#song: caution & pressure

[lyricallymnded]

caution & pressure // rationale. 

#lyrics #rationale #rationale. #joe taylor #dan lambton #song: caution & pressure #album: if the problems persist #artist: rationale.

[works-of-fanfiction]

Toothbrush || Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: It’s still early days for Lando and the reader, but he’s ready to start seeing more of her.

Song: Toothbrush by DNCE.

Warnings: None, just a wholesome read.

Word Count: 2.3k

a/n: every time I listen to this song, I imagine little fanfic scenarios in my head, so I finally wrote one! I’m a George girl at heart, but I think I’m in my Lando era rn. short but sweet - hope you like it!

With Lando’s arm strewn across your chest and his soft snores in your ear, you didn’t dare to move. Streams of sunlight bled into the room through the gap in the curtains, illuminating his tanned shoulders that poked out of the covers. Pins and needles prickled at your feet as you fought desperately not to leave the bed. He looked so comfortable and he deserved the extra rest after all the busy weekdays preparing for the new season.

You turned your head to catch a full glimpse of his face, his mouth hanging slightly open and eyelids twitching involuntarily. You often wondered what he dreamt about, as you did with anyone who fell asleep in your company. Dreams fascinated you; the weirder the better. Your workdays often started with your colleagues all sharing their wild and wonderful dreams from the night before, with the odd nightmare sprinkled in. If only you had a pound for every time your manager dreamt of losing his teeth…

Your bladder deceived you, the pressure growing the more you tried to ignore it. Sighing, you pushed the covers off your body, careful not to disturb the half that covered the sleeping driver beside you. You shuffled to the right, fingertips gently lowering Lando’s hand onto the pillow, hoping he didn’t stir. The fresh morning air whipped around your bare frame, and you resorted to hugging yourself as you tiptoed into the ensuite.

You moved with caution, tearing the toilet paper slowly and studying the squares as they ripped apart bit by bit. As much as you hated not flushing, you didn’t want to startle the poor guy, so you opted for closing the lid. That too was done carefully, not letting the wooden pieces make a single sound as they touched. You washed your hands quickly, scrubbing them dry on a towel, a comically bright orange towel with the McLaren logo plastered all over it. You’d laughed at it the first time you stayed over, Lando cursing himself for not hiding it before you arrived. You’d wondered where else random pieces of McLaren merchandise were going to pop up. Tea towels? Bed sheets? Branded cereal, perhaps?

On your way back to the bed, you scooped up Lando’s t-shirt from the night before, slipping it on and appreciating the fabric against your skin. It didn’t make a huge difference, but at least it covered the goosebumps scattered across your cold chest. Catching your reflection in the mirror, you combed your fingers through your hair, pushing loose strands out of your eyes. Hearing a rustling in the covers, you turned to see Lando stretching his arms above his head, his eyes still squeezed shut to avoid the morning light.

“Mm… Come back to bed.” He mumbled, propping his hands behind his head like he was laid on a sun lounger. You sat on the bed beside him, resting on your right hip and tucking your legs in to lift your feet off the ground. Feeling the mattress dip, a lazy smile spread across his face as he prized his eyes open halfway. “There you are.” You laid a hand on his chest, smiling down at him before his eyes fluttered closed once again. “Beautiful.”

You exhaled, amused by his compliment. “You can’t even see me.”

“I don’t need to.”

He could be cheesy sometimes, but part of you loved it. You’d always enjoyed making fun of your friends in their honeymoon phases, mimicking their partners and overusing their new nicknames. You’d waited a long time for it to be your turn, so you planned on soaking up every pet name, pick-up line, and spooning session until they grew tired of hearing about it. God knows you’d heard more than your fair share of romantic tales.

All you wanted to do was lie back down beside him and burrow your head beneath his arm, but the grease in your hair and mascara stuck in your tear ducts begged you to go home and shower.

Being in the early stages meant that overstaying your welcome was still a possibility. You had yet to lie in past 10am with Lando, and were always dressed and out of the door before he’d even shed the covers. You’d made a promise to yourself at the start that you wouldn’t let yourself get too attached or seem clingy. Whirlwind relationships always sounded good until they weren’t, and you’d experienced them one too many times to allow it to happen again. Besides, Lando never seemed to argue when you slipped out of bed and left before breakfast. To him, it seemed like you just enjoyed your own space. For the past eight Sundays, you’d detangled yourself from his grasp, thrown on your clothes from the night before and left him with a simple kiss on the cheek, all before he’d even managed to open his eyes properly. Most of those mornings he’d rolled over to your side of the bed, inhaling the traces of your perfume and replaying the events of the evening over and over in his head. One day he’d tell you to stay; he’d hide your keys if it meant he could spend a few more hours in bed with you... What did you like for breakfast? If he ordered pancakes, would you stay and split a plate with him? Was it brown or tomato sauce you had with your bacon?

Lando felt you fidgeting on the bed and rolled over to grab your arm. You looked down in surprise, turning your wrist to take his hand in yours. “What’s wrong?” You asked, his fingers soft and featherlike against your palm, following the lines from left to right.

“What time is it?”

“Um…” You leaned over, checking your phone on the bedside table. “It’s almost 9.30.”

He groaned, slumping forward to rest his head against your arm. You laughed, moving so his head fell into your lap and your hand settled in the top of his hair. Catching a curl around your finger, you studied the tones in his hair and how they each caught the sunlight. Sitting there quiet and content with him made you a little sad, as you didn’t want to leave. Part of you longed for Sundays spent together, movies on the sofa with last night’s leftovers heating up in the microwave. You knew it was a fool’s dream considering he ended up in a new country every weekend. You cursed yourself for following your silly little rule and not taking advantage of the time you did have. In less than a month, he’d be calling you from hotels in the middle of who knows where with bad reception and voices urging him to hurry up and get back to work.

Sighing, you tapped Lando’s shoulder, whispering for him to sit up. “I should get going.” You said hesitantly, forcing yourself to stand.

“Stay. Just a little longer.” He gazed at you with puppy dog eyes, his hair unruly on his forehead and cheeks lined with crease marks from his pillows.

“Look at me, Lando.” You scoffed, waving your hands in front of your face. “I am in serious need of a shower.”

“I have a shower.” He stated obviously, his eyes finally widening to their normal state as he propped himself up against the headboard. “Towels are in the cupboard on the third shelf.”

“I… Lando – “

“Y/N.” He tilted his head, looking at you with raised brows. “You’re allowed to stay and take a shower.”

His words were laced with so much more than what he was saying. He wanted you in his shower, stepping out to wrap yourself in one of his towels with your damp hair leaving droplets on the countertop. He wanted your footprints on the bathmat – hell, he’d even put up with your hair clogging the drains if it meant there were traces of you in his home. He wanted more than just the ghost of you at his kitchen counter or out on the patio.

He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stood up and approached the cupboard, choosing a fluffy blue towel from the shelf. He rolled out of the bed, following you to the bathroom and flicking the extractor fan on above your heads. “Alright. You’ve got the rainfall shower which you turn on by twisting this towards you.” He instructed, trying to hide the smile that was creeping its way onto his face. It was crazy how long he’d waited to show you something so simple.

He turned the rainfall shower on, letting the water heat up for you. “The detachable showerhead is the same, just turn it in the other direction towards the wall.”

He stepped to the side, letting you slip past him. You stood shyly, his shirt still hanging off your body. “Well, I’m not going to shower with you watching!” You laughed, folding your arms and waiting for him to leave.

“Why? It’s nothing I haven’t already seen.” He smirked, mirroring your stance. Your cheeks flushed red at his words, visions of last night swimming around your mind. You needed him to leave the bathroom before you dragged him under the water with you.

He turned to leave, mindlessly adjusting the hand towels on the rack. “I’ll leave some clothes on the bed for you. There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet too.”

“Are you saying I have smelly breath?” You gasped, watching as he turned back to face you with the same cheeky grin on his face.

“Oh yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Pulling the shirt over your head, you screwed it into a ball and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face and blocking his view. You turned to face the shower, leaving him with a foggy view of your backside through the textured glass. “Not fair!” He shouted over the running water as you dunked your messy hair beneath the stream.

“Get out, you pervert!”

He left the bathroom laughing to himself, closing the door behind him. He rushed to tidy the room a little, making sure to leave the clothes he promised on the bed. He took the liberty of putting your clothes in the wash with his, hoping you’d be okay with it.

When you surfaced from the bathroom with the towel tucked around your body and a beaming smile on your face, he swore he could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. “Better?” He asked, sliding the pile of clothes your way.

“Much. Thank you.” You took the clothes, Lando turning away to give you some privacy whilst you changed. “Where should I put the towel?” You asked, giving him the all-clear to look at you.

“Just throw it in the hamper. I’ll sort it later.”

“Oh, I didn’t know where to put the toothbrush so it’s just in the pot beside yours.”

He smiled, looking at you but not saying a word. “What?” You asked, glancing down at yourself then back to him. “What’s wrong?”

Patting the space next to him on the bed, you sat down, pulling your wet hair over one shoulder. “I was thinking…” He started, reaching to grab your hand. Running his fingers over your knuckles, he studied the curiosity on your face as he rehearsed the words in his head. “Why don’t you leave the toothbrush in the pot?”

You didn’t catch on at first, but his words soon made sense as he shuffled closer to you, his thigh pressed against yours. Your face ached from smiling, Lando’s expression perfectly reflecting yours. “It’s convenient, you know?” He played it cool, earning him a playful slap on the chest.

“Yeah, sure! Convenience.” You mocked, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“By the way…” He spoke into your ear, his lips brushing against the lobe, tickling you. “I put your clothes in the wash, so you won’t be leaving anytime soon.” He drew back to look at you, surprised to see you still smiling.

“Good job I wasn’t planning on it anyway.” Throwing a leg over his, you straddled his lap and rested your arms around his neck.  He leaned forward, catching your lips with his and kissing you gently. Wet droplets from your hair fell onto his bare shoulder, making him shiver and laugh into the kiss. Pulling away, you swiped the water away with your hand, sliding off his lap and linking your fingers with his. He stood, grabbing the nearest hoodie hanging on the bed post and throwing it over his shoulder as he led you out of the bedroom and towards the stairs.

“So… breakfast?” His voice was muffled as he squeezed the hoodie over his head, stepping cautiously so he didn’t tumble down the stairs.

“Sounds good. What are you in the mood for?”

“I’m easy. I’ll have anything.” He opened the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice, turning to find you resting your elbows on the kitchen island. Something about you in his house, in his clothes, made his stomach do somersaults. It quickly became his favourite sight.

Pouring two glasses of juice, he slid one over to you, taking a seat on one of the stools. “How did you sleep by the way?” He asked, sipping his drink and snuggling up to you to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Pretty good. You?”

“The same… But I did have this really weird dream.”

Your ears perked up at his words and you turned to look at him eagerly. “Tell me all about it.”

#f1 x reader #f1 fics #f1 oneshot #lando norris x reader

[moxfirefly]

Please please please with a cherry on top! I am in NEED of a thigh fuck with Raph xFemReader. I’ve had this scene stuck in my head of Raph and his girl making out and she’s finally had enough of him pushing her away when she’s about to bust so she straddles him on the lair couch. They’ve only made out with some semi-heavy petting before he pulls away and gets all “tough” and tries to change the subject. She’s a needy woman and she needs some attention and validation or at least an explanation as to why he’s so hesitant. She doesn’t get it because she’s been after him forever & now that she has him she’s not about to let him go. This could be completely filthy ❤️‍🔥 I just need my big boy to come undone (pun intended) No pressure but I just love your writing & have been going through and rereading all of your amazing stories! — Much love, Phera

Ngl this has been festering my noggin for a while because I’ve been in a big Raph mood lately. I hope you don’t mind but this is a combination of something I’ve been working on with like a portion of your request into it but I think you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

Raphael always found the word “obsessed” to be a tad too exaggerated.

