#yellow line markings

[rotfront-cunt]

trying to do more complex illustrations instead of just character explorations. this is technically meant to be part of achtober but its already the 7th lmao and this took me 2 days ill try to do as many prompts as i can tho :3

[myketheartista]

43??

Hello Mel!! I was so, so excited to see you got 43 ^w^ this is one of my favorite songs and it makes me think about Matilda’s family back at home while she’s gone on her journey. There’s a lot of negative emotions that fester during the time she’s away, and the two eldest siblings are left feeling distant from one another as they struggle to find their own paths while taking care of their other four siblings. As scary as it is without Matilda around, Mallory knows she can’t leave Maeson to fend for the family or they’d inevitably fall apart. Thank you for the ask!!

#43: The Chapel - Madilyn Mei

[wandering-aloneo-o]

made myself a couple aroace pins last week :D

ignore how shit the first attempt is i didnt realize how much the pin maker cuts off at the end

[gobstoppr]

first draft at a john design..

some design notes in the tags

[spencereid]

i hate u culture how DARE u make us think human imperfections are something to get rid of!!!! i love u teeny pointy human vampire canines and yellow tinted teeth i love u wrinkles and laugh lines i love u soft cheekbones i love u acne scars i love u stretch marks i love u!!!!! and nothing in pop culture will ever take u away from me!!!!!!

[bookworm-2692]

And here we are everyone! The final update to the Life Tracker with all the chaos at the end! Apologies for the delay here - most of my timing notes were done by Sunday, and then the graphs were complete by the middle of Tuesday, and now it’s Thursday morning. I have no good excuse this time, but here it is!

Previous posts: Session 7, Session 6, Session 5, Session 4. As usual, below the cut is close ups and data and commentary!

There were 37 deaths I counted this session up to Pearl’s permadeath, and then Impulse died twice more before some off-camera life exchanges occurred (Scott showed the first two, so they’re here with their timings, but then after that no one showed when Impulse gained an hour (so got two more kills), Martyn lost an hour (so died once), and Scott gained half an hour (so got a kill), and as you see something doesn’t add up and given that immediately after they get down to their final life I have elected to ignore it and just adjust the time anyway). Then there are the three consensual lava deaths, and then the three final deaths... so there were 45 on camera deaths this session, plus some extra off camera time shuffling.

I actually missed two deaths from Session 7 as well - I had them in my notes so my number of deaths matched what should be, but I somehow forgot to put them in the excel data, so I put them back this week. They were when Impulse fell and Cleo got the kill credit, as when as the Grian double kill on Bdubs and Cleo. I have also removed the 30 minutes I awarded Bdubs for his wolf killing Scar so that he could permadie at the correct time - though I left the 30 minutes Bdubs got for killing Joel in self-defence as a Yellow, as Cleo’s timer shows that she still had this, so I wanted consistency there.

Close up of Sessions 6-8 together

Close up of Sessions 7-8 together

Here you can see all the permadeaths together! It was far harder to label these lines than when players were alive and in a nice orderly line, so I hope this is fairly clear. And a close up of Session 8 alone:

Crazy how Pearl was briefly the one with most time, and Impulse’s habit of keeping his mouth shut about his time served him well - two hours into the session he had 4.5 hours, while Scott and Martyn were both down to 2 hours (and Grian on 1 and Pearl and Etho on half an hour). Scott wasn’t kidding when he said he stole all of Impulse’s time there.

I also decided to acknowledge Martyn’s /kill at the end there, and made him lose the rest of his time there.

Another interesting thing is the fact that Etho and Pearl’s mutual killing of each other, where they both net lost half an hour, didn’t actually effect their final placements. They were on under half an hour when they died, but if they hadn’t killed each other, they still would have been under an hour, and still would have permadied. Grian was definitely on the most time at his permadeath, and BigB got so damn close to it before being saved. If it had taken Mean Gills + TIES even a minute longer to find them and kill them, BigB would have died then (and Pearl may not have lost as much time as quickly as she did).

I do want to acknowledge that Pearl did gain an hour from permakilling Cleo. Because it was PvP, the half hour got automatically added. However, because Cleo permadied, her death message took up the entire screen and completely hid the message telling Pearl she gained 30 minutes, so Pearl then gave herself another 30 minutes. Which means she may have otherwise died when Etho pushed her, but I’m willing to let it slide - Martyn also gained 30 minutes for an unknown reason back between Session 3 and Session 4 that was never acknowledged or removed. He also never fell below two hours until they agreed to equalise, so it probably didn’t effect anything, but I do want both to be acknowledged here.

I also created the graph for the average time per team again, in two forms.

First: where dead people are included in the average

And the Session 6-8 close up of this

And the Session 7-8 close up

And below is the Session 7-8 close up of the version where dead people are removed from the average

I don’t have much to say here other than I think it’s interesting comparing the two. The first one suppresses how much time Impulse has on account of Skizz and Tango both being dead, but the second one shows it loud and clear.

Now is time for the data screenshots! This session was longer than every session except for the first - they had been averaging around two hours, but this time was an hour and a half. Presumably, this is because at the 2 hour mark, there were still 6 people alive, and three of them had an hour or less to live, and 15 minutes later there were only three but at that point you may as well let it play out.

The first 50 minutes of Session 8:

The next hour and 10 minutes of Session 8:

The final 30 minutes of Session 8:

As usual the red and green boxes indicate deaths and kills. The blue boxes is what I’m using for the “time equalisation” the three of them did off camera. I really tried to work out who would have killed who there but something didn’t work and then I decided it didn’t matter lmao. I did do their three lava deaths separately though because I’m still being anal there.

After doing all that, I finally worked out a better way of zooming in on the graphs, by remembering I can actually force the axes to be smaller, which means more detail can actually be seen. So here those are below.

Life Tracker Session 1-4:

I also finally worked out how to rotate the text boxes because it wasn’t working earlier, and I think it looks so much better there!

Life Tracker Session 5-8:

Here unfortunately the text on the left had to be huge for the spacing to work, but then on the right the text had to be much smaller so I could try to space all the names out at the point of death.

Life Tracker Session 6-8:

I actually made the 6-8 one before the 1-4 or 5-8 ones, so before I worked out the angled text, but I think this still works with just the names at the point of death (the start of the name is at the point of death, unless there’s commas in between and then they’re all at the same point)

Life Tracker Session 7-8:

Lots of little details here! We’re close enough that Tango’s death can separate from Scar and Cleo. You can see vertical lines close together rather than overlapping as well which is nice!

Life Tracker Session 8:

This one I did forget to change the title, but you can tell it’s Session 8 only. Tango, Scar, and Cleo died within two minutes of each other, it’s so tight. And Impulse and Scott were within six seconds of each other, so that was always gonna be impossible to separate.

Team Average Time Session 1-4:

Team Average Time Session 5-8:

Team Average Time Session 6-8:

Team Average Time Session 7-8:

Team Average Time Session 8:

I also have a copy of the above four with the dead people excluded, which I can share if people are curious, but this post is maybe getting a bit long right now, and I think the version where dead people are included is the better one to show - more accurate to team strength.

I also made some other graphs while procrastinating this post (because I was procrastinating making a decision about some of Bdubs’s deaths/kills to make the time work), but I will include those in their own post as this one is absolutely far too long right now.

I definitely had fun making these graphs each week, so I hope you guys enjoyed too!!

[sesamenom]

Gil-galad Variations II, Notes Edition

Tag snippets from: @eowyn7023, @glorfinyeet, @lkaluna, @finmoryo, @wilwarin-wilwa

Gil-galad Variations, featuring all the gil galad theories i've encountered.

[robin-with-a-pen]

Please tell me you see my vision

(The song is Savior by Rise Against (?) )

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Sex in the suit (Wolverine)

Description: Y/N wants Logan to fuck her in the Wolverine suit

Warning: Smut, Wade

Word Count: 1,123k

Logan looked so hot in his suit. Y/N couldn’t keep her eyes off him. So much so that Wade teases her about it anytime he sees her staring at him. “Ya know I don’t blame you, Peanut looks hot af in that suit.” Wade says, making Y/N giggle. Logan looks over and sees her giggling. He walks over to them, “You making my girl laugh?” He asked jokingly. Wade raises his eyebrows under his mask, “Listen Friendo you have no reason to be jealous. Little Y/N over here has a mask kink.” Y/N’s jaw dropped at that and looked over at her friend shocked. Logan didn’t really have a reaction which worried her even though they were dating. She looked at him worried but he didn’t even look mad or upset. “Wow, are you turning her down? I’ll take you up on that, cupcake.” Logan glared at him. 

“So the suit turns you on?” He asked them as she ate dinner. She chewed slowly and looked at him. “Wrong time to ask, don't ya think?” She asked. He shrugged, “You’re almost done.” He had a point but she was thinking about food not him fucking her in the suit….well shit now she was. “But yeah, especially the mask.” She says. He raises his brows, “really?” He asked.

She can’t think straight when thinking about it. He looked so sexy in it and all she wanted to do was fuck him. She finished her last bite and quickly took the plate from her. She looked at him as he set it on the table. He came over to her and picked her up, making her giggle. “You keep giggling like that, I’ll fuck you right here on the table babygirl.” He growls. “As long as you wear the suit I don’t care where you fuck me.” She purred. He set her on the counter, “stay right here.” He runs out of the room leaving her in her thoughts. She bit her lip just thinking about what was in store.

She decided to help him out by taking off her sweats leaving her in her shirt and panties. Her panties were lace and yellow fitting the vibe. Her panties were nearly soaked. It wasn’t  too much longer that he walked in the kitchen in the suit and he had the mask on as well. Her jaw dropped as if it was the first time seeing him in the suit. He walked up to her and she wrapped her legs around him pulling him closer, “You look so hot baby.” She said and kissed him. The mask made it a little harder but it was still enjoyable. His large hands moved up her thighs to her wet panties.

She gasped in the kiss as he rubbed over her clothed clit. “Fuck you’re wet.” He groaned. She moaned and threw her head back. His finger sped up the pace and his other hand gripped her hip hard, probably leaving a mark. She tried to move her hips but he stopped her, making her whine. “Relax baby. I want to fuck you on my cock.” His deep voice said. She whimpered at his words and he stopped rubbing her. He pulled down her panties and threw them somewhere in the kitchen. He picked her up and turned her around so her ass was up in the air.

“This beautiful ass is just begging for it.” He said, slapping it. She moaned and shook her ass for him. He pulled down his pants and stroked himself a few times before lining up with her wet hole. He rubbed himself against her a few times before sliding in. He was bigger than anyone she’s had sex with prior but so she still was getting used to his size. It took him a minute to fully be inside of her. Her gasps as she got used to him always got him. Once he was in her, he let her adjust before gripping her hips. His grip was tight as he fucked her back on his cock. He wasn’t joking when he said he was gonna fuck her on his cock.

It was long before she was making the loudest noise possible. Luckily Wade wasn’t staying over like he usually would so they both could be as loud as they wanted. “Fuck Wolvy your dick hits all the right spots.” She whines. Never had she called him that before. But by the speed of him slamming her onto his dick increasing, she knew he liked it. “Fuck sweetheart your pussy is so warm and made for me.” He groaned. Her hands had nothing to grip onto, so her fingers dug into the table.

“Right where we eat letting me take you like the dirty whore you are.” She moaned at that and clenched around him. “Fuck baby girl if you do that again I might cum.” He moaned. He rarely ever moaned, just grunts and groans so she almost fell over the edge hearing that sound. “I’m close.” She whined and he grunted. His pace was inhuman fast as he had her fucking him and basically  rearranging her organs. He twitched inside of her and they both knew that words didn’t and couldn’t be said. Her eyes rolled back and she nearly screamed his name as she came all over his cock.

He slowed the pace to let her ride out her orgasm. Little breathy moans left her mouth. He picked up the pace again making her whine out of sensitivity. “I know, baby. Daddy’s almost there.” He grunted. His hands squeezed her hips hard and he came inside of her not caring about protection. She gasped feeling his cum fill her up for the first time. He pulled out of her and watched as his cum spilled out of her. He took his hand and swirled her hole and pushed some of it back in her. She whimpered and he chuckled, “Be kinda hot to see you pregnant with my baby.” He said.

“Yeah that would be hot, Peanut.” They both turned to see Wade in his Deadpool suit sitting on the window. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Logan growled. Y/N hid her body the best that she could from Wade. “Relax. I nearly missed the climax.” Logan growled and stormed up to him after pulling up his pants. “Why are you mad, Peanut? You at least got some action.” He said in defense. “Wade go home.” Y/N whined, annoyed that he saw them like that. “Not the kind of whining I want to hear.” He said and Wolverine’s claws came out. “Leave.” He growled at Wade and he sighed. “Fine. But next time invite me will ya?” “WADE!”

[thedevilsfamiliar]

Some lady in the block decided to plant lilies in her front garden. We have community cats— a bunch of strays that jump from one home to the next.

One by one, they began dropping like flies. We lost Toby, Morticia, Little Grey, Big Grey, Black Panther, Yogurt, and Scream. My friend also lost his indoor cat, Oreo.

For those unaware, the entire lily is toxic. It can lead to kidney failure if consumed. My friend watched as his cat went from being okay to crying in pain the last few hours of his life— and there was nowhere to go, we do not have emergency vets in my town, no 24/7 clinics. The closest one was 3 hours away and Oreo did not last 3 hours.

I will say that Oreo did not die fast, it was slow and painful. He began growing lethargic, did not want to eat, would throw up his water— began having bloody diarrhea, and eventually he died. This was over a span of days.

They should really put warnings on plants that are toxic/deadly to animals like it’s pretty insidious that there are plants that could potentially kill your dog being marketed as convenient low effort plants for beginners that have no knowledge I don’t think it would even occur to the average traitor joes shopper that they’d need to even look it up for safety reasons

[ponett]

favorite things from Breaking Bad VR But The AI Is Self-Aware, aside from the obvious stuff like the music, the ending, and walt being haunted by the specter of the breaking bad poster:

in general, the stark difference between the people who clearly know the scenes and the actual lines from the show and the people who either don't know or don't care, and the way wayne has to roll with it and constantly shift between both styles

as one of the youtube comments put it, the way walt's agency is downplayed by the railroading of the plot and the way his most heinous acts (letting jane die, poisoning brock, etc.) are largely skipped over make many moments where characters turn on walt and attack him feel comically unprovoked, which makes it feel like the version of the story walt would tell to make himself look better

mining the giant crystal for meth

the fact that they made "drives an el camino" at least 70% of skinny pete's personality

the sudden extreme yellow filter that appears when they cross over the clearly marked mexico border

the bit where they straight up just play the saul goodman commercial from the show on jesse's tv via youtube, but then someone switches it to the "you're not a real lawyer" scene from better call saul and they're all just so caught off guard that they kinda just start watching the scene. and then they just ignore what chuck is saying about his brother and let the quality of the cinematography alone convince them to hire saul

hank suddenly appearing in the car for a split second when walt, jesse, and saul are driving back from the desert, and to avoid completely derailing the plot wayne just looks down and clutches his head and says "cancer did that"

jesse saying he can do anything walt can do better and playing the breakcore breaking bad theme remix and wayne just goes "damn! damn!" and starts dancing

the fact that there's an extra salamanca cousin to make them triplets for no particular reason

the whole jane subplot isn't depicted so the plane crash above walt's house becomes a complete non sequitur

baaulp referencing the spice curls

they skip over the events of fly, but the map references it by having a giant fly in the superlab, which is labeled with an arrow so you can't miss it

jesse's drug-fueled house party having this playing on loop in the background

the homoerotic moment walt has with one of the salamanca triplets at the party in mexico, and also the one he has later with saul

to sidestep the whole neo-nazi thing in their lighthearted gmod stream they instead give uncle jack a gang of clowns and an evil circus (playing off of the vamanos pest fumigation tents, i assume), clearly labeled Uncle Jack's Evil Circus

since they skip the whole train heist they just have drew sharp show up at vamanos pest looking for some tiddlywinks

everything that happens with huell when walt is trying to explain to saul that hank figured everything out

and, of course, saul being chased off by the undead chuck mcgill

[ddejavvu]

I can't get the thought of marking Hotch up with lipstick marks out of my head. Like imagine leaving a trail of kisses down from his neck to his dick. And if the lipstick is starting to fade, he'd reapply it for her so she could continue marking him

Hotch is typically more-than-professional during round table sessions, the grim atmosphere of the room setting the tone for his no-nonsense behavior. However, he can't stop himself from itching at a persistent stinging against his collarbone- probably something to do with the mark you'd sucked into his skin only hours earlier.

it's such an intense sensation that he slips a hand beneath his collar to itch it skin-on-skin, something probably unprofessional considering his environment, but one of those base human things that must be done even if it shouldn't be. A few wandering eyes note his movements, observant but neutral as a profiler should be.

It isn't until he withdraws his hand, fingers stained a crimson red, that anyone reacts.

JJ shifts in her seat, eyes blowing wide as Prentiss leans forwards, "Hotch, is that blood?"

Aaron's already grasped the edge of his manila folder with his lipstick-stained fingers, turning the yellow paper a sinful shade. He frowns, glancing down at his pristinely pressed suit, but there's nothing red against his chest.

"Your hand," Reid urges, his brows knitted in concern, but it's Derek- of course - who recognizes the red for what it really is.

"Hold on," He laughs incredulously, a great gust of air that comes out like a bark, "Hold on, hold on, hold on, that came off'a your chest?"

Caught red-handed, Hotch composes himself, which is a very stark difference to the way that his team dissolves into teasing giggles. Penelope has clapped a hand over her mouth, perhaps the only way she can hold herself back from opening it.

"Settle down." Hotch attempts, but Rossi undermines him with an exasperated groan. Once the oldest of the team proves unreachable Hotch knows he's lost the room, and sits in stony silence while he waits for his coworkers to finish getting their fill.

"My man." Morgan declares, clapping Hotch on the shoulder with a strong hand he's lucky not to lose, "She got you in the doorway this morning, didn't she?"

"We're talking about dead teenagers, here." Hotch reminds them, raising a brow as Emily, Penelope, and JJ collapse into girlish giggles, "Can we please focus on the case?"

"This is on you, Hotch." Rossi levels him with what's supposed to be an unimpressed glare, and what really comes off as a smirk, "It's not their fault you come to work with lipstick under your clothes."

"I have to ask Y/N for that shade," Penelope gushes, but at Hotch's warning glare she grabs her remote and retakes her place beside the viewing screen, "But-! But our trusty boss is right, there are lives on the line here. So- um, incriminating lipstick stains pushed to the back of the mind, we'll start up again on our case."

Hotch's shoulders relax as the team sinks back into careful contemplation of the case details. He thinks he's escaped scrutiny altogether thanks to the shocking violence of this particular unsub, but it's three days later when he hears about the lipstick stains again.

Surprisingly, it's Reid that comes to torture him, and the slick comment comes when Hotch is forced into sharing a motel room with him. Communal bathrooms are in the middle of the complex, but it's easier to change in their rooms. He unbuckles his belt facing the corner of the small room, giving Reid space to change himself, and giving both of them as much privacy as possible.

"Careful, Hotch," Reid calls, voice misleadingly kind-hearted which lures Aaron into a sense of security, "There's a gap in the curtains behind where you're standing. You wouldn't want any onlookers to see any more lipstick Y/N left behind."

Hotch decides that Reid is worse than Morgan. Morgan is expected to be crass, so it's not a shock when it's delivered. Reid, however, is one to watch out for.

"Reid," Hotch responds, hearing Spencer's breathy laughter already bubbling from his throat, "I'm sticking you on desk duty for a month when we get back."

[pucksandpower]

Pollinated

Day 11 → Sex Pollen 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content and dubious consent

Kinktober Masterlist

“You’ve got a stack waiting for you.” Alan leans on the edge of your desk, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He’s holding a bundle of envelopes, some thick with scribbled messages, some thin and printed with clean, crisp fonts.

Your PR officer’s eyebrows raise in mock exasperation as he shakes them at you. “How do you even have time to race with all these fans wanting a piece of you?”

You grin, setting down your coffee and wiping your hands on your pants. “That’s the problem of being so popular, Alan. It’s a curse, really.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a real burden. Everyone loving you.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

He drops the stack in front of you with a soft thud. “Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” His tone is teasing, but you catch the flicker of something more serious underneath, like he’s reminding you there’s more work to be done after this.

You roll your eyes as he walks off. You love this part of your day — the letters, the drawings, the fan art from kids who see something in you that makes them believe they can be here too. They’re always so personal, full of energy, like they’re rooting for you from their living rooms or school desks.

You flick through the pile, reading the familiar opening lines. Dear Y/N, you’re such an inspiration or I love watching you race! Your heart lifts as you come across a brightly colored drawing from a girl named Chloe, of you standing on a podium, arms raised in victory. It makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt a little. You can practically hear the little girl’s voice, excitedly telling her parents, “That’s gonna be me one day.”

“This is what it’s about,” you mutter under your breath, running your fingers over the crayon marks.

More letters. More words of encouragement. A scribbled note from a group of university students who drove twelve hours just to see you race last season. A letter from an older woman who says she’s been watching F1 since her husband introduced her to it in the ‘70s and how proud she is to see a woman making waves. You pause at that one, your chest swelling. You’ll have to write her back.

You reach for the next envelope, a bit plainer than the others. No stickers, no hand-drawn doodles in the margins. It’s simple, just your name written on the front in neat black ink. Your gut tugs slightly, but you brush it off. Not every fan is an artist.

You open it, pulling out a card with a printed picture of a car on the front. Your car. You smile, flipping it open to read the message inside.

But your smile fades as you start to read.

You don’t belong here.

The words are bold, black, and stark against the white paper. They stand out like a punch to the gut, each line colder and more hateful than the last. The handwriting is meticulous, like whoever wrote it wanted to be sure you’d understand every word.

Women like you are ruining the sport.

Your throat tightens. Your fingers grip the edges of the card a little harder than before, the edges bending under the pressure.

Go back to doing what you’re good at: nothing.

You try to swallow, but it feels like there’s a knot lodged in your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve seen something like this. Hell, it’s not even the worst thing anyone’s said. But right now, it’s too sharp, too specific, too venomous.

You reach up to close the card, your hand trembling slightly. But before you can fully shut it, something catches your eye — a tiny puff of fine yellow powder shoots from the fold, drifting into the air in front of you.

“What the-” You blink, confused for a split second.

Then, it hits.

A burning sensation spreads through your throat and nose. Your skin tingles, a wave of heat rushing over your face. You gasp, trying to catch your breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling fire. Panic spikes as your vision blurs.

“Alan!” The name barely makes it past your lips before you feel your legs give way beneath you.

“Alan!” You try again, but it comes out weaker this time. Your limbs feel heavy, your chest tight, and the room starts to spin in slow, nauseating circles.

Footsteps pound across the floor. Alan’s voice sounds far away, muffled, like he’s underwater. You catch a glimpse of him sprinting toward you, his face pale, eyes wide. “Y/N?”

Your body jerks uncontrollably, a violent shudder running through you. The room twists, everything turning hazy as you hit the floor hard, your fingers twitching against the cool tile.

“What the hell — Y/N!” Alan’s panic is sharp now, cutting through the fog. You can barely see him through the haze clouding your vision, but you feel him grab your shoulders, shaking you gently.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear bleeding through the edges.

Your entire body seizes again, every muscle clamping down painfully. A sharp cry escapes your throat as the convulsions take over, uncontrollable now.

“Help! Somebody, help!” Alan’s voice is frantic, desperate, echoing through the room as the world starts to fade. His hands are on your face now, trying to keep you conscious. You feel his fingers trembling against your skin, hear the panic rising in his voice as he keeps shouting for help.

But you’re slipping, sinking deeper into the darkness as the convulsions wrack your body. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

Alan’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

***

The world returns slowly, like surfacing from a deep dive. There’s a ringing in your ears, muffled voices blending into the constant hum of machinery. Your body feels like it’s on fire — each nerve sizzling under your skin, radiating heat. You try to move, but it’s as if you’re bound by weights. The sheets beneath you cling to your body, too warm, too tight, too much.

Someone’s talking nearby, but it’s distant, warped. You can’t make out the words yet. Everything feels heavy — your eyelids, your chest, even your breathing. Your mouth is dry, your tongue like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.

Slowly, the fog begins to clear, and you catch fragments of conversation.

“… highly illegal substance …” A voice, crisp and professional, filters through. The doctor. “… extreme toxicity … very few cases on record …”

You try to focus, but the burning sensation inside you only intensifies. It’s everywhere — your limbs, your core, your mind. Like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You manage a groan, the sound barely escaping your lips.

“She’s waking up,” someone says, closer now. Alan? It sounds like him, but there’s a hitch in his usually confident voice. Panic.

Your eyelids flutter open, and the room comes into blurry focus. Harsh fluorescent lights. Sterile white walls. The sterile smell of antiseptic clogs your senses, a sharp contrast to the heat still coursing through you. You blink slowly, your vision sharpening enough to see Alan standing by your bedside, pale and jittery, his hand running through his hair in nervous strokes.

Across from him is the doctor, his white coat stiff and immaculate. He’s holding a clipboard, and his face is a mask of concern. When he speaks, it feels like each word takes a lifetime to process.

“… the substance she was exposed to … it’s not just any powder,” the doctor is saying, his voice measured but grim. “It’s a synthetic pollen derivative, known as Lust Dust on the black market.”

Lust Dust. The words sink into you, but you don’t recognize them. Your throat feels too tight to ask for clarification. Alan, however, doesn’t hesitate.

“What does that mean? What the hell is that?” Alan’s voice is raw, frayed at the edges.

The doctor sighs, flipping through the notes on his clipboard before answering. “It’s an extremely illegal bio-weapon, developed underground. It was used in several isolated attacks a few years ago, mostly in war zones. The symptoms … well, they’re brutal.”

You don’t like the sound of this. Brutal. Illegal. Bio-weapon. The words swirl around in your head, each one setting off alarm bells, but you can barely move enough to react. You just lie there, heat pulsing through you, your body screaming in agony.

“The pollen attacks the body’s nervous system,” the doctor continues, his tone clinical. “It acts as a stimulant, targeting primal instincts, heightening … certain responses. The most dangerous part is that, if untreated, the body will burn out within hours.”

“Burn out?” Alan echoes, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean? You mean … she’ll die?”

“Yes,” the doctor replies, his tone darkening. “In most cases, without intervention, the victim’s body will shut down. It’s a highly sexualized toxin. The only way to counteract the effects is through physical release.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. The words hover in the air, sinking into the room with a weight you can almost feel. Your heart races, your mind struggling to comprehend what’s being said. Physical release? The burning sensation in your body intensifies, like it’s reacting to the very idea of what the doctor’s suggesting.

Alan’s face pales further, his hand gripping the back of his neck in horror. “Wait, are you — are you saying she has to-”

“Sex,” the doctor says bluntly, not sugar-coating anything. “Yes. If she doesn’t have sex soon, she will die. The sooner, the better, to mitigate the damage the pollen’s already caused.”

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, despite the unbearable heat raging inside you. The fire in your veins is consuming everything, twisting the doctor’s words into cruel irony. This can’t be happening. Not this.

“I … I …“ Alan stammers, clearly at a loss, his eyes flicking to you, desperate and terrified. “There’s got to be another way. Medicine? A procedure? Something?”

The doctor shakes his head. “There’s no antidote. The only option is the one I’ve given you.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. But you can’t do anything except lie there, burning from the inside out, unable to stop the panic surging through you as the realization sinks in.

Alan takes a shaky breath. “What … what do we do now?”

The doctor straightens, his voice calm but commanding. “The most important thing is finding someone who’s willing to … assist.”

Alan’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can say anything, the door bursts open and several members of your team file into the room — engineers, mechanics, staff. Their faces are tight with concern, and they crowd into the small space, murmuring amongst themselves.

“What happened?” Someone asks, their voice tense.

Alan quickly explains, his voice shaking as he goes over the details. The pollen. The bio-weapon. The need for “intervention.” Every word makes your heart pound harder, and you can feel the collective shock ripple through the room as the reality of the situation sets in.

“She needs someone,” Alan says, his voice thick with emotion. “She needs someone to …”

He can’t even finish the sentence.

The room falls into stunned silence. You can hear the soft hum of the machines around you, the ragged breathing of the people in the room. It feels like time has stopped, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

Then, the whispers start.

“I’ll do it,” someone mutters.

“No, I will,” another voice pipes up. You recognize it as one of the engineers, his voice shaky but sincere.

“I mean, she’s our driver, right? We have to help.”

More voices chime in, each one offering, each one willing. The panic in the room turns to a frantic eagerness, as though everyone suddenly realizes what’s at stake. You can barely comprehend it — the idea that your team, your colleagues, are discussing this as though it’s just another task, something to be done to save your life.

Your mind is spinning, your body trembling with the heat still coursing through you. You want to shout at them, tell them to stop, that this isn’t how things should be. But you can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is listen as the conversation grows more chaotic, more desperate.

Then, the door opens again, and a new voice cuts through the noise.

“Everyone out.”

It’s Max.

The room falls silent instantly, every head turning toward him. He stands in the doorway, his face hard and set, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity you’ve never seen before. He looks around the room, his gaze sharp, taking in the faces of your teammates, the panic, the confusion.

“I said out,” Max repeats, his voice calm but firm.

No one moves at first, too shocked to respond. But then one by one, they start to file out, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as they leave the room. You hear Alan hesitate for a moment, but even he doesn’t argue. The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone with Max.

You’re too weak to turn your head, but you can hear him walk closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He doesn’t speak right away, and the silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your condition.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Max’s voice fills the room. “It’s going to be me.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“No one else is touching you,” he says, his tone low, steady. “I’m your teammate. I’m the one who’s going to help you. Not them.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the resolve in his voice, the determination. He’s not offering. He’s deciding. There’s no question, no hesitation. It’s going to be him, and no one else.

And as the burning inside you flares again, you realize that part of you is grateful.

***

The air between you and Max is thick with tension, the kind that crackles in the silence, heavy with unspoken words. You lie there, your body still ablaze, the fire under your skin pulsing in waves, but something about his presence — steady, resolute — grounds you, if only just. You can’t move, can barely speak, but your mind races, half-paralyzed with the agony of the pollen and half with the strange anticipation of what’s to come.

Max stands beside the bed, his face framed by the fluorescent lights above, casting shadows that sharpen his features. He doesn’t look afraid, though you can tell there’s something behind his eyes — something that trembles just beneath the surface. His gaze locks onto yours, and it feels like he’s looking past the pain, past the situation, to something deeper.

“This isn’t how I imagined …“ His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, as though the words aren’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours, tentative at first, like he’s asking permission for what’s about to happen.

You want to respond, to say something, but your throat is too tight, too raw, the burning heat still tearing through you. You manage the faintest of nods, your hand twitching against his, and that’s all he needs.

Max leans over, his face close to yours now, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand trails gently down your arm, his touch soft, careful. “I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “We’ll get through this.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in that same quiet, tender voice, he adds, “Schatje … you’re so strong.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and despite everything — despite the fire tearing you apart from the inside out — it brings a strange, aching warmth to your chest. Max has never called you that before. The intimacy of it catches you off guard, though you don’t have the strength to dwell on it for long.

His hands move lower now, brushing across your skin with reverence, as though you might break under his touch. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You don’t deserve this,” Max whispers, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice cracks ever so slightly, betraying the calm façade he’s trying to maintain. “I’ve … I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits softly, his words a confession, raw and vulnerable. “But not like this. Never like this.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the feel of his hands on your body, the way he’s handling you with such care, as though he’s afraid of hurting you. And somehow, through the pain, you manage to relax just enough to let him in. Just enough to let him take some of the weight from you.

He presses his lips to your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, and you can feel the tremble in his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the burning inside you dims, replaced by something else. Something warm, and tender, and utterly consuming. Max moves with purpose now, his touch becoming more sure, more confident, but never losing that careful tenderness. He’s cooing to you, whispering soft praises in Dutch, his voice like a balm against the fire raging inside you.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Max admits again, his words spilling out like he can’t hold them back any longer. “For so long. I just … I didn’t know how to tell you.”

His hands continue their journey, and despite the circumstances, despite the fire still licking at your insides, your body responds. Every touch feels magnified, every brush of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something deeper through you, something primal and desperate and… needed.

“You’re so strong,” he says again, his voice reverent, almost in awe. “So perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”

Your body trembles beneath him, not just from the fire that’s still coursing through you, but from the way he’s touching you, the way his words wrap around you like a soft embrace. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected, the vulnerability of the moment stripping away any pretense, any barriers you might have once had.

“I’m here, liefje,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear now. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You don’t know how he manages it, how he makes something so painful feel like this, but he does. His hands are everywhere, soothing the burn, coaxing your body to relax, to give in to what you need. And with every touch, every whispered endearment, the fire inside you dims, just a little, just enough to let you breathe.

“I wish it was different,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion now. “I wish this was … just us. Not because of this. Not because of …“ His words trail off, but you understand. You understand perfectly.

He presses his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged, his body tense with the effort of keeping himself composed. “But I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, his voice fierce with determination. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Your body reacts to him instinctively now, every nerve ending lighting up in response to his touch, the fire inside you blazing hotter but in a way that feels … different. Less painful. More like an ache, a deep, desperate need that only he can fill.

“Max …“ you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse, barely audible. It’s the first word you’ve spoken since waking up, and it feels like a release, like a crack in the wall you’ve built around yourself. He hears it, though, and his gaze softens, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “I’ve always got you.”

His movements quicken, and you can feel yourself spiraling, the fire inside you building to a crescendo, but this time it’s not just pain. It’s something more, something overwhelming and all-consuming. You can feel him with you, guiding you, coaxing you toward the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again, his voice breathless now, his own control slipping. “I’ve wanted you for so long …“

His words send you tumbling over the edge, your body convulsing in a wave of pleasure so intense it nearly takes your breath away. The fire beneath your skin peaks, then suddenly, blessedly, begins to recede. It’s like the flames are being extinguished, one by one, leaving only warmth in their wake.

And Max is there, holding you through it, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move.

As the last of the fire dies down, as your body finally begins to relax, you hear him whisper, so softly you almost miss it.

“I love you.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, unguarded and raw, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The room, the pain, the circumstances that brought you here — it all disappears, leaving only the two of you, tangled together, vulnerable and exposed.

You’re too weak to respond, too exhausted from everything that’s just happened, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach.

“I love you,” he whispers again, like he’s afraid you didn’t hear him the first time. “I’ve always loved you.”

His confession hangs in the air, delicate and fragile, but it feels right. Like it’s been waiting to be said all along.

As the fire beneath your skin finally dies out completely, as your body settles into a state of calm for the first time in hours, you let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, his warmth the only thing keeping the remnants of the fire at bay.

Max doesn’t let go. Not for a long time. And you don’t want him to.

***

Max holds you close, his body pressed against yours, his breath still coming in shallow bursts as the two of you lie in a tangled heap on the bed. The burning fire that had been searing through your body has finally been extinguished, leaving only a lingering warmth that feels manageable now.

But even though the pain is gone, even though your body has found relief, there’s still something… unfinished. A strange, restless feeling that hums beneath your skin, an ache that begs for more.

Max is quiet beside you, his hand brushing gently through your hair as he watches your face, his expression soft but intent, like he’s still worried, still waiting for some sign that you’re okay. But you can see it in his eyes — he knows. He knows it’s not over yet.

You shift beneath him, the subtle movement sending a ripple of sensation through you, and your breath hitches involuntarily. The fire is gone, but that need, that craving — it’s still there, simmering just below the surface. It’s not the urgent, desperate heat of the pollen, but it’s undeniable.

Max’s gaze sharpens, reading the subtle cues in your body. His hand stills in your hair, and you feel him shift beside you, his body tensing slightly as he watches you, waiting for you to say something, to ask for what you need.

You don’t have to.

“Oh liefje,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You still need more, don’t you?”

Your throat tightens, and you nod, unable to form the words. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — understanding, maybe, or something deeper. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He already knows.

Max’s hand trails down your body, his touch feather-light, and it sends a shiver through you, your body responding to him instantly. He presses a kiss to your temple, then to your jaw, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I’m here,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Whatever you need.”

His lips travel lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and you arch into him, your body aching for more. He moves slowly, deliberately, savoring each touch, each kiss, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips when he moves lower still, his mouth brushing against your collarbone. He’s taking his time, drawing this out, making sure every second is filled with pleasure, with tenderness. There’s no urgency now, no frantic need to cure the fire. This is something else — something deliberate, something intimate.

Max’s hands slide down your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs as he lowers himself down the bed. His mouth follows the path his hands have carved, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing, as he moves lower, kissing across your stomach with slow, deliberate care.

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers tangle in the sheets, gripping them tightly as you fight to keep your composure, but Max makes it impossible. His lips are everywhere, soft and warm and completely unrelenting.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t think you even realize …”

His words send a thrill through you, and your breath catches as his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips. He presses a kiss to your navel, and you feel the heat pooling deep inside you, the need building again, stronger this time, more insistent.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you. He always hears you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers back, his voice soft, reassuring. “Just relax.”

You try, but it’s impossible with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s kissing you, like every part of you deserves his undivided attention. He’s worshiping you with every movement, and it’s almost too much to bear.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs, and your breath stutters as he spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark with want as he looks up at you. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he presses a kiss just below the dip of your waist, teasing you, making you wait.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Do you know that?”

You can’t respond, can’t do anything but arch into him, desperate for more. He knows exactly what you need, and he’s giving it to you slowly, carefully, savoring every moment.

Max’s hands grasp your thighs, and he pulls them apart slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something in his gaze — something raw, something vulnerable. He’s giving himself to you completely, just as much as you’re giving yourself to him.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there, and your entire body shudders in response. Every nerve is on fire again, but this time it’s not the cruel burn of the pollen.

This is different. This is Max.

He pauses for a moment, his lips hovering just above where you need him most, and he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You can’t form the words. All you can do is nod, your body trembling beneath him.

Max smiles, a small, almost shy smile, and then he lowers his head, his mouth finally, blessedly, on you. The sensation is immediate, intense, and you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as he works you with a precision that only he seems to know. His tongue moves slowly at first, teasing you, drawing out your pleasure, but it doesn’t take long for him to find the rhythm that makes your entire body sing.

He’s relentless, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, driving you higher and higher until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you’re sure you’re going to break.

“Max!” You gasp, your body arching off the bed. “Please …”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. If anything, he goes faster, his tongue working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. You’re so close, so impossibly close, and he knows it.

“That’s it,” he whispers against you, his voice thick with need. “Let go, schatje. I’ve got you.”

And then, with one last flick of his tongue, you’re gone, tumbling over the edge into a wave of pleasure so intense it almost hurts. Your entire body convulses, your vision going white as you fall apart beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly they burn.

Max doesn’t let up, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re nothing but a trembling, panting mess. When he finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your body slick with sweat, your heart racing in your chest.

He crawls back up the bed, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he goes, his hands soothing over your trembling limbs. When he finally reaches your face, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing your hair back from your face.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft, reassuring. “You’re okay.”

You can barely nod, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. Max pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back as you come down from the high. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.

For a moment, everything is still. Quiet. Perfect.

And then, just as your breathing begins to slow, the door creaks open.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable as he takes in the sight of you and Max — sweaty, tangled together, your bodies still humming with the afterglow. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at his clipboard, then back at you.

“Well,” he says after a moment, his tone entirely too clinical for the situation. “It appears the cure has been administered.”

Max stiffens beside you, but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice — or care. He simply jots down a few notes on his clipboard, his pen scratching loudly in the silence.

“Residual effects of heightened libido may persist,” the doctor adds, almost as an afterthought. He glances up from his notes, his gaze flicking between you and Max, then nods, satisfied. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

And with that, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you and Max in stunned silence.

Max lets out a breath, a low, incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Did he seriously just …”

You nod, still too dazed to form a coherent response.

Max shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Well, I guess we’re not done yet.”

And with the way your body still hums with need, you know he’s right.

[kathaynesart]

Took a bit of time to myself to finally sketch out my vision for Frida based off Andy Suriano’s Farewell. More design thoughts under the cut.

I know some were wary of her appearing too feminine, but honestly I enjoyed the challenge of finding a way to feminize the base turtle model and stay true to Andy’s wonderful design. I don’t want her to just look like her brothers in a show that embraces their differences.

The biggest thing I added to her design was an exposed heart. My own little twist inspired by a real life issue some turtles deal with as well as a fitting ode to the artist she is named after, Frida Kahlo, who often drew herself with her heart floating outside of her body. (And yes I made the creative decision to keep her heart at her center as with many turtles.)

This deformity occurred during her mutation where the sudden growth spurt tore open a hole at the seam of her plastron. She has survived as long as she has because of Big Mama who uses mystic wards to keep her heart physically safe and emotionally numb. If you look closely to her plastron in the show it’s not actually a natural body part but rather seems to be an attachment of her trench coat. Likely a false cover to hide her obvious weak spot (or at least that is my head canon!)

I love the idea of her and Donnie having something they can relate to and I’m sure he’ll be happy to design chest armor for her down the line once she’s free of Big Mama. Maybe someday I’ll figure out her full Mad Dogs outfit, but for now this is just her base and bandana.

As each of the boys embodies a shape, I found it all too fitting to have Frida’s be a heart. It’s honestly a cool shape that uses both rounded forms and sharp points, which I think would encapsulate her character well. Prickly on the surface but a softy deep down. I tried to find less typical ways of feminizing her. Sharpening her beak and digits while retaining the style of feminine eyes present in most of the female cast but matching it more closely to the unsettling shape of the eyes on her assistant’s mask.

Her markings are a color flip of Mikey’s, where as his are yellow spots with orange outlines hers are orange with yellow outlines. Coupled with her yellow eyes to match Donnie and Raph, it gives her this fiery vibe that I think still sets her far apart from Mikey.

The mask was honestly the hardest part. I love that it further accentuates her heart motif and made her more expressive, but just giving her the obvious bow and calling it a day did not sit well with me. I decided to try more of a high ponytail look, but I think it still needs some work. I’m pretty sure I like her with yellow though, both as a nod to Jennika and the idea of April giving her something of her own to help form the bond between the two.

Would love to flesh her out further but back to my usual stuff first.

[angryisokay]

Regular operators will train someone for 1-3 days on how to do the job the best way to get the work done and get asstime for yourself.

The regular operator will then take a day off, and the person they trained will do the job their own way. Which happens to be the stupidest fucking backwards way of doing things.

Not even ‘well management says to do it like this’, full on single brain cell bouncing like a screensaver stupidity that in turn makes my job harder than necessary.

[bananayuyu]

Making a Mess

Pairing: Mingi x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: Being on stage makes Mingi really, really horny. Luckily you're backstage to help him out.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, public sex, unprotected sex, bodily fluids making a mess on the floor...

A/n: Heard an audio on here today and well... my brain started working overtime. I need him to destroy me. My bestie challenged me to write something short finally 😭 hope you enjoy! <3

I wrote a part 2/expansion of this story called Cleaning Up which you can read here!

<^><^><^><^><^><^>

Being on stage always had an affect on Mingi, one visceral and tangible, obvious even to fans with a keen eye. The lights, the production, the sea of screaming people chanting his name, it all riled him up more than anything. Staring out at the massive arena, the music deafening loud as he rapped through ragged breaths, his nerves were on fire. Exiting the stage he ripped off his jacket, lumbering quickly towards the changing rooms on his way to find you.

You, his companion on tours. His close... friend? Not really. No one asked questions, least of all you two. But you knew why you were here, why he needed you patiently waiting with the rest of the staff, ready to help him at a moment's notice.

"Y/n," Mingi huffs as he busts through the door, his lungs heaving from the heat he's feeling, his makeup making his eyes look dark and demanding. A small smile sneaks onto your lips as you rise, following him out into the hall, a sprinkling of random people wandering past you at varying speeds. You've both been in this arena a few times before, and you know exactly where he's taking you. He's got about seven minutes before he needs to be back onstage again, so it can't be too far. Not that either of you are thinking about that right now. You duck down another small hallway and then his hands are on you, pushing you against the wall by your hips, his open mouth colliding with yours as you both sigh in anticipation, tongues roaming each other's mouths. You can hear a pair of shoes squeaking down the perpendicular hallway, a small golf cart running by somewhere in the distance. You're not really covered here but it doesn't matter. It only adds to everything.

Mingi pulls back with a nip to your lower lip, burying his face in your neck as he snakes his hands underneath your shirt, squeezing over your entire body while biting down, marking you just like he did a few days prior, where a small yellow bruise is still healing. A small yelp escapes your lips at the pain, your entire body buzzing with pleasure as he so aggressively plays with you, making your knees weak. Not wanting you to fall he moves to grab your waist, lifting you up the wall as you wrap your legs around his hips to anchor yourself. At this angle you can feel how hard he is, just like everyone saw moments ago on the big screen.

"Was it a good set?" you ask breathlessly, your faces only inches apart.

"Fuck yeah," he responds before kissing you again, a hand coming to rest behind your head as he pushes into your mouth even further, reveling in the feeling of your warm tongue on his. "Fuck I needed this," he groans, his other hand gripping your hip to help support you, his hips grinding into yours as he tastes your sweet lipgloss, your perfect eyes shut in pleasure as he digs his hand into your soft flesh. Soon he's unbuttoning his pants, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders as he holds you up with just his hips. He's unzipping hastily, desperately grabbing at his cock to free it, squeezing his shaft as he lines himself up with you. Your exercise shorts are just loose enough, with no underwear underneath of course, for him to push them to the side and reveal your soaking cunt, your body getting worked up long before he came and got you. Shakily he lines himself up with your entrance, his blood pumping through him so fast as he slowly pushes in, the stretch immaculate.

"Fuck, Mingi," you whisper, shocked every time by how big he is, how good it feels. Slowly he starts rocking his hips into yours, your wet pussy making lewd noises echo down the hallway. Moving his hands back to your hips Mingi lifts you just a bit higher, giving him the perfect angle to start fucking you hard, the wet noises replaced by the slapping of skin, over and over and over.

"How are you always so wet?" he groans in your ear, his mouth nipping at your lobe and making you whimper. Pulling back he watches your face from just inches away, loving the way your brows are scrunched up and your mouth hangs open as you try not to moan too loud. Your body bounces with the force of his thrusts, your hands still anchoring on his shoulders as he pounds into you even harder, his grip on your hips so strong it will surely leave bruises. Your pussy clenches down on him as he hits your cervix repeatedly, ripping little orgasms out of you over and over, your legs shaky as you hold onto his hips for dear life.

"God, you drive me fucking- fuck- crazy," he whispers in your ear, his cock throbbing from the feeling of your wet walls squeezing down on him. "You cum so fast on my cock," he groans, his head spinning as his climax quickly approaches. You've already fallen over the edge multiple times, your body shaking hard now as you just try to hang on, unable to respond to him as you keep yourself from screaming into the open hall. He's absolutely ravishing you, his movements sloppy as he chases his pleasure, your wetness dripping down onto his pants, the floor. Suddenly his orgasm washes over him, his hips stuttering before coming flush with yours, as he shoots deep inside you, his cum filling you with warmth. It's a lot, too much for your pussy to contain, and small amounts start dribbling out of you already, even with his cock still buried inside you.

"Fuck, what would I do without you," he sighs into your hair, kissing your forehead before moving to your lips. He moves his hands around your back, pulling you up towards him in an embrace as you breathe hard. Your arms rag doll down to your sides as you sigh, your head resting heavy on Mingi's shoulder, and he chuckles. "You good?" he whispers, and you nod your head in response. You nuzzle your face into his neck more, making him pause for just a moment, letting a bit of time pass with you both still entangled.

And then it's finally time for him to slowly pull you off of him, both of you watching as the rest of his cum drips out, down your legs and onto the floor, leaving a small puddle. There's a smirk on his face but your cheeks are bright red with embarrassment, even if this wasn't the first time that's happened. For a brief moment his chest tightens, knowing that you find it a bit mortifying letting him have you so publicly. It's all so hot and so shameful all at once, making you quiet and shy, and with your eyes on the ground your hand on his arm is the only sign that you're still wanting him next to you.

"Come on," he says, helping you start to move the rest of the way down this small hall that had a bathroom at the end of it. This really was the perfect arena for this, given the out-of-the-way private bathroom. You wish all of the arenas they toured had this set up. Your legs wobble as you make your way down, Mingi's hold the only thing from preventing you from falling. And then you're finally there by the door, about to swing it shut when he gently grabs your shoulder turning you around. His eyes are swimming with satisfaction as your face meets his, and he leans down to pull you into a kiss again, this time sweet and gentle.

"Mingi, get your ass back here!" you hear a voice scream from down the hall, the sound sharp from ricocheting off the brick walls. And just like that he's gone down the hallway, running on somewhat shaky legs of his own. But not before planting one final kiss on your nose, making your stomach light with butterflies, your core clenching from the sweetness.