper hand over these puny monsters.

His only younger brother collapsed, and he knew resisting would only result in more pain.

----------------------

------------------

--------------

Splinter watched as his bogeyman entered the room.

His arms were bound, but his legs were not. The metal bands on his wrists were chained to the wall behind him, like some kind of sick medieval prison cell. He was stuck sitting on his knees, grimly forced into a very human position.

Dr. Axum stood over him, outlined by the bright light coming from the window behind; a stark juxtaposition to the darkness of the room. His face was hard to see, but apathy and sternness emanated from him, even in his soft breathing.

They stared into each other for eternity, both trying to see who may falter first. Who would crumble.

Axum sighed. “You could have been so promising, rat.”

Splinter growled, tensing his arms.

“You know, I call you a prototype now; I called you a prototype at the start too. But when you became more intelligent, more cognizant, I almost called you Subject 0.”

Axum went down to one knee, reaching Splinter's eye level.

“Almost.”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a syringe with a cap. Within: a cold, slightly blue liquid. He began to fiddle with it in his hands as he resumed talking.

“I couldn't count you as Subject 0. If I did, it would ruin me. I'd be constantly reminded of you when I see my true successes. My true, perfect subjects.”

Splinter growled, sending spit at Axum's feet.

“But you? You were my failure. I tried to salvage you for years. So the best way to deal with you?”

Axum stood up again, looking down with empty eyes.

“Just a useless test run. A rat, and nothing more.”

Axum began pacing a short path, back and forth. 

“This project has been my only motivator since it began. My… foolish higher-ups tried to lead me astray. I never gave in to their temptations. No, I knew that I needed to perfect my mutagen. Supermutagen, as I've been calling it. After over a decade of grueling work, I can finally feast upon the fruits of my labor.”

He held up the syringe in his hands, examining it.

“This, my pet, is one of the only remaining samples of your mutagen. The beta supermutagen.” He laughed under his breath. “Of course, it's been over a decade since I made this; it's no good now. Settled in the bottom of a bottle, forgotten and stagnant.”

He stopped his pacing to glare into the inhuman eyes of Splinter, taking the cap off the syringe.

“You know, if I were to inject this into someone, I don't know exactly what it would do.”

Chains clinked.

“It could completely change them, mutating them beyond recognition. It could shut down their circulatory system. Or their nervous system, wouldn't that be fun?”

Claws scraped.

“I guess I'll never know. Although, maybe you could be good for one more test.”

The rat breathed heavily.

Axum returned to kneel in front of him, his smile disgustingly sweet. “I wanted Baxter to do the honors.” Splinter shuddered, but the human continued seamlessly. “He was so excited to get the opportunity to finish what he started, but his schedule was simply too packed. Bummer. Maybe I should wait, give him the chance to turn up late? What do you think?”

The two stared into each other again, waiting for who would crack.

Splinter refused.

His arm flew forward, the chain around its manacle being unlinked from the force. He clawed toward Axum's throat, but couldn't do anything meaningful before he felt a stabbing sting in his shoulder. He screamed in retaliation.

Axum scoffed, standing up and rubbing the muck from his neck. The syringe that he had planted in Splinter's shoulder had the plunger pushed all the way in.

“You could have been so good, rat. Now I don't even get to have fun with you? How disrespectful.”

Splinter coiled onto the floor, feeling the stinging, numbing pain originating from his shoulder travel through his body. He pulled the syringe out, nearly crushing the glass in his grasp. He squeaked and growled to distract himself.

“Dr. Axum?”

Axum turned to face the shorter silhouette in the doorway.

“What, Tim? I'm very busy.”

“The turtles are waking up, sir. Subject 2 already appears fully responsive.”

Axum smiled and looked back to his suffering creation. “Fret not, pet. With this mutation, you too will become perfect. Just like the rest of your pathetic family. And they will listen to me.”

He walked to the man at the door. “Tell the guards to steer clear of this room until cleanup arrives. I suspect that the rat will reek when it’s dead.”

And Axum walked away, leaving Splinter to squeal and squeak in pain as his body fought against him.

Axum didn't feel the need to watch. He didn't want to stay until the squeaking stopped. He didn't care.

He didn't stay long enough to hear the squeaking become something else.

----------------------

Light.

Blinding light, affronting his vision despite his eyes being closed.

The hunter winced, but reluctantly forced his eyelids open. The light only became brighter, causing his already aching head to pulse. Forcing down the urge to vomit, he tried to sit up from where he was laying.

His wrists were held down by something cold and hard. His ankles, too. As he tried to turn his face, he found his neck was bound as well. By thick, metal clasps.

His breath caught in his chest, and the turtle craned his neck to look around the white room he was in. To his right, he could see the unconscious form of his older brother, bound just like he was, laying on a metal table. He assumed he himself was laid on a similar table, though it was hard to see.

To his left, he found his immediate younger brother, bound the same. He, however, didn't appear fully unconscious. He shifted and tightened his face.

Their youngest brother could barely be seen, hidden on the opposite side of the scavenger.

‘Scav?’ The hunter hissed. ‘Scav, wake up!’

The scavenger winced at his brother's grating voice, but opened his eyes and looked over anyway. ‘Hunter?’

‘Where are we? What's going on? Is Scout okay?’

The scavenger coughed, tensing up. ‘Slow down, okay?’ He looked over his other side before turning back. ‘Scout is fine. Scratched up, but fine. He's bound like we are, so we should brace for a freakout. How's Protector?’

The hunter sighed. ‘He's fine. What's going on?’

‘Why would I know? We both got knocked out by those crazy robots. All I know is that we're stuck on some freaky sci-fi tables and we can't move. And that does not bode well for… wait, where's Father?’

The hunter strained his neck to look around at the rest of the room. The wall in front of them had a large window, and there was a small metal table with strange devices on it. Silhouettes stood beyond the window.

Their father was nowhere to be seen.

The protector mumbled as he woke, hissing at the pain coming from his brutalized carapace pushing against the table beneath him.

‘Protector, do you see Father?!’

“So Subject 4 hasn't woken up yet, hm?”

A figure behind the window had stepped inside, followed by a smaller one. He had dark skin, with coily brown hair and matching eyes. His features were pointed and sleek, with sharp cheekbones. Both him and the second figure wore white lab coats.

“It appears so, sir. We can force him awake, if you'd-”

“No. This is a test as well, young man.”

‘What are they saying?’ The hunter hissed.

‘Something about tests?’ The scavenger replied. ‘And I think Scout?’

‘Can you ask them why we're here? Why we can't move?’ The protector groaned.

The taller man walked over to the metal table, inspecting the devices on it. “It's important to remember their weaknesses in their imperfect state to know what we need to-”

‘GET IT OFF!’

All eyes turned to the scout. He writhed in his restraints, tearing the skin on his wrists and ankles. All the while, he just screamed.

‘Scout,’ the scavenger soothed, ‘you need to calm down! Breathe, please!’

‘GET IT OFF OF ME!’

The hunter churred calmly. ‘Scout, it's okay! You need to listen.’

The scout stopped yelping and thrashing. ‘...Hunter?’ he squeaked tearfully.

‘Yeah, I'm here, pipsqueak. I know you can't see me, but I'm here.’

The two humans discussed something to the side, too quiet for the turtles to hear. They kept throwing glances to the scout's sobbing form.

‘...are you okay?’ the young turtle chirped shakily. ‘Are you h-hurt?’

‘I'm fine.’ The hunter looked to his biggest brother, who was visibly worried for the youngest. ‘We're all hurt, but we're going to be okay.’

The scout started sobbing slightly louder.

“What's wrong with it?” The taller human asked.

“We believe that Subject 4 had the most unstable initial mutation of the bunch, judging by the tests we've run,” the smaller one explained. “The others appear much more stable.”

The taller human huffed. “How troublesome.”

The smaller human shuffled some papers in his hands. “If you want, we could dispose of it.”

‘KEEP YOUR PAWS OFF HIM!’ The scavenger roared in an outburst.

‘What are they saying?!’ The protector begged.

‘THEY'RE THREATENING TO KILL HIM!’

The scout hiccuped loudly.

‘WHAT?!’

“Oh,” the taller human sighed, grinning, “I don't think they like that idea.”

The smaller human looked terrified, but the older human looked gleeful. He slowly strode over to the Scout's tableside.

‘GET AWAY FROM HIM!’

The human laid his hand at the bottom of the scout's chin, though the hunter couldn't see this. All he saw was a monster hurting his baby brother.

The scout yelped out loudly on the contact. “Sensitivity, huh?” The human pressed down on the turtle's skin, as said turtle squeaked and pushed his head as far away as possible. “I'm sure I can do something about that. But; that will have to wait until you are complete.”

‘WHAT IS HE SAYING?’ The protector thrashed.

‘I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT HE MEANS EITHER!’

“Calm down, little ones,” the human said calmly, walking to stand in front of all of them with his arms behind his waist. “You all should be happy to be here. I'm finally giving you the purpose you were created to serve.”

Seeing the scavenger quiet down to listen, the older brothers followed suit. ‘What's he-’

‘He's talking about our purpose. How we should be happy we're here. And stop asking, it's hard for me to translate in the first place.’

“Now,” the human said, grabbing a syringe off the metal table and flicking it, “who do we perfect first?”

The liquid in the syringe was a terrible bluish-green that radiated in the glass, bubbling and shifting.

‘What is-’

‘I SAID STOP ASKING! I DON'T KNOW!’

The human's eyes snapped to the scavenger. “Wonderful!” He cheered. “A volunteer. Grab a syringe and start with Subject 1, would you Tim?”

The taller human sauntered over quickly, while the shorter fumbled to pick up a second syringe. When he arrived at the scavenger's tableside, he grabbed the turtle's arm firmly and twisted it palm up. He pulled an alcohol swab from his coat pocket (though the hunter didn't know what it was, and neither did the victim) and wiped the inside of the turtle's elbow.

“Only a few more moments of ignorance, dear pet. Any last… chirps?” He laughed, as though it were the funniest joke in the world, and jabbed the syringe in without waiting for an answer.

The protector was treated similarly, but without the snarky commentary and with a lot more fighting. The younger human had to use all of his body weight to hold the turtle's giant arm down, and did a haphazard job of cleaning the injection area.

Both turtles hissed when the plungers were pressed, but nothing bad seemed to happen.

“Alright, and you'll tend to big-and-ugly Subject 2, yes?” The taller human asked the smaller calmly.

“Uh…” the smaller human hesitated, meeting the hunter's intimidating glare.

“Yes?” The older human pressed.

“O-of course, Dr. Axum.” He scurried to grab another prefilled syringe, followed coolly by the older.

The smaller human tried to pin the hunter's arm, and he never looked down at his assailant. He writhed in defiance and only watched the taller human moving toward his baby brother.

‘YOU CAN'T HURT HIM!’ He barked. ‘YOU'LL REGRET EVER LAYING A FINGER ON HIM!’

The human looked at the hunter and smiled softly. “Oh, how endearing. It's almost like they're brothers, caring for each other's safety.” His eyes fell back on his second victim, expression returning cold.

Meanwhile, the smaller human kept struggling to pin the older turtle down. He kept grabbing on the spiky points of the skin, pulling away. He looked like he would pass out if he wasn't being watched.

But the hunter recognized some of the garbled “words” coming from the human's mouth. He had learned a few after hanging out with the redhead and the skinny one.

“Brothers.”

He felt a tension prick his arm, just like the sting of that stupid robot. And yet, despite how much he wanted to turn and growl at his assailant, he kept glaring at the monster hurting his baby brother.

The syringe entered the scout's arm, and he began screaming and writhing once more.

‘GET IT OUT! IT HURTS! PLEASE! HUNTER! BIG BROTHER!’

Sweat was beginning to bead on the heads on the protector and the scavenger as the mutagen worked its magic.

‘Scout, I'm here! I'm here!’

A crawling, slithering, slimy feeling started to creep up from under the turtle's skin. It cupped the back of his mind like a friend. Asking to come inside, to stay the night.

‘PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP!’

The hunter watched as the protector and scavenger arched their backs and shifted on the tables as best they could without hurting themselves.

He knew his youngest brother didn't worry about that. He could hear the restraints being yanked carelessly. The sound of his baby brother choking himself by yanking himself around.

The humans left the room, leaving the turtles to squirm in pain as that creeping, slithering feeling overtook every nerve.

‘BIG BROTHER!’

The hunter let it become numbness. His baby brother was in pain (dying, he's dying, it's real this time), and he couldn't do anything to help.

Resisting would only result in more pain.

----------------------

It felt like hours. Time was hard to follow in the white room, with the only changes being figures walking past the window. The turtles didn't know where the sun was, but they knew they were tired. The mutagen rolling through their guts and muscles exhausted them. The protector, hunter, and scavenger gasped in as much air as they could to press though.

The scout just cried, and his once heavy breathing grew labored. His screaming had only started dying down when a rasp appeared in his voice. He begged for his brother until he couldn't anymore. The discomfort overpowered the want for comfort.

Hearing the silence (figurative silence, his sobbing was still very much audible) of their most talkative brother made the others speechless. The hush was deafening. 

‘Hey,’ the hunter wheezed, suddenly finding that communicating was much more difficult with whatever was happening, ‘guys?’

The second youngest and oldest tried to look over with tight faces, and the youngest whined.

‘If we…’ he paused to cough and shake away his nausea, ‘if we don't make it out of here-’

‘Brother…’ the protector hissed carefully.

‘I want to say I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry for not telling you guys I care. That I love you guys.’ He hiccuped as the tears he had been holding back broke through. ‘I love you guys,’ he pleaded, ‘I really do. And I'm so, so sorry…’

‘Don't think like that,’ the protector growled. ‘We're going to get out of here, find Father, and go home. We're going to be okay.’

‘He's right!’ The scavenger chirped raspily. ‘Well, probably. It's also equally probable that we will, in fact, never get out of here. If not more likely.’

The protector glared, to his best ability in shackles and excruciating discomfort.

‘Buuut, I have to say… I'm sorry too. That I can't do much more than find things. And I love you guys so much. That too.’

‘What do you mean?’ The protector shifted. His chirping was becoming almost indistinguishable with the amount of scratching sounds in his troat. ‘You helped us get food. You found those humans! If you hadn't done that, then Hunter probably wouldn't be able to walk! And Scout would still have that metal thing in his leg!’

‘If I hadn't found them, maybe we wouldn't be here…’

The silence returned, only punctuated by sniffles and coughs.

‘That wasn't your fault. You did what was best for the rest of us at the time,’ the hunter justified.

‘That's right,’ the eldest added. ‘You do nothing but help us.’ He took a breath and shook his shoulders, doing everything he could to relieve the ache coming from his wounded carapace. ‘I don't like how negative you guys are being, but I love you too. You guys are my life. My purpose. And I want to thank you all for letting me have that.’

‘Of course, big guy,’ the scavenger snorted.

‘I-I-’ the scout squeaked, struggling to get anything out through his heaving.

‘We know, Scout,’ the hunter churred. ‘We know.’

The scout gave up, just letting himself keep sobbing. That is, until his breathing started becoming faster and sharper.

‘Scout?’ The scavenger chirped.

The sound of choking and coughing filled the air, as spit flew out of the scout's throat.

‘Sc-’ The protector gasped sharply as he, too, began struggling to breathe. The hunter and scavenger followed suit mere seconds after.

A crawling, ripping pain blossomed from the back of their throats. Pulling. Folding. Swelling. Shrinking. Suffocating. Like some creature that had been hiding within was reshaping it. The feeling crept into the base of the skull. Some force tugging the spinal cord, puppeteering the body from the inside. Coughing, sputtering, and gagging filled the air.

Each brother began to writhe. They pulled and shifted violently, the scout unapologetically. Some of the shifting would only worsen the pain, evoking a gasp of air and a quick shift away.

The sounds in the room began to change. The breathing became… different. As though new mouths were doing it. It slowed and became lighter.

One by one, the turtles gave in to the clutches of unconsciousness. Resisting would only result in more pain. 

New breathing was later joined by a choir of alarms and a bright display of red lights.

Four perfect subjects bathed in it.

○●○●○●○

ITS THE- ITS THE NAME OF THE- ITS THE SE- THE SECOND SHOT--- AAAAA

Chapter 8: Spoken Poetry 🗣️ ->

[kishiren]

• Dorei-san - slave maid.

Her name comes from the word "Dorei(奴隷)", the Japanese term for "slave" is the most controversial figure in the Nijiura Maid fanbase, Dorei is a slave, despite never actually shown to be "owned" by anyone. •2005/10/17.

• [source material]

She has been trained in all kinds of games by her former master, and because of the drugs used in her life, she is small and resistant to most drugs. She does not menstruate and is unable to bear children. It's been rumored that she was seen during the construction of the pyramids, but it has not been confirmed whether she is the same person or a look-alike (some say she was brought here by Madoi-san who wandered into the past).

She has a older sister of the same name who was separated during childhood. They met but because of the change in her appearance, she does not recognize her as her sister, and they continue to pass each other by to this day.

She is the second graduate of Megaku. There is a theory that there is more than one Dorei-sans seeing that she can be seen anywhere to working with Yakui-san to being a temporary martial arts instructor.

• [appeareance]

She have dark color skin and has black or brown eyes. Her uniform is tattered at the bottom, and varies in colour, usually sticking to a dirty olive green. The other is a brownish color. Her hair is black with a low ponytail tied with a red band.

She wears five shackle cuffs around her neck, wrists, and ankles.

She carries a ankle weight on her left ankle and is owned with abnormal strength due to her hard work. She can remove the iron ball from her foot if she needs to, but if her master tries to remove it, she thinks it will be thrown away.

• [personality]

She has a very stoic and cold personality and always seen with a blank gaze devoid of emotion. She thinks that she is just a thing. Therefore, if her master tries to treat her as a normal person by dressing her up or giving her normal food, she thinks she will be sold.

She is well aware and experienced, and can be trusted with the work of a maid, but her slave-like behavior may cause her to behave in ways that are strange to ordinary people.

Her specialty is stewed offal and beans. Her favorite food is sugar cubes, but given too much she will get overexcited. She is used to eating poor food and digesting nutrients very efficiently.

There are many Kakkous who try to bring back a sincere smile to her face, but none of them have succeeded, because even if they show affection, she takes it as a play. They usually try to bathe her or give her a new outfit or a nice meal, but they need a reason to do so.

She is a strong fighter the uses capoeira, a form of martial arts made by slaves. Because of her broken heart, she may show no mercy even in situations where other maids might take it easy on her.

Sometimes she sings songs from her hometown, but she doesn't talk much about her past and is too afraid to ask questions.

• [controversy]

Dorei's "joke" is being the only dark skin maid being also made into a slave. Overseas (especially westerns) found the character in poor taste due to the racist topic. Because of this her image is not used often and using such is seen as bad taste.

There has been other dark skin maids but not based of different kinds of nationality of people.

Due to the offensive background of her character she has been grouped in with the Inappropriate Maids along with Yakui-san and Shitai-san.

• [note]

Let's remember that nijiura maids do not have canonical articles and everything is a creation of the fandom, and dorei was created in 2005 where racist jokes were not missing.