Whenever Donnie said he was obsessed with some new tech thing, or Mikey was obsessed with a new song, or even Leo was obsessed with some new form of meditation.

Obsessed sounded too big of an adjective to explain it.

Raph didn’t consider himself obsessed with his workouts or even knitting. He liked them sure, maybe even loved them because they brought some semblance of balance to an already complicated brain. But obsessed felt too outrageous of a word.

That all went to hell the second his eyes had landed on yours. Because suddenly the word began to ring out loudly in his brain in blood red caution style letters. Something chemically switched in his brain the very moment you had spoken. He felt sweaty, clammy and downright sick to his stomach.

How many hours in the day could somebody think about another person?

He felt like his ass was going numb from sitting on the bench thing long contemplating this situation. He’d only done one rep of his bench presses when he had to sit up and breathe and quiet his mind.

You were April’s friend, her latest and most stable roommate and somehow the idea of mutants in the sewers had been easier to swallow than he could ever hope for in human reactions.

He felt pathetic, a little dirty but overall weightless whenever you were near by. You’d stepped in several times to help whenever April simply couldn’t. You’d come down with groceries, hand me downs and all sorts of necessities simply because you wanted to help. Raph wasn’t some inconsiderate chump though, he was thankful, he’d (somehow) engaged in his fair share of small talk with you.

And sure your eyes had lit up with him.

Sure there were moments he wanted to do a double take because he swore your eyes had lingered on him.

Pesky pesky pesky ‘ifs’.

Quite often the sensation of your eyes lingering on him had taken him to places he hardly entertained. He didn’t want to place you in that box, that ‘potential’ box where he wondered what a normal life could feel like. He much less wanted to stuff you in the other box.

The one where when he slept and saw nothing but your eyes and mouth and hands all over him. The one where when he woke up and felt like a fever was burning him in the very pits of hell, all because he swore he heard you moan out for him. How many ruined sheets carried your name. How many showers he’s tried to burn you off of him only to simply get off to the idea of your skin against his own.

God he was obsessed wasn’t he?

The hypocrisy alone wouldn’t mortify him.

What would kill him is if you suddenly developed mind reading powers and saw one third of his thoughts on you.

From the fruity gushy romantic ones.

To the filthy debauched images he painted daily ones.

He felt sick again.

Sicker the second you walked in the shorts you wore when summer was approaching.

You had a scar on your knee cap he wanted to taste. He saw how skin spread when you sat down, the plushness, the softest of chubbiness that had him thinking how divine it would be to wake up to those thighs crushing his face. A tremble in his hand urged him to lay a palm on your thigh, just to touch, just to get a taste of human flesh against his calloused scales. Raph wanted nothing more than to feel you sit on his lap and ask him if he could be a good boy for you and-

“Yo bro if you ain’t taking a plate I’m eating it” When had Mikey gotten in front him and why was food being shoved into his face?

Oh, right, you brought dinner tonight.

He had mumbled a grunt of an apology and had poured the rest of his energy into eating.

Unbeknownst to him, you had felt that shift that could only be described as the earth shaking. Raphael wasn’t necessarily subtle, sure he’s gotten away with it a few times but there’s no way he expected you to not notice his eyes burning a hole through your thigh as you sat next to him.

And who said you couldn’t be a little cruel in your endeavors of letting him get the fucking hint that you wanted him too?

So when you had finished eating and Casey and Donnie had started up one of their heated debates, you had placed a hand on his knee to push yourself up from the couch.

You had dug just a little bit of nail.

You had let your palm slide on your way up.

If Raph could implode he would’ve.

If he could set himself on fire he would’ve lit a match by now.

That had messed him up for days. He had rutted against his pillow three nights in a row and none of it had been enough to silence the voice, the itch of his skin.

All it had done was open his eyes a little wider, to watch you like a damn hawk.

And he began to notice things. Notice the little games you played with him.

From the way you crossed your legs when his green eyes landed on you. To the way your smile felt just mischievous enough to let him know he had been had.

You knew.

God, could you read his thoughts?

He had been tasked one evening to walk you to the exit of the Lair. It wasn’t too late, but work and deadlines were impeding you from torturing him longer this evening. He had quietly gotten you to the latter that led closest to your place.

“Ya let us know when ya make it home safe” Came that gruff voice of his, that almost constipated pit nesting in his stomach. Just before your hands could grip the ladder, you had gripped the length of the white cloth that adorned his shorts. You twirled the fabric, gentle twists and a knowing smile that made him hold his breath.

“And you let me know the next time you’re thinking of me at night. I think we’re past this little game.” You didn’t give him a second to recover let alone form a coherent sentence before you were up the ladder and gone.

Raphael looked up, the beam of light as the cover was opened to allow you out into the buzzing city. It felt too much of a spotlight highlighting his desires. You watched him down below, the shadows hiding just enough but not the stunned hungry look. If he were a religious man, he could say that you looked like a god, above him all knowing and with the power to turn him into ash.

And how he wanted to fall to his knees and pray in between your legs.

He hadn’t slept that night.

He had watched the ceiling of his and Mikey’s shared room and contemplated your words. He turned them over and over, examined every vowel and consonant. He tasted the sounds in his mouth. Your haughty smile as the wind blew a few strands of hair.

He lasted a week.

Seven days of self loathing.

A hundred and sixty eight hours of working up the courage.

Ten thousand and eighty minutes of wanting to even the playing field.

So on that last day, last hour, last minute, he had snuck out after patrol and a shower and headed to your apartment. He had climbed up the fire escape with every intention of telling you how evil you were for making him so obsessed.

His simply texted,

‘Window.’

His tried to mask a neutral face as you pulled back the curtains and found him crouched there.

The second you smiled though…

He had lost.

You lifted the window open and rested your hands on the windowsill.

“Couldn’t stop thinking of me?” Your words stabbed him, and he loved it.

He wanted to snarl, wanted to show you that this was stupid of you to even consider. So when he moved forward, brought his face close to yours, you didn’t flinch.

“Don’t be such a coward and show me what kept you up this late?” Your warm breath caressed his scarred lips.

Raph blinked, taken aback on how easily you had taken hold of him. When your hand reached up, knuckles caressing his jaw before they rested on the lip of his plastron, he closed the distance with an innocent kiss. A pressing of lips that froze him against your mouth. He felt that hand run up his neck, a scratch of your nails bringing some life back to him as your lips moved against his own.

Just as his mouth began to catch up, to lose itself against the wetness of your tongue you had backed up into the room and beckoned him inside the living room.

And like a trained pet he slid inside and felt smaller than he had ever imagined he could.

And god, he loved it.

He let you lead him to the couch, watched obsessively as you straddled his lap and kissed him with every intention of devouring all the secrets he possessed inside of him. He can’t and won’t be able to forget the sensation of your hands grabbing his own and letting them hover over your chest.

“Do you want me? Do you want to keep doing this?” You had asked cautiously, adamant in letting him know this could stop the second he felt it needed to. It took every power in him to not yell out a resounding and firm ‘yes’.

“Good, that’s a good boy” And fuck his dick twitched and almost came undone right then and there. He felt his hands cup your breast, the soft tender flesh from above your sleep shirt, just as you rolled your hips against his painfully hard erection.

Between the kisses he groaned out a desire.

“Wanna feel more of ya, can I?” He whispered it against the corner of your mouth as desperate as he ever could.

Your reply came in the simple gesture of lifting your shirt and your reward came in the form of hungry eyes and lips finding your breasts.

He was gutted, how could something this beautiful also be perfect and soft and right now against his lips?

Raph felt your hand on the back of his head and the quiet little yelp as he bit down gently on your nipple almost be his second undoing of the night. He kissed the perked bud, wrapped his tongue around it and savored the texture, the taste, the way that with each suction you grew needier and wetter.

He could feel you so perfectly through the fabric of your underwear just gush against his clothed crotch. His hands held your waist as he devoured your other breast and delighted ‘ha!’ escaped your lips when he his bit down just a little harder than before. Raph’s eyes looked up, the flush pink of your neck, the sweat starting to form.

The two of you still needed to be quiet, you weren’t alone after all.

And this was simply still a taste of things to come.

“I want you, so fucking bad, but not here, not like this” You kissed it up his neck, felt those big hands grip your rear. His eyes held confusion and a stupor that could only mean he was drunk off of this.

“We’re gonna be a little creative and very very quiet” Your hands rested on his shoulders, to which allowed yourself the luxury of a good firm squeeze to the muscle. God he was a fucking sight to behold.

With a remorseful push you got up on wobbly legs and slid your underwear down and off. He had followed the path, mesmerized and hungry. Just to tease, just to be the cruel god you could be, you rubbed along your folds, gathered slick and offered up to his willing and devout lips. He sucked greedily, loved the way you slowly pulled out the digits from his mouth.

Next to his spot you climbed on the couch and rested against the backrest and urged him closer. “Y/n I um, I’m too big-“ And he wanted to cringe at the admission that there was no way this could happen like this without some lube and patience.

“Thighs, use my thighs Raphie” That stupid name sounded like salvation when spoken in your voice. Nervously but ever so in need he settled behind you, pushed his shorts past his hips and saw the mess he had become due to you, much like he did on nights.

His hands ran up the globes of your cheeks and found your waist. He slid himself between the thighs he had dreamt off for far too long and just as he hoped, they felt better than he could ever imagine. “Oh-fuck…” Was his breathless response to the first slide, your thighs locked up as tight as they could be. The move allowed his cock to perfectly slide along your core, rub against your clit and you tighten your lips in a muffled moan.

The next thrust wasn’t as gentle, as slow. But enough to have his navel slap against your rear in that all to familiar lewd slap he often heard in ‘videos.’

He fell slightly forward, massive arms wrapped around your stomach and lips at the top of your head. “God, Y/n, fucking wanted this” He grunted against the crown of your head. “Me too baby, me too” You braced yourself better, if he was like this…

The thought alone made your toes curl as he began to thrust, building a rhythm that had the two of you on the brink of screwing up and moaning louder than allowed. A hand clasped down on your breast as the couch began to protest with the force of his movements.

“Come on Raphie, just like you dreamt of, do just like you’ve always wanted to” You turned your head, did your best to catch a glimpse of his debauched features as he thrusted faster, that squelching sound combined with your moans making him lose control.

“Shit-I’m gonna…” He buried his face against the back of your neck.

“Do it, do it for me, make a mess” Your own undoing so close you could taste it.

It’s a gut punch, it’s like a bomb going off in his chest and stomach all at once. It’s the hardest he has ever cum, and he’s clutching you and not a pillow for once. He can feel it mix in with your own release, feel it drip down against your thighs and shot against the couch. He feels you slap against him as you ride your own wave whilst biting down on your forearm.

He feels dizzy, tired and drained.

He feels you against him. Sticky and sweaty and panting.

He feels so fucking obsessed.

He feels so fucking obsessed.

#ask #pheradream15 #requested oneshot #tmnt bayverse #tmnt raphael #raphael x reader #raph #raph x reader #raphael #ns*w

[always-andromeda]

Hi, I was wondering if you still take requests? If you don't that is perfectly okay with me, I don't mind! But if you can, would you be willing to write headcanons or something about Javier Peña (Narcos) with an s/o that doesn't really like pda or super affectionate stuff? Again, if you don't want to you don't have, I'm fine either way! (really trying hard not to sound like I'm peer pressuring you or being passive aggressive 😣) but, yeah, like if you ever have time.. thank you so much!

𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Javier Peña x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 600

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ Javier learns the different ways of seeing a romantic relationship, or, a drabble about Javier being with a significant other who isn't quite comfortable with his usual charms.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Oh, my sweet anon, you don't sound passive aggressive or anything of the sort whatsoever!! If anything, I apologize for taking so long to get to this. I've been trying to urge myself back into writing a little bit more and this was a nice little challenge to help me reach that goal. I've been obsessed with Gia Margaret's album, Romantic Piano, these days and I ended up listening to Ways of Seeing on repeat while prattling down these ideas, so naturally, I've named this piece after that song. This isn't my favorite thing I've ever written? But it's been a hot second since I've been regularly writing fanfic so forgive me lmao.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ slightly established relationship, Javier crosses a physical boundary, allusions to Javi and reader having a sexual relationship but nothing explicit is described (regardless, minors, please do not interact), overall fluff and healthy communication

He wasn’t used to this. Any of it, really. Having a lady friend was a new one and by far the most surprising turn of his life at that point. But a lady friend who shrugged off his little touches like he was a pesky insect was another thing. At first he figured it was a reputation thing. Having him slung around you in the halls wouldn’t attract the good kind of attention for either of you. He could handle the jabs and jokes; he always had.

It’s why he hadn’t thought too much about it the first time he caught you in front of the copier and placed a hand on your hip. “What’s that you’re working on, querida?” he’d asked in that low, gravelly tone of his that usually drove you wild.

He swore he felt you jump; momentarily startled before you straightened your shoulders and pushed them back. He couldn’t see your expression, but he already knew he wouldn’t find an ounce of reciprocation to his teasing there anyways when you answered firmly, “Messina asked for copies of this report. She’s got a meeting in twenty minutes.”

Javier’s hand slid around your front, fingers playing at the edges of your top. “You think that’d be enough time?” he mumbled.

You swirled around on your heel and glared at him with a raised eyebrow, “For what exactly?”

“I thought that we had something going…?”

“Just because we have something going it doesn’t just give you the freedom to accost me whenever you want.”

Javier took a step back and folded his arms, getting ready to rocket into defensiveness. 

Before he could get a word in, you continued, “I know that you’re comfortable with the flirting and the teasing…but I’m not. It’s fine when it’s just the two of us.” You struggled to get an accurate grasp of your words, “But outside of that…it’s just…uncomfortable? Do you get that?”

His stomach sank as he was reminded of the type of men he’d helped put away in the past. The kind who had no regard for anyone or anything aside from their own wants. He thought of those butterflies in his chest whenever he caught your eye from across a room. How they glittered with the allusion of a secret; that secret being something special that only you and him shared. Your eyes were now shadowed with a layer of caution. How quickly those butterflies of his had turned into an invasive species.

He slowly raised his hands, admitting defeat before divulging, “I apologize. I– I didn’t mean to overstep.”

You blinked a few times before turning back around and grabbing the stack of fresh papers from the printer. “I think we should set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries? What kind of boundaries?”

“Well…for now…let’s keep the public displays of affection at a minimum. Can we do that?”

“Of course. Whatever you need. I hear you,” Javier nodded firmly.

As you started to tell him goodbye and head towards Messina’s office, one more thought popped into his mind. He reached forward to place a hand on you before stopping himself and clearing his throat instead. “Wait–”

“Yeah?”

The corner of his lip curled up into a smug smile. “Just to be clear…we’re still okay on the private displays of affection, right?”

You rolled your eyes and replied, “We’re alright in that department, Peña, don’t you worry.”

“Sounds good, keep me posted if anything changes,” he said with a quick wink before sauntering away, leaving you cradling the warm papers against your chest, knowing that you could tell him if anything did change.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #narcos #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña fluff #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n

[drewsbuzzcut]

Started With A Spark, Now We’re On Fire

Jeremy Swayman x Lyla Blair

A ‘The Masterminds’ blurb

warnings: mentions being at a bar and some kissing

takes place February 2024

“Sorry about the game. I really wish we would’ve won. I wish I played better,” Jeremy shouts over the music playing in the bar.

Lyla pouts at him. She feels bad that he feels bad. Although the bruins didn’t win, she’s still really happy to spend time with him. His eyes seem sad and she doesn’t like it one bit.

“Don’t feel bad. I promise it’s fine. There will be more games that I go to and you can secure a win for me. I’m just glad to be here with you,” her hand rests on his shoulder, so she can lean up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. She presses a kiss on his cheek, patting herself on the back when the disappointment in his eyes disappears.

Jeremy has to pause for a hot minute. The burning sensation of her lips still lingering on his skin and his brain starts to short circuit. He’s never been this close to heaven.

“Trust me, there’s no one I’d rather have here with me,” he assures her, hand reaching out to grasp hers.

“Good!”

“You look so beautiful. My jersey looks good on you,” Jeremy compliments, a hand wrapping around Lyla’s waist to pull her closer to him. Her hands splay out on his chest, fingers tapping him to the beat of the song that’s playing.

The material of the jersey scratches against her skin in a way that drives her senses crazy. They’re ultra sensitive and the way his jersey smells just like him makes her think it’s one he pulled right out of his closet.

“Of course it does. I make anything look good. It just so happens that ‘Swayman’ makes me appear ethereal,” she responds, letting her hand travel up to his hair, swirling a curl around her finger. She moves it back down to caress his bearded jaw, the coarse hairs suddenly feel like silk.

Jeremy bites down on his lip, so taken with her confidence. She has no idea just how much he yearns for her. The way her eyes sparkle in the low lighting as she looks up at him; how her lips look tempting, and how her hands on him feels too right, makes him shudder in both nerves and excitement. Who knew someone can be so captivating, stronger than gravity, really?

Her eyes really do it for him. They reel him in, keeping their grip tight on him, and set his soul alight. Fuck it, he thinks. Throwing all caution to the wind, he leans down and captures her lips.

Lyla lets out a low gasp, swallowed by his mouth. She wasn’t expecting to become this intoxicated from his lips alone. She wasn’t even expecting him to kiss her, but she quickly follows his lead. His beard softly scrapes against her chin, sending chills throughout her body. There’s nothing more invigorating than the way his mouth takes charge over hers. He’s claiming her, tasting her, and Lyla has no problem with it.

Jeremy is first to pull away, eyes still closed and hands still holding onto her. Lyla grips his shirt to ground herself as her head spins. His nose nudges at the skin of her cheek, making her laugh and effectively bringing her back from his kiss induced haze.

“Lyla?” He whispers so softly, the hairs on her body stand.

“Yes?”

“Let me take you on a date tomorrow,” he requests and places his forehead on hers.

“Okay,” it’s sultry and magical, her voice whispering in his ear.

She looks up and leans in for a kiss once more. There’s no way she’ll ever get enough. She’ll always be haunted by the tender, yet fervid, pressure of his lips on hers. Haunted by the feeling of his tongue exploring her mouth as if he’s been there before, but it’s a welcome ghost.

He presses a gentle hand on her throat, feeling the way her breath hitches when he sucks on her bottom lip.

“Do you kiss all the girls you ask on dates like that?” Lyla asks, pulling away to face him with red, swollen lips and wide eyes.

“There’s only you,” he silences her underlying worries.

a/n: Their first kiss! I really adore Lyla and Jeremy😭 I hope y’all enjoy!!

#lyla x jeremy #oc!singer x jeremy swayman #jeremy swayman #nhl imagine #nhl fic

[love-me-a-lotta-whump]

이재, 곧 죽습니다 - Death’s Game - Whump List - 🇰🇷

Whumpees: 최이재 (Choi Lee Jae) played by 서인국 (Seo In Guk) // 박진태 (Park Jin Tae) played by 최시원 (Choi Si Won) // 송재섭 (Song Jae Seob) played by 성훈 (Seong Hoon) // 조태상 (Jo Tae Sang) played by 이재욱 (Lee Jae Wook) // 장건우 (Jang Geon Woo) played by 이도현 (Lee Do Hyun) // 정규철 (Jeong Gyu Cheol) played by 김재욱 (Kim Jae Wook)

Synopsis: Burdened by societal pressures, Choi Yi Jae decides to take his own life. Insulted by his flippant attitude towards dying, Death comes to punish him with her game: he must experience death over and over again through 13 other lives. (MDL)

Genre/Tags: Romance, Fantasy, Revenge, Shot, Stabbed, Torture, Emeto

Watch On: Amazon Prime, DramaCool, KissAsian

⚠️CAUTION: This drama is heavily themed around s**cide and to an extent mental health, if this is a difficult topic for you please scroll or proceed with caution⚠️

WARNING: THERE ARE SPOILERS BELOW

최이재 (Choi Lee Jae)

1.01 : kneeling, shaking, crying, gagging, sobbing, at gunpoint, shot in the head ::: falling ::: scared, concerned for someone, grabbed, scared, backing away in fear ::: in shock, shaking, near tears, anxious ::: in shock, sobbing ::: emotional ::: crying, emotional ::: crying ::: committing s**cide ::: held by his throat over a drop, thrown ::: woke up screaming, threatened, scared, sobbing, gagging, crying, shot in the head, fell

1.02 : woke up startled, crying, shot ::: bullied (sorta), fought ::: woke up in pain, thrown, face stepped on

1.03 : woke up angry, shot ::: (flashbacks: committing s**cide, in Hell) ::: woke up crying, shot

1.04 : emotional, crying ::: woke up crying, angry

1.05 : sobbing, angry ::: gagging ::: angry, shot

1.06 : shot (multiple times throughout episode) ::: crying

1.07 : shot (multiple times throughout episode)

1.08 : sobbing

박진태 (Park Jin Tae)

1.01 : woke up, scared ::: woke up thrashing and scared, threatened, crying, scared ::: anxious ::: in a plane crash, burned to death

송재섭 (Song Jae Seob)

1.01 : free falling, scared ::: free falling, died (semi comical)

조태상 (Jo Tae Sang)

1.03 : fought, manhandled ::: threatened, angry ::: saw blade shot at him, concerned for someone, surrounded (ambushed kinda?), fought ::: emotional ::: sobbing ::: stabbed, kicked, fell, bleeding, (short break), emotional, stabbed multiple times, bleeding out, crying, slowly losing consciousness, died

장건우 (Jang Geon Woo)

1.04 : nearly hit by a car ::: drunk, half collapsed, blackout drunk ::: asleep, woken up ::: cut his hand ::: panicked, manhandled, heavy breathing ::: hand bandaged, emotional, crying ::: crying, feeling guilty, crying ::: sobbing ::: emotional, hit over the head with a sign, collapsed, woke up startled ::: emotional, crying, hit by a car, collapsed, bleeding, struggling to breathe, bloody, suffocated, died

1.05 : (flashbacks: bleeding, dying)

정규철 (Jeong Gyu Cheol)

1.05 : fought ::: nosebleed, collapsed ::: told he’s dying ::: punched, fought, shot at, shot, collapsed, fought ::: passed out, woke up restrained (restraints) on a table, tortured to death

1.06 : restrained (restraints) on a table, in a lot of pain, shaky breathing

———+———

MORE WHUMP LISTS >>> {x}

#whump #asian whump #whump list #whumplist #asianwhump #kdrama #kwhump #death’s game #이재 곧 죽습니다

[marimayscarlett]

This is a FREE pass to deep dive into ANY of your favorite thing(s) about Mr. Zee Kay!!! I wanna hear EVERYTHING about your favorite thing, I love seeing your deep dives and essays on the most important subject to exist ❤️

❗ CAUTION. LONG-ISH POST AHEAD. ❗

Hi! First of all:

Kissies for you for sending me this ask, thank you so much! This has been sitting in my inbox for a while now since it took me ages to decide what this post should be about. I didn't want to make yet another fashion/stage outfit/etc post, so I decided to do something different with it.

I decided this will be a long ass post about Richard's outspokenness and honesty in interviews and some of my favourite quotes/topics he spoke about in the past. This man has A LOT to say and sometimes is brutally honest with his answers. You ask him how he's doing or what he thinks about XYZ? Prepare for a lengthy and detailed reply. You ask him something silly or boring? Be prepared he quite actually reacts quite directly on it.

This list will be sorted by three topics: 1. Quotes regarding work with Rammstein, Emigrate and in general, 2. Quotes about his personal life and finally, 3. Unhinged shit Richard says since this man sometimes has no filter.

All interviews will be linked, german quotes are translated into english. Prepare yourself, this will be long and self-indulgend and I'm probably the only person who's really interested in this stuff but i don't CARE, I love reading about and listening to this man and I'll use this post to my liking thanks to this lovely, lovely anon 💞 Let's get started 👀🤍

Richard on working with Rammstein and Emigrate and music in general

In this interview, Richard talks about being put into the right wing corner by the german media and how hard it is for him and the band: "You want to shout it out loud and convince people otherwise, only to find that nobody listens because nobody wants to know. They want you in this corner. That was very disillusioning."

Here he gives an example for his immeasurable perfectionism and how he tries to protect himself from it: "I spent a lot of time recording guitars over and over again. I ended up giving my guitar engineer the key to the locker where my guitar cabinets are and told him “Do not give me this key back”,  otherwise I would have still been in there recording guitars right now.

In the same interview, he also gives an example how the whole Mutter problem came into play: "So if I’d come up with 45 ideas, then others in the band may feel they’d have to come up with 45 ideas as well. There was lot of pressure going on within Rammstein because of that."

Here Richard talks about how he, back in the GDR days, wandered from peer group to peer group to find his style: "I've always been bored of sticking with just one group of people. The metalheads got drunk too often. So I moved on - and I found that refreshing - to the punks …" Interviewer: … who didn't drink any less. "No, exactly. And they were also dirtier (laughs). Then I was with the bluesmen, and they always went to these blues fairs. And because they also drank a lot, they could sleep well, whereas I, who didn't drink, always woke up at three in the morning because I was so cold - we only had these thin cotton sleeping bags."

Richard on the amount of hours which go in one song of his [interview]: "At some point, I calculated that it takes me about 1000 hours on average for a song to reach the listener. But I don't want to think too much about the time involved. That would just be frustrating."

On his relationship with Flake and that he would be the one member of the band Richard would play an Emigrate album as a test run to [interview]: "Although someone like Flake would probably be very open to that. We have a lot of respect for each other and are in a lively exchange. For example, I regularly listen to his radio show - and call him afterwards to ask him what weird stuff he's been saying. (laughs)"

2. Richard on his personal life

In my alltime favourite podcast with Richard, he admist to seemingly being a quite difficult person to live with (apparently, only his daughter is able to and is relaxed enough to bring him inner peace). He hates talking in the morning, needs time for himself with no talking and reflect on things and sometimes is afraid/annoyed that he has to explain himself to others (since other people tend to take offense because of this). This is one of the reasons why he definitely can't imagine living together with a girlfriend again.

Here he talks about the evolution of friendship with Till: Intervier: How has your friendship changed over more than 30 years? Richard: "Well, as it goes in life: Unfortunately, there's never a happy ending. You should only meet friends once or twice a month. It's unnatural for men to be extremely close for decades. At some point you want to be left alone." Interviewer: You two are more like colleagues these days? Richard: "Sounds stupid, but that's kind of how it is. But I still have a basic trust: If anything happens, I know I can call Till and he'll be there, just like the others."

Here Richard admits to his immense moodiness at times: "I am a very moody person, my mood sometimes changes by the hour."

Why he likes western movies so much [interview]: "It might sound strange, but I have really early childhood memories of my father watching these cowboy movies and falling asleep… that ended up being part of my upbringing somehow."

And his fond memory of the wild times with Till after the wall came down [interview]: "Because at that time, in every house there was a techno or rave party, and we would go there, and 7 in the morning, he would bring his daughter to school, and then come back and we would stay there into the daytime, and dance to these electric beats — I mean, can you imagine us dancing like that?"

How he answers to a fan question in which movie/show he'd like to be a part of (musically or in general) [article]: "I would have loved to have been in Game of Thrones. I really love fantasy worlds, you know? Also Westworld."

3. Welcome to the unhinged RZK corner aka "Shit RZK says":

In this interview, he describes his relationship with music like this: "I believe the music itself must be the king, but I want to be the queen." Alrighty then 👀

Just overall this conversation with him thinking about filming himself having sex [interview]:

The Gauntlet: Do you always have that funny smile during sex? [regarding the Pussy MV]

Richard: "I actually never watched myself but you have a point. I really should watch myself or videotape it. I never really...I can do it. I did that a long time ago but every girl is different. Do I really smile? Sometimes I guess, I will have to check that out. You really have me thinking on that one."

This man seemingly tried every therapy under the sun, which is good, but this one left me a bit speechless [interview]: "I always had the feeling that I was a king without a nation. That was always in my head and I once did reincarnation therapy and experienced this life. It was really interesting and this song came out of that [song: Born on my own].

Here he admits to throwing a guitar at Lemmy Kilmister: "It was the third time a roadie had given me an out-of-tune guitar. So I threw it at him. Unfortunately, Lemmy was standing there watching the show from the side of the stage. But I didn't know that, I just saw Lemmy disappear. That was very embarrassing for me."

Or he throws his credits cards at sales women (how about some anger management my guy): "The last time I was there [New York], I wanted to pay for a coffee in a café with a hundred dollar bill. But not because I wanted to be a big shot, but because I just had this one bill in my pocket. The sales woman hissed at me and threw the bill back over the counter. I just thought: She's out of her mind. I then threw my credit card at her. I was really angry."

If you made it to the end of this post, I really applaud you and apologize for my rambling yet again 🙏 I could go on and on (I didn't even started with quoting the video interviews), but I think since I'm the only one who's into this, I stop right here 😅 Have some smiley Richard as a reward 🍀

#rammstein #richard kruspe #ask #i'm so sorry dear anon that this took so long #but well #i am delusional and way over the top about this man and I admit to it #thank you for this ask!!!

[roshellow29]

Idk why but I feel the need to rant about trolls band together so here's a warning for SPOILERS.

TL;DR I'll be talking shit about major conflict parts in the movie that I wished were handled differently >:((((

Please take caution (and a deep breath) reading this because I'm very bad at making sense when I ramble ok? Ok les go

OK SO.

The movie was great, loved the songs and I enjoyed branches family shenanigans, including supportive girlfriend poppy I've been WAITING FOR THIS (ifykyk)

But here are some things that bothered me that they could've definitely done differently

1. JOHN DORYS ENTIRE CHARACTER ARC- jd is great. He's actually my favorite! He's a cringefail boyfailiure and I love him for it. In the movie, his whole thing was that he was basically an ass who didn't listen to his siblings and always pressured and bossed them around. Cool, that's established. What's not is, Why??? It's really the whole "perfect family harmony" thing I guess.

Because later in the conflict he says that it was "hard being responsible for four younger siblings" (which bitch me too were litteraly the same) and that all they needed to be was perfect. what I don't understand is why? Why the whole perfect harmony? Where did it come from? They didn't say it was a big thing or that other bands did it? Would it get them more fame? Would it mean that they're perceived as the perfect brothers or something?? Also, why wasn't the grandmother more involved with the kids?? Did she pressure him to care for his siblings because their parents weren't involved or something? That's just one thing that's not really explained to me ig 🤔

And the whole thing that bothers me with jd is that he doesn't do the cliché "branch I'm sorry I was an asshole brother, and I wanna be a better troll to you and our bros. And blah blah blah" like they skip that entire potential jd apology??? I was expecting that with a hug?? I WANTED A HUG WITH BRANCH AND JD OK. He genuinely cares about him!!! You can see it, he really does. He's just bad at communicating. Like extremely - so they skipped that and just made him go, "We'll follow ur lead branch," and that's it.😐 no apology. No proper character development. Just him going "ok yeah I'll follow u one time." LIKE HUH. (This also includes the other siblings cuz they dipped on branch the same, and none of them said sorry!!)

OH and another thing. WHY WERE CLAY AND BRUCE SUCH ASSHOLES TO JD. ESPECIALLY CLAY. like I completely get it, he was an asshole, he pressured and bossed you around, we know that. But that was 20 PLUS YEARS AGO??? Like no you don't have to hug him but damn why r yall so cold???

I'm thinking that because I'm p sure they went no contact at all after they broke up. So how r they so sure he's still the way he was before?? (I mean they were kinda right but still) like you could've been super happy and then get disappointed later when trying to practice hitting the note. It would've made more sense to me idk. Like it just bothers me that they straight up ignore him- it's mean! (But I can't be too mad I mean they all have their reasons ig 🙄)

While we're on the topic of the family, on to my next point.

2. ROSIEPUFF AND HER DEATH. I think it was handled HORRIBLY. Like the whole movie I was just like "plz don't skip over it plz don't skip over it." And then branch drops the bomb on them right (which still caught me off guard like damn) and THEYRE DUMBFOUNDED, GREAT. And then after that there's NOTHING. NOTHING!?!??!?!?!? they don't mention it they don't apologize to branch for what he went through they don't take two seconds to mourn her they're just like "wait she dead?" And then fucking move on like. Why???? they don't question how, they don't question when branch was living in solidarity for 20 years, nothing. and I'm mad as fuck because that was part of Branches entire CHARACTER ARC in the first movie!! They don't mention he was gray they don't mention he didn't sing they don't mention anything. He went through that for 20 YEARS, ALONE. and they don't mention it. I rlly hated that- like they rlly didn't care.

Anyway.

Third smaller topic that I thought was gonna happen

3. I thought clay was gonna end up going, "actually yknow what, I AM fun" and then embrace himself because hes most definitely goofy. But nah they left him trying so hard to convince himself he's serious, and tbh he just came across as branch 2.0.

Alright moving on!!

4. I'm mad they didn't include a little flashback of viva and poppy being inseparable until the escape happened. Like I know popps was an infant but at the same time troll kids talk the day they're born, so it would've been nice to see them be together at least once before they separated.

Also.

I WANNA DECK PEPPY IN THE FACE. you lost your daughter and instead of MOURNING her and spreading her memory you decided to act like she didn't EXIST. WHY. like he was obviously depressed and sad but why didn't you tell poppy stories of her when she was a kid or something? And keep her memory alive??

(And sure. There's the thing with "They weren't gonna give poppy a sister until now" but I feel like they could've at least made poppy remember a small flashback is what I'm saying.)

Idk. I just wish it was handled differently like why is peppy keeping so much shit to himself lmao.

Oh yeah and then there's just my little nitpick and it's that I wish they included the troll leaders in the wedding sequence ok they're all friends they should've been invited ok I just wanted to see them again 😭(totally not saying thus cuz world tour is my fav but I am)

Anyway, yeah! I think this is just what mainly bothers me about the movie. I just feel like the conflict was handled poorly. But either than that it's still a good watch. I like it a lot :D

If you read this far, God damn you like to read, and thanks for dealing with my stupid thoughts!

If not, that's OK lol.

#this is long #but i needed to get it out #great movie #solid 8/10 #go watch trolls world tour #trolls #trolls band together #rant #long ass post #text #tbt spoilers #trolls band together spoilers

[pianocat939]

tw//suggested domestic abuse

May I request a yandere rise tmnt with a reader who's in a toxic/abusive relationship they're trying to get out of? Maybe they go to the yan for advice/help or the yan finds evidence of the abuse? Thank you and don't feel any pressure if this isn't something you're comfortable with!

(Have a Yan Leo edit cuz I felt bad not having a banner)

Ah another day of writing yan turtles reaction to MC having trauma-

Ok so I was originally going to do one with all of them and then I thought that would make more writing messy (especially on the time crunch I'm on) so I decided to do a small little piece with Mikey and Leo, since I think those two match well together in terms of yan traits (ngl they're opposites but in an odd way it works out).

Tw: mentions of toxic relationships, some perhaps uncomfortable touching (it's just clinging onto the arm and shoulder), read with caution please-

Indulgent Glorification

Mikey and Leo were playing games in the arcade, with the pair competing against each other on who would get the new high score yet. So far, Mikey was winning: to Leo's dismay. The arcade lights glowed onto their faces, making their expressions look more dramatic than it already is.

"Oh, Leo~! Guess who's about to take the new highscore~?" Mikey teased in a sing-song voice, not taking his eyes off the screen not once; not letting himself slip from losing the chance of having bragging rights. His hands gripped the controllers tightly, almost to the point if he put any more pressure, the contraption would surely break.

Leo huffed and his eyebrow muscles furrowed more, intent on claiming the win right before his younger sibling did. He smirked cockily, "Oh just wait little 'Angelo, I will beat you so hard you'll want to hide in your shell out of embarrassment!" He presses his fingers down on the buttons harsher, his fingertips burning from the pressure of his jamming.

Just then, a voice interrupts them from their gameplay, "Hey guys...Can I ask your opinion on something?" They stood at the entrance of the arcade area, their body language looking anxious, fearful even.

As soon as Mikey noticed their nervous form his face immediately contorted into a worried frown and he rushes up to them, putting a hand on their shoulder. "Are you ok? What happened?" The game he was playing with Leo was long forgotten, with his entire attention solely on the person who entered, Y/n. His entire mind was swirling with panic for his divinity.

"Wait hey-" Leo swore as he also lost the game, with both him and Mikey not being able to beat the high score. He then stood up and sauntered over to the other two, his face relaxed but holding a serious vibe. "What can me and my hermano help you with bab- I mean mi amigo?"

As the troubled person started to speak of their agonizing experiences with their significant other, the two brothers couldn't help but become more bitter and concerned with every word that flows into their minds. They wanted to take revenge on this disgusting bug, they wanted to murder them so brutally that they would wish they never even thought of speaking and doing such horrible actions.

"So, what do you think I should do with them?" They ask, their head tilted to the side slightly in hopes they would get an answer they could work with to get out of the torturous situation.

"Well, I think telling them your thoughts and feelings is one thing if you haven't already done that. Then proceed to state of you want to split because their behaviour is just something you can't deal with," Mikey replied in an honest statement, using his knowledge of emotional intelligence. He was going to make sure this process was as least painful as possible for his beloved divinity. He clung to their arm to provide them with some comfort, and also for his own self-indulgence.

"And what if they don't let you leave? Or threaten to do something if you do?" Their tone became more dreadful as they spoke, revealing their extreme uneasiness of the situation.

"Leave them. And if they try to do anything, we got your back." Following his words, Leo pats their back, occasionally stealing a little caress with his finger. His demeanour then changes, back to his cocky self, except in a darker atmosphere than his usual attitude. "Look, if you ever need help from them, you can always come to me. I'll always be here, always." His eyes widened slightly at his words, making his smile more maniacal.

Mikey tightens his grip on their arm, nodding to Leo's words. "Yeah, if you ever need something from us, we're always here to help you. It's my duty as your friend, your best friend." His tone slowly transformed into something stern, almost possessive-sounding if one were to listen carefully.

The two turtles were practically clinging onto them now, with an unhinged glint in their eyes.

And just like that, from a toxic relationship, they walk into a bloody, obsessed, friendship romance with the turtles.

——————————————————

I cranked this out in an hour, so it isn't really polished, but I hope it suffices- (I forgot I had to do an assignment before tomorrow morning so I decided to do this real quick-)

- Celina

#rottmnt #tmnt #yandere rottmnt #yandere tmnt #yandere #yandere x reader #rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #Tmnt 2018

[eyesthatroll]

SCARS | JAKE SERESIN

pairing: dad!jake x fem!oc x teenage!son

warnings: angst, self harm, scars, talk of depression, this chapter reads extremely heavy and can be very triggering to some, please read with caution. established relationship. lower-case intended. i read through this a few times so there shouldn't be any typos, but if there is, i'll go through in a few days and fix them, i can't read this anymore at the moment, lowkey triggering myself lol.

suggestion: would recommend listening to the song home ll by dotan, as that’s what i listened to when i wrote this. really beautiful song.

word count: 2.5k

summary: noticing teddy acting a little weird, you ask jake to talk to him. it's worse then you and jake ever thought.

"hey bud, wanna go to 7-eleven with me?" jake asks his second oldest, leaning against the doorframe of his room.

the boy looks up from his chair, glancing to the clock that read 1:14 am before looking back to jake. "this late?"

jake smiles. "it's saturday, why not? like old times?"

theodore remains silent for a few moments, contemplating. "sure, i guess."

he slips on a random hoodie before meeting his dad at the front door.

"ready to go?" jake asks.

the young boy nods, stepping outside into the crisp night air.

the drive to 7-eleven is quick, considering it's right down the road.

the two step out of the truck, and enter the brightly lit convenience store, theodore headed to the slurpee machine, jake to the decaf coffee.

theodore gets his usual flavors, blue raspberry and cherry, and him and jake meet up at the counter.

jake pays, thanking the cashier, and they leave.

"hey, come sit with me for a sec." jake sits down on the curb, patting the space next to him.

theodore sits next to his dad on the curb.

the two sit in silence for a few minutes.

"you okay, buddy? you seem a lil' down recently." jake breaks the silence, speaking softly.

theodore shrugs. "school i guess."

jake frowns. "school?"

"ya know, the SAT, college apps, that stuff. stress."

"okay." jake nods at his sons words. "any way i can help?"

"grandpa has been saying i should apply to USNA, like cooper."

jake is taken aback. he wasn't even aware that theodore and his father were talking. "i didn't know you two were talking."

theodore shrugs. "he's been calling me a few times. keeps asking how my application is going."

jake's jaw clenches. of course, the few times his father would reach out to his grandson, would be to pressure him into joining the naval academy.

"ignore whatever he is telling you, teddy." jake says, a bitter taste in his mouth.

"would you be mad at me, if i didn't join the navy?"

jake shakes his head. "of course not, son, you know that. all i want is for you to be happy, i'll support whatever you decide."

theodore sets his slurpee down next to him. "i'm not happy."

jake frowns. "what's goin on, buddy? you can talk to me, i promise i won't judge."

lifting up his arms, he rolls his sleeves up, revealing uneven scars, band-aids covering his left wrist.

"i think something's wrong with me, dad."

jake looks away from the teenage boy next to him.

tears form in his eyes.

he takes a minute to compose himself, inhaling deep breaths, before finally turning back to his son. grabbing his hand, his calloused fingers trace over the old scars. "how long have you been doing this, teddy?"

jakes voice is low, unsteady.

theodore shrugs. "i don't know, little more than a year, i guess."

jakes eyes widen. he drops theodore's hand, before quickly standing up. "i need a minute, buddy. don't go anywhere."

jake goes back into the 7-eleven, and heads straight for the bathroom.

once inside, he falls against the back of the door, heavy sobs escaping his chest.

jake was a strong man, being his fathers son, he had to be. it took a hell of a lot to make him emotional, growing up in a household where crying is weak will do that to you, but here he was, sobbing on the bathroom floor of a 7-eleven.

becoming a father had been the best thing that ever happened to him,and an opportunity for him to break generational curses and show his children and his father and grandfather, that you could be tough and deal with your emotions in a healthy manner.

jake was taught to push those feelings deep down, and never let them out in the open, never let anyone else see them. it was in this moment, he hoped and prayed to god that theodore wasn't taking after him.

theodore had been in pain for over a year. suffering for over a year. unhappy for god knows how long.

his beautiful boy had been harming himself for over a year, and he didn't even notice.

jake felt like the worst parent in the world.

how could he not have noticed?

he tries to think back to all of the family gatherings and the birthday parties. everyone always commenting on how well mannered and mature theodore was. the nights where you guys would get home, and theodore would close himself up in his room. the weekends, where jake only saw him at dinner. the way theodore always wore long sleeves, even in the summertime.

jake had missed the signs.

growing up, theodore was always a quiet boy, very different from his siblings. his siblings were sparkplugs, reckless and always getting into trouble.

jake had liked to believe that theodore had taken after you, but after remembering the stories your mom tells of you being a raining hellfire, he wonders how truly long his boy has been feeling unhappy. was it just this past year, or was it subconsciously his whole life?

jake didn't know if he wanted the answer to that last question.

it takes a few minutes, but he finally calms himself down enough to be able to leave the bathroom.

stepping outside, he sees theodore sat in the same spot.

he frowns.

jake doesn't know what to say, or what to do. none of the parenting books covered this.

all he can do is stand and look at the broken boy in front of him.

he thinks back to when theodore was younger, about six or seven, when he and jake would go to 7-eleven every saturday at an ungodly hour (that hour being nine, 'ungodly' because his bedtime was eight.)

theodore practically running inside the store, insisting that he can dispense his own slurpee because he was a big boy. begging to get a big cup, even though he never finished it.

he was so happy then, getting to spend time with his daddy alone-without his siblings present, doing something they 'weren't supposed to do' all while keeping the promise of: no telling mama.

jake didn't see that little boy standing in front of him, and it made him so incredibly upset that he hadn't realized he was ever missing.

sitting down next to theodore, theodore looks up at him. "were you crying?"

jake nods. "i was."

theodore frowns. "i'm sorry."

jake wraps his arm around his sons shoulder, and pulls him into his side. "don't apologize, kid."

the two sit in silence for more minutes. jake, trying to figure out what to say, and theodore, silent tears rolling down his face.

jake can't put it off any longer. he grabs theodore's left wrist and holds it up between the two of them. "i don't know exactly how you are feeling, but i know that this, this is not the answer, teddy." jake pauses.

theodore remains silent.

"i love you so much, teddy bear." jake calls theodore by a nickname he hadn't used since he was a little boy.

jake had stopped calling him that when theodore became a teenager.

dad, don't call me that anymore, it's embarrassing!

theodore lets out a sob at the use of his childhood nickname, crying into his fathers jacket.

"i-im sorry, i just- i can't, dad-" theodore begins to cough over his words.

jake pulls him closer, one hand on his back, another tousled in his curly hair.

"why can't i just feel normal?"

jake remains silent, trying to formulate what he was going to say, before speaking.

"everybody loves you so much, buddy. you need help studying for your tests? i will find someone to help you. you want to explore college options? your mom and i will drive you to check out every campus in the goddamn united states if you want to. you want to join the navy? great! you don't want to join the navy? that's okay, too." jake says, his hand rubbing theodore's back soothingly.

"i don't know why you're feeling this way, teddy. i wish that there was something i could do, or say, to make it all better. i know you're not happy, and we can get you help, buddy. there's counseling, medication—we have options, teddy. better options than hurting yourself, okay?"

"okay."

jake uses his shirt to wipe the snot from theodore's nose. "i love you, nothing will ever change that."

the two of them sit together in silence, watching the cars drive past the dark road, an honest silence between them.

jake just wants his boy to be okay.

"please don't tell mom about my scars."

jake freezes. jake had completely forgotten about you, the one who had sent him to have this talk with theodore in the first place.

what was he supposed to tell you?

if you asked, he couldn't lie to you.

"promise me you won't tell her, please, dad."

god don't say that. don't make me promise. 

"dad?" theodore looks up at his dad with worry.

jake sighs. "buddy, i—i can't not tell your mom."

theodore frowns. "please don't. please, i don't want her to know."

jake sighs. if theodore didn't want him to tell you, then he wouldn't tell you.

jake reaches down, and brings theodore's wounded wrist up to his lips, placing a soft kiss there.

"i won't tell your mom about this-"he gestures to theodore's scars. "but i need you promise to try your best to not do this again."

theodore remains silent for a moment. "okay."

jake takes a deep breath. "what do you use to make these?"

teddy shrugs. "whatever i can find. knives, desk corners, mainly blades, though."

jake stills. "okay, do you think i could get them from you—when we get home? are they in your room?"

theodore nods. "under my bed."

jake nods. "i want them as soon as we get home."

"okay."

it's only a few minutes later that theodore says he's ready to go.

the car ride back home is quiet, except for the radio playing lowly in the background.

once jake and theodore get home, they quietly make their way through the house. the last thing needed was someone waking up and asking questions.

stopping at the young boy's bedroom, jake's eyes follow theodore, as he slips off his shoes, and bends down to reach under his bed. standing up, he hands you a small box full of about a dozen or so box cutters.

jake frowns at the brown tainting the bandaids theodore is wearing.

"is that all?" jake asks.

"yeah." theodore says quietly.

jake nods. "let me clean your bandages, teddy, i'll meet you in the bathroom."

"wait—what are you gonna do with those."

"i'm throwin' em' out, buddy."

"not in the kitchen garbage, mom or the boys will see."

"i know, teddy. i'll meet you in the bathroom."

jake takes the tattered box full out blades outside and throws it in the neighbors garbage can.

entering the house again, he locks the door before quietly making his way to the bathroom.

shutting the door, he grabs bandages and neosporin from the cabinet above the sink.

"when did you do this?" jake asks.

"few days ago." theodore mumbles.

"did you clean them?"

theodore shakes his head. "i never really do. i usually just slap a bandaid on them."

his words make jake wince. it's a miracle none of theodore's cuts had ever gotten infected.

slowly, jake unwrapped the bandages from his wrist. his heart absolutely breaking at the sight of theodore's freshly wounded wrist.

jake turns the water on, and lets it run until it's lukewarm. with mild soap, he gently cleans theodore's cuts.

drying theodore's wrist with a spare towel, he spreads neosporin over the wounds before applying bandages to the area.

"no more, okay?"

theodore nods. "okay."

jake pulls his son in for another hug. "get to bed, it's late. we'll talk in the morning."

"goodnight, dad." theodore says quietly.

"goodnight, teddy bear."

sighing, jake puts everything back in the cabinet and heads to bed, absolutely exhausted from what was supposed to be a simple, short conversation.

stripping to his boxers, jake tries not to wake you as he climbs into bed.

"jake." you mumble, sensing the dip in weight on your left side.

you had tried your best to be awake for when they got home, but minutes turned to hours, and you accidentally had fallen asleep.

"hey, darlin'" jake says quietly, brushing your curly hair out of your face.

"how did it go?" you asked. jakes eyes were bloodshot, his skin blotchy, you knew it couldn't have gone well but you still had a tiny bit of hope.

"he's not okay, josephine." jake says. "he's been in so much pain."

tears welled in your eyes.

"how could he have been in so much pain without us noticing?"

jake held you against his chest, you crying silently at the thought of your baby boy being as unhappy as jake is describing.

jake tells you everything.

almost everything.

he leaves out what he promised theodore he wouldn't tell you, telling you that it wasn't his place, that in time, teddy would tell you himself.

"remind me tomorrow to call my dad and ask him what the fuck he's thinking."

"i will."

the conversation ended there, and though you had a few more questions, jake looked absolutely exhausted, so you didn't push him on it.

it's been a few hours, jake had since fallen asleep, but you couldn't. you laid there, your husbands heartbeat steady in your ear.

you stared at the clock that rested on the wall across from you, counting down the minutes until it was breakfast time and you had an excuse to wake up theodore.

and when you couldn't wait any longer, the clock read 5:42am. you slowly removed yourself from jakes grasp and made your way to your sons room.

"teddy?" you said quietly.

"mom?" his voice is hoarse, strangled.

you made your way over to his bed. "hi sweetheart."

you brush stray curls out of his face.

"dad told you?" he asks.

you nodded. "only some of it. whatever he promised you he wouldn't tell me, he hasn't."

your beautiful boy frowns. "i'm sorry."

"don't apologize." you tell him. "room for me?"

theodore slides his body over, and you join him in the small bed.

he rests his head on your chest.

"you hated sleeping in your bed by yourself." you tell him, quietly.

"you would beg me for story after story just so i would stay with you until you fell asleep."

"you were such a sweet boy. you still are a sweet boy." you pause, trying to stabilize your breath. "my sweet boy."

"i love you so much, okay?" you tell him.

"okay."

"i mean it, teddy. i don't want you to ever feel like you can't come to me. even if you don't think i will understand, even if i don't understand, i will always be there to listen. so will your dad."

"you promise?"

"i promise, angel."

-

a/n: this is... i don't know. this chapter is loosely based on personal experience, except, my parents weren't as nice as teddy's. i don't know how i feel about this, it did feel good to write, though, cathartic in a way i guess. this fic takes place in a universe that i'm developing where josephine and jake have four boys (you might remember josephine from the fic 'leaving' that i posted a few days ago) obviously, this is set further in the future, and i probably should wait to post this until i post the fics of the boys growing up, but i don't have any of those written and instead i hyper fixated on this, so here it is.

teddy has such a huge piece of my heart, and if any of you are feeling like teddy right now, just know that i've been there, i see you, and it does eventually get better with time.

sidenote: i have no idea what pov i want to write this in, but i guess i don't it to be y/n? i'm reading another jake series, i believe its called my girl? where its centered around an oc, but the story is written with you pronouns, and i liked how that read, so i attempted to do that here, not sure how it worked out or will work out in the future for me. as usual, i'd love to hear your thoughts about this story. this is an extremely heavy topic, and i hope i wrote about it at least decently.

#dad!jake seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x oc #hangman imagine #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick imagine #hangman x reader #hangman x oc #dad!hangman

[leomeoi]

Happier

The title is from the song "Happier" by Marshmello Bastille. The lyrics "I want you to be happier. Know that means I'll have to leave." spoke to me. Please read the wonderful @tapakah0's comic and watch the amazing animatic they did that this work is inspired from. (Please forgive any out of characterness or grammar mistakes, I had no Beta Reader and wrote this in one sitting.) Thank you so much to Tapakah for drawing this amazing comic and answering my questions, as well as allowing me to write a fic for their work.

Oh, obligatory warning. This is angst. There is major character death, violence, and sadness. It ends unhappy (for now.) Proceed with caution and make informed decisions!

Click here for a link to the Archive Of Our Own version!

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Today's a big day.

Arguably, every day that they go out to fight the Krang that have infiltrated every nook, cranny, and crevice of their lives all those years ago is a big day. Raphael can't help but feel the bone-crushing load of responsibility that weighs down on his shoulders as he watches the hubbub of activity from the head. As he scans the faces of each person—human and mutant alike—with his one good eye, Raph feels as if his shell might just crack. He's not naive. There's nothing normal about this. He knows that they won't be able to save everyone, there'll be casualties. Their days are numbered, and the world just isn't fair in that way. The Krang aren't merciful. It could be anyone that they lose, there's no off-limits, and there's no way of predicting what shade of grief they'll experience today. As more and more days go by, Raphael can't shake the feeling that every victory they have is just a pyrrhic one. Even still, they fight. Everyone currently in the shelter of this hangar does. They all hope for a better future, a chance to reclaim all that they lost and there's not a single person who isn't willing to sacrifice it all. There's nothing more important than to ensure the success of this battle they're about to fight in the world war they've been waging against the invading advanced alien species.

He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about all the people that they've lost. It sends ripples of agony tearing through his chest, a physical ache that he can feel permeate even his plastron. It's a horrid fact that death is actually the most merciful thing the Krang can gift them with. They've lost countless others to infection, the result of that blasted plague yielding pink, fleshy atrocities, the host twisted and manipulated into a mere shell of their former self. They cannot be qualified as a person by then, bestial creatures hellbent on destruction and controlled by the very violators that infected them to begin with. It's a fate worse than death, the loss of will and self; they move only to the will impressed upon them. Raph's arms cross even tighter across his broad chest, his teeth grinding. The cold metal of his right arm reminds him that he's gotten off lucky. His fingers dig into his elbows as he stands, a grim and foreboding figure against the thoughts that plague his mind. He knows that he's gotten lost under the pressure of his thoughts when he stirs only at a warm touch against his forearm.

"Raph? You okay, big man?"

The sound of Leo's voice snaps him out of it further. His tone is bright, but Raph can hear the undertow of concern. Raph tears his gaze away from the milling crowd and looks down, meeting his brother's gaze. Even though it's been years, Raphael still can't help the flare of pride every time he sees Leo and how much he's changed over the years. It seems like yesterday that Raphael had to scold, nag, and practically plead with his younger sibling to get him to take things seriously. He knows that being the leader was a pressure that Leonardo never wanted, but once he's received it, he'd learned the gravity of the role. Sometimes, Raph thinks Leonardo has outgrown him, just the way that Raphael thought he would. A lesser turtle would have broken under the pressure, but Leonardo is as strong as he is stubborn. He stands against the test of time and loss, brave and unrelenting. He now leads with a certainty that has saved them on numerous occasions, and Raphael truly couldn't be prouder of how much he's grown into the role given to him.

Leonardo must see the way Raph's eyes soften because the sharp grin on his face loses its charming edge, too. Raph's chest feels tight as if his heart would burst out from the confines of his plastron. It's an entirely different reason than just a few seconds before when the grim reality was moments from overwhelming him.

He really is so proud.

"Yeah, Raph's okay. Just thinking." Raphael flashes his snaggletooth in a wide smile, and Leo mirrors it.

Normally, the conversation would end there. Raph wasn't the best at expressing his feelings, and Leonardo was even less so. He doesn't have the same connection to Leo that Donatello seems to have—they are self-proclaimed twins after all. They communicate almost solely on looks and gestures as if that's enough to convey exactly what it is they want to say. They leave nearly everything unsaid, but that's simply not something Raph can do. It's easy to communicate with Mikey; he's the best of them all. Still, there's so much that he wants to say to Leo, but it's almost time to leave. Raph can tell by the way things are quieting, the chaos of getting prepared sinking into the hum of calm and determined poise. Even with it all, Raphael is gripped with the unshakable feeling that he simply needs to get out. He doesn't know what it is, but it's an undeniable urge.

Leonardo's about to turn away. Despite the eternity that Raph feels like he just went through in his struggle to find the right words, mere seconds have passed. Raph decides that he doesn't need pretty words like Donnie, or the innate ability Mikey has to say exactly what a turtle needs to hear. Leo will understand. He knows Raph. He knows that they're connected and understand each other in a way that only those who have and are responsible for the lives of many can.

"Leo," he starts, and Raph almost winces at how serious he sounds. Leo blinks at the sudden change in tone, but he doesn't falter. His easy grin changes almost immediately, and the fact he no longer tries to deflect serious conversation with humor when it comes to Raphael brings yet another wave of pride. Leo stands before him, waiting. He's listening.

Raphael nods to himself, lifting a hand to place on Leonardo's shoulder. He squeezes and shakes Leo lightly, a reassuring gesture. His snaggletooth makes even more of an appearance as he smiles wide. "Raph is so proud. You've kicked ass and grown. You don't need lil ol' me anymore. I could not be more proud."

Surprise flits through Leo's eyes before it's replaced by something else. His gaze is piercing, eyes dark and almost unreadable. Almost. In another time, Raph wouldn't have ever thought that he'd know Leo so well. The feeling is potent, and Raph can feel it, too. It charges him with strength, and a new lightness finds his spirit. The iron trust that Leo has in him shines in his eyes, and Raphael had almost felt too small to withstand the weight of it once. Now, it gives Raph the strength he needs to continue on.

It seems to have been the right time to say what he was thinking.

Leonardo's shoulders square, and he seems to grow even taller before Raphael's very eyes. "Don't kid yourself, Raph," Leo chuckles. He slaps at Raph's arm lightly with a pat. "I'll always need my big brother." They both laugh at that, the serious mood broken up as their chortles sound in the room. With that, Leonardo turns away, moving his attention to something else that they need to be as prepared as they ever will be. Raph doesn't really concern himself with that anymore unless Leo needs him to. Bolstered by warmth, Raph knows that he needs to make his own rounds. He walks through the crowd, and people part way for him to accommodate his bulk. He stops and talks to a few, bumps elbows with April, and high-fives Cassandra. Somewhere along the line, Cass and Raph had grown closer. Undoubtedly, it was because of a certain young individual they spent any spare moment they had with.

Somewhere in the middle of that, Raph finds who he's looking for. "Donnie," he calls, and his brother whirls towards him. Donnie's battle shell remains engaged in what seems to be furious typing, his purple holographs buzzing with ninpo. A fond smile lights up Raph's face—even in the midst of preparing for a big battle, Donatello is always moving. His mind is always working, and Raphael wonders if it's because it's so loud that Donnie rarely ever sleeps.

"Raph," Donnie greets, the lenses of his red and blue goggles whirring as they adjust to parse Raph. Then, Donnie groans. "What did Nardo break now? I swear, I told him I'm gonna kick his shell if he breaks one more damn thing, so he decides to send you to break the news? I'm gonna find him-" He starts to grouse, and Raphael is sent into a frenzy trying to placate him.

"No, no! Leo didn't break nothin'. Just... Raph just wanted to talk to you. Before everything." Raphael shrugs, his hands outstretched and spread to show his surrender. Donatello squints and it's obvious that he's suspicious. His drawn-on eyebrows arch, and Raphael can't help but laugh again. There is no doubt that Donatello is the most expressive one of them all. His eyebrows only add to his charm, and over the years, he's grown into his skin even more. Raph thinks that Donatello is also the one to hide his emotions the most, choosing pragmatism and logic over the pursuit of emotions at all times. It's also why Raph thinks that Donatello's mask—the persona that he adopts—rivals Leo's.

In truth, Donatello is generous. He's a genius, a maniacal scientist, and Raph knows that his mind works in ways unmatched. He knows that it's because Donnie is Donnie that they've been able to maintain a semblance of a life. Raph knows that Donnie works himself to the bone for them, and fixes every problem that crops up that others don't even know where to begin. The thing with Donnie is that he's so, so generous, with a heart that's about as soft as his shell. Raph knows that he doesn't want anyone to know. Donnie gives them his all every day, every minute, and every second. It's enough for Raph to worry that one day, Donnie will give, give, and give until there's nothing left. Raphael has always silenced that voice, knowing that it comes from a selfish part of Raph that wants his brothers cared for, apocalypse be damned. Now, though. Raph thinks he can convey what he wants to say to Donnie at least once in a way that he can't be misunderstood.

Taking Donnie's suspicious look in stride, Raphael reaches up to rap his knuckles against his metal prosthetic. It makes a sharp sound each time he does, and Raph grins in spite of it all. "I know I've said this already, but Dontron... Thanks again. I know that this-" Raph gestures to all around him, and then again to his arm, "-couldn't have happened without you." Donnie seems to have been caught off guard by the sincere way Raphael is saying what he wants to say. Still, he recovers fast.

"Why, of course. I'm glad you realize that you need my brilliant mind and recognize that this is all in courtesy of the great Donatello, a.k.a. moi." Donatello's eyes are half-moons, his goggles retreating to the top of his head. His grin is smug, but Raph can see the genuine curls of delight that cause the corners of the said grin to twitch into an almost smile. Donatello's arms outstretch to gesture to the entire facility, and the simple movement makes him look bigger than life. It's grandiose, enthusiastic, and just as bombastic as Raph would have expected Donnie to respond with. Raphael doesn't bother stopping the laugh that escapes him, and his deep laughter seems to infect Donnie, too. He laughs with Raph, a small rumble mixed with the beginnings of a chirp. After the laughter dies down, Donnie gives Raph another grin. "Okay, now that you have me sufficiently buttered up, what did you break?" Donnie asks, his voice teasing. Raphael recognizes it for the jest that it is, and he snorts again.

"I keep tellin' you, nothing's broke!" Raphael's hands lift and they settle on Donatello's shoulders. He can't be too serious. Donnie will be too busy trying to make light of the words leaving Raph's mouth in his mind to truly understand what he's trying to say. Raph smiles. "Just tryna say thank you, Dontron. You're right, we need your brilliant mind, but that's not all we need," he gently reminds the younger turtle. "You're our Donnie, too. Our brother. Raph just wants to make sure that you take care of yourself, too. Less coffee, more sleep." He shrugs, his voice light. For a moment or two, Donnie says nothing. His eyes are wide, fixated on Raph's. It's enough to make Raph nervous and wonder if he's gone too far, but his fears are dispelled when Donnie's shoulders slump slightly under his hands.

"When did you turn all Dr. Feelings? Isn't that Michelangelo's job?" Donnie jokes and makes a face, but his voice shakes just enough to convey that he understands what Raph is trying to say. Raphael chooses to act mock-offended, going along with the bit.

"Hey! Are you saying Raph can't say that he loves his brothers?" He huffs, and Donnie rolls his eyes. The heavier moment dispels and Donnie's attention is suddenly needed elsewhere, judging by the beeping that he can hear. Raph lets his hands fall from Donatello's shoulders.

"Duty calls. No rest for the wicked." Donnie sighs, somehow dramatic and sincere at the same time. His eyes are closed as he says this, but he peeks out at Raph. That's enough for Raph to spot the gentle glint in his brother's eye. "But..." he intones, combining the sound with another sigh. "I'll try." Raph grins.

"All I ask." He nods, and Donnie hums. He's reorienting himself, Raph has heard that noncommital hum too many times to not know. "I'll see you later, Dontron," Raphael says before he loses Donnie in a string of mutters, and Donnie gives him a wave as his goggles return to his face, already focusing on what had pulled him away.

Raphael keeps walking. He dodges children, people, and mutants. It's not easy with his build, and he sticks out like a sore thumb from size alone. Still, it's not enough to deter him from finding Mikey. Mikey's as easy to spot as it is to spot Raph in a crowd. His powerful ninpo rolls off him in waves, mysticality crackling under his fingertips. It surges through his entire body, and it's almost impossible to miss. He's often haloed in a golden light, something that's as warm as his spirit. Over the years, Mikey has only grown more powerful, but with his abilities, so does his wisdom. Mikey is no longer just the goofy turtle he'd been before; he is wise beyond his years, capable, and strong. He's the inspiration within the Resistance, the ever-burning beacon of hope. Raph has leaned on him for support more times than he can count, and Mikey has more than once single-handedly born the grief of hundreds after a bad battle. Many turn to him for guidance now.

Raph finds him in the exact position that he thought he would.

"Mikey," he says, trying to hold back laughter. At Raph's voice, Mikey looks up, expression bright.

"Raph! Hiya, bud. Apparently, my hair's getting too long!" He says, voice full of cheer and contentment. He's surrounded by an ethereal glow, and floating. His legs are crossed, and there is a gaggle of giggling children running around him. They dip below him from where he's floating, dodging each other while they play tag. The innocence of the view seems to heal all the old wounds and the scars littering Raph's heart momentarily. There's another taller child with her fingers in Mikey's hair, and upon closer inspection, she's braiding it. Mikey already has multiple little braids here and there in his hair, and it's a sight that makes Raph's caught laughter burst free.

"Really? Raph thinks it's fine." He tilts his head as he inspects Mikey, and he's sure his expression mirrors Mikey's. Raph edges closer before he sits down with a mighty groan, and maybe a bit of a heavier thud than he'd wanted. The children crow as the ground shakes a little when Raph sits down, and he's swarmed. They crawl all over his legs, chattering excitedly, and Raph sits and listens. He and Michelangelo both do. They bask in the simple joy that the children exude. They ask him all kinds of questions, and Raph answers the best he can. They tell him nonsensical stories, about everything Mikey has been telling them, stories of times before the Krang. It's a bittersweet experience, knowing that there's a chance that these children will never experience what they had. Still, the tenacity and hope these children hold to someday seeing all that they've been told of is infectious. It reminds him of something their dad has always told them.

Hope is a ninja's greatest weapon.

Eventually, the children go off to Mikey's gentle shooing, as if he knows that Raphael has something important to say. The bond they share is close to the silent bond that Leonardo and Donatello share. In the past, Raphael and Michelangelo had clashed on more than one occasion. Raph knows he could be overprotective. He had been, back then, and Raph is old enough to admit that. Michelangelo had been the youngest, and even though he still is, Raphael trusts that he can protect himself now. That he can protect all of them. More than anything, Raph trusts Mikey with the Resistance. He trusts Mikey with their family. It's an all-encompassing trust that's hard to explain, even if he tries. After the Krang, after they'd been forced to grow, their relationship had changed forever. It was for the better. They'd grown closer, and the need for verbal communication has nearly faded from existence. Michelangelo can read Raph like a book. Even now, he waits for Raphael to collect his thoughts because he knows that his older brother has something to say. Raphael is grateful for it, just like all the times before.

After another few moments of silence, Raph wordlessly leans. He leans enough that their shoulders touch. He can feel the warmth spilling from Michelangelo, and it's comforting in ways that he can't describe. Mikey hums, but he doesn't say anything. His short braids are slowly coming loose, and they both stare from the sidelines as their people gather the rowdy children, scooping them up for hugs and kisses. Raph swallows. The heavy feeling from earlier returns. How many of these children would end up orphaned after this fight? He ignores a palpable thought about Casey Jr. that flits through his mind as fast as lightning. He doesn't want to think about that now. Raphael knows that Mikey can sense the dread that is approaching, the muted fear and grief that is already threatening his horizon. In front of Mikey, Raphael doesn't really find the need to appear as strong as he feels he needs to be around everyone else. He knows Mikey understands.

"Mikey," he starts, his voice suddenly hoarse around the lump in his throat. Michelangelo doesn't respond, just nudges his shoulder into Raph's harder. Raph takes a deep breath. He needs to say what he actually has on his mind, or he might burst. He's mentioned it to Donatello before, but Donnie hadn't let him finish. He'd dismissed the notion, he'd been angry with Raph for thinking such things. Raph hadn't broached the subject again. Now, he thinks it's a good time to. "If Raph doesn't make it back, please take care of our family." He smiles, feeling a hot pressure starting to build behind his eye. He knows that it's tears. Michelangelo still doesn't say anything. Raph presses on. "If- Donnie said somethin’ before about the mission goin' wrong and said that it's likely going to be Leo who's out for the count. I dunno if Donnie's goin' to be right, but it's Donnie. He probably is." He laughs, trying to free some of the building pressure in his throat. He swallows, again. Harder this time.

"Don't let Leo blame himself. Or Donnie. An'... An' I don't want you blaming yourself either. Okay?" Raph finally turns his head to look at Mikey and finds that Mikey is staring at him. Michelangelo is looking at him with a pained expression on his face. He doesn't bother hiding it. He knows what Raph is talking about, and even if he doesn't interrupt, Raph knows that Mikey is struggling already with the thought of something going awry. "I know it's goin' to be hard. But... But you're the strongest of us all, Mikey. In here." Raph reaches over, placing a hand over his brother's plastron. "They're gonna need you. It's not fair, I know. But they are. Just... Just remember me for me, an' the good things. Keep goin'. Keep them goin'." Raph's smile is trembling, he knows. He sees Michelangelo struggle for a moment or two before he feels and sees Mikey let out a harsh, near-guttural breath. His eyes are glassy as if he's holding back tears. Then, Mikey nods.

"Okay," Mikey whispers. Raphael keeps the smile on his face and nods back. Then, Raphael pulls Mikey into a hug. He hugs him tight, and he can't help but notice just how small Mikey is compared to him. He feels even more sorrowful, knowing that Mikey is still the youngest but Raph is asking so much from him. He's come to realize and know that Mikey is incredibly powerful, and because of that, sometimes he forgets just how young Mikey still is. Raph tightens his grip. That seems to be enough for Michelangelo. He hugs back, and they stay that way for a few heartrending moments. Raphael eventually pulls back, and if he did so with a sniffle, no one is going to call him out on it.

Raph gives Mikey's shoulders one last squeeze before he releases his brother. He swivels his head back to their people, and Raph knows that they're ready. He finds his way back onto his feet and pushes through the crowd again, heading towards the front lines. He sees Leo. He's waiting for Raph. Raphael takes a deep breath to collect himself before he lets his focus overcome the dread that he'd experienced mere moments ago. He finds his rightful place next to Leo.

"You ready?" Leo's voice is quiet, a muted question. There's the slightest hint of uncertainty, and Raph knows more than anyone what Leo's feeling.

"Ready." Raphael agrees, and his response seems to bolster Leo. He grins. Raph returns it with a smirk, straightening as he turns to face the crowd. "We're moving out soon! Everyone get ready!" He rumbles, voice filling the hangar. There are a few cheers, and everyone scrambles to get last-minute preparations underway. Among them is Cass. He watches as she stoops to hug her son. Raph watches, his heart in his throat as Casey giggles in his mom's arms, his little head poking up past Cass' shoulder. He squeals when he's lifted up by his mom, and Raph feels like he shouldn't intrude on the moment. He turns away despite his aching heart. He's about to walk away when he hears Casey's unmistakable voice. It's not Casey's voice that stops him dead in his tracks. It's what he says.

"Pap?"

For what feels like an eternity, Raph's brain blanks. He stands still as his brothers all laugh, equal parts disbelief and amusement. All Raph can do is flounder. Flashes of Splinter enter his mind, memories of their father dancing before his very eyes. Suddenly, it all makes sense. It's like his world realigns. What his brothers say becomes mush, and he can't seem to process anything but the single word he'd heard. The tears that he's been holding back well up, and Raph turns around on his heels. He strides forward and then stoops down, making himself as small as possible with a waterlogged smile. "Casey!" Raph calls, and his voice cracks, arms reaching forward. His chest is impossibly tight again, but he doesn't care. This is all that matters.

Cassandra's expression melts from one of stark surprise to a quiet fondness, and she crouches to let Casey back onto the floor. Upon the sight of Raph's outstretched arms, Casey races over to him. There's no hesitation until he reaches Raph, and suddenly, Raphael doesn't know what to do with himself. He's become this small human's pap, and he loves little Case with all of his heart. His hands shake, and he can't seem to stop them. He hovers, more concerned than ever that he would somehow hurt Casey. It turns out that his uncertainty doesn't matter. Casey blinks at Raph owlishly, then turns towards the hand that isn't a prosthetic. Raph's heart clenches. Casey reaches out, settling his tiny hand in Raph's. It's barely big enough to circle around one of Raph's fingers halfway. Casey smiles, holding onto the hand even tighter. He hugs it with his whole body, and Raph can only stand so much. His throat burns and his tears make an appearance as he pulls the child—no, his son—close. He holds him against his face, eye closing. He's so small. Everything is clear now.

This war, this fight… It’s for their future. They fight for their right to hand down a world that is secure, safe, and bright. They fight for the right to live freely. They fight to ensure that their children will never have to face the same hardship that their guardians did. It's worth fighting for, down to the last drop of blood, and the last shred of breath.

Raphael doesn't want to, but he knows he has to. He pulls back, releasing Casey from his hug. Case giggles again in response, and his small hands reach for Raph's face. "Oh, Casey. Papa will be back very soon." He smiles through his tears, and Casey grows serious. Raphael can't help but be startled at the determination on Casey's young face, and he has to hold his breath as Case brushes away the tears from his face. Raph nudges his forehead against Casey's one last time, gentle and loving. He pushes his child towards the crowd that's accumulated to bid them luck and goodbye. Despite his young age, Casey seems to realize that it's time to say goodbye. He backs away, but he waves to Raphael the entire time.

With newfound strength and courage fortifying his soul, Raph can feel his ninpo practically crackling. He's going to bring down the Krang, no matter what. For his brothers. For the Resistance. For all those that he lost. For Casey. He lifts an arm to scrub at his face, getting rid of the remainder of his tears. When he talks again, his voice is strong and booms through the halls. "Let's move out!"

Raphael leads the entourage. His expression is set in stone, and his remaining eye burns with untamable fire.

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

Somehow, Raph has always known that it would end this way. He's not one for grand maniacal plans like Donnie, not strategic like Leo, or even as mystically talented as Mikey. There is one thing that he knows how to do, something that he's better at than anybody else.

He knows it'll take everything he has.

But that's okay. It gives his brothers, Casey, April, and everyone in the Resistance a fighting chance. A shot at a better future.

He doesn't tell anyone that his mind is already made up. The chaos of the battle rages around them, but all sound is muffled to Raphael. There is an eerie calm descending on him. He can feel the dead weight of Leo in his arms. He glances around, and that's all he needs to conclude that they're in trouble. They're out of options. The sound of screams and cries of their people fighting—and losing—echo. It pierces through the shrouded veil that is surrounding Raphael. A newfound clarity settles, and the knowledge of what he's about to do makes him ache for all those he's leaving behind.

I'm sorry, Casey, he thinks, swallowing. Papa won't be making it home.

"Donnie. You were right," Raphael chuckles, the sound dry and wretched. He looks toward the holographic screen that has Donnie's face. "It is Leo that gets knocked out." At his words, Donatello's face twists. A flicker of understanding seems to bode before it disappears, a fierce look of denial taking over the lines of his face.

"Yes, well, I'm almost always right. 99.99% of the time," Donnie responds, his voice wrecked. It's a low sound, full of pain and a new kind of desperation.

Raphael lays Leonardo down, his ministrations endlessly careful and gentle. He forgets about his strength often because he's a tank; he's as destructive as he is obstinate. Even still, he is careful with his unconscious brother. Leo's prosthetic is destroyed. Raph glances at his own.

A Krang hound overwhelms Leo while he fights hundreds of others; it manages to sink its teeth into the metal of Leo's arm. Raph can do nothing but watch in horror as the hound shakes Leo like a ragdoll. The hound continues to slam the turtle around repeatedly with brutal strength as if it was determined to rip Leo's arm out of its socket as it had already done once before. In Raphael's hurry, he tackles the dog with his full body weight after he wrestles his way closer, sending Krang creatures sprawling from the sheer force he plows through them with. Leo slams into the ground, and the impact is hard enough to knock him out cold with a pained grunt. Raphael growls, the sound twisting into a bone-chilling snarl. His hands grasp the top of the Krang mutt's jaw in a crushing grip, the other latching onto the lower jaw. With a furious cry, Raph wrenches the dog's mouth open. Unnatural howls leave the creature's mouth as it struggles, its screams of pain growing more frequent. Raphael doen't stop there. Once the alien releases the wreckage that had once been Leo's prosthetic, Raphael gives a mighty heave accompanied by a roar of rage. How dare the Krang take Leo's arm again?

The gory sound of bones snapping and the wet, horrid sound of skin ripping fill the air until Raph releases the remains of what had been a Krang creature from his hands. He sucks in deep breaths of air, panting from the extra exertion of strength. He steps away from the bloody carnage, stumbling towards Leo. He presses his head to Leo's plastron, relief flooding in at the sound of a heartbeat. "Leo," he calls, throat hoarse. He shakes his brother, hoping to rouse him. "Leo!" There is no response. He's out cold, injured, and without an arm. Raphael has no way of getting him to safety.

His closed eye opens. Raphael shakes himself out of his reverie of recounting memories. He knows what he has to do. "Don, how long until the shuttles arrive?" He questions. He sounds calm, even to his own ears. He sees Donatello look away towards his wrist screen, and Raph knows what the answer is before Donnie even says it. Donnie's eyes are distant, his brain racing. It's going a mile a minute only to come to the same conclusion. Nothing. Donnie can't move, Mikey is overwhelmed and fighting to get people to safety, and Leo is unconscious. Raph is the last mutant standing.

"Donnie." Raph calls again. He still wants to hear the answer. His gaze is fixed on the holo screen, and Donnie looks back at him with fervent eyes.

"15 minutes." The answer is delivered in a voice that sounds small and defeated. Raphael nods. His nod is more to himself than anything. Everything comes at a price.

"Don. Remember what Raph said, okay?" That's all Raph has to say before a wretched cry sounds from Donnie.

"No! There's another way, we still have time! Raphael, don't fucking do this!" Donnie's panic, rage, and pain are imprinted clearly in his desperate plea. He knows what Raphael is about to do. Raphael only looks at him through the holo screen. He knows what he looks like. He looks grim, determined. Fierce. Donnie reads his intentions loud and clear and tries again anyway. Raph feels as if someone is twisting a katana in his heart when he sees the way Donatello's face crumples, the way his head slumps. He tips his head downwards. "Please, Raph. Please, don't do this. Please," Donnie begs, but there's nothing Raphael can give him as an answer. They have no choice. Donnie knows this. Raphael looks away from the screen. He looks down at Leonardo and the destroyed prosthetic. Wordlessly, Raphael smiles. It's soft, affectionate. Leo looks so young like this. Raph reaches over, and his large fingers find the spot he's looking for on his arm. His prosthetic detaches with a hiss. He presumes where he's going, he won't need this. He hears Donnie make a sound that sounds like a mournful, cut-off cry. Donatello is smart. He's already put together why Raph is doing this. There aren't many supplies to rebuild prosthetics anymore. Raph carefully places his metal arm over Leo. It positions over him as if it's cradling and holding the younger turtle.

"Donatello." The use of his full name forces Donnie to look up, and there are tears running down his face without reserve. Raphael grins, his infamous snaggletooth making an appearance. "Take care of yourself. Raph will always be with you. Don't blame yourself, or anyone else. I know you all, and I know you will keep fighting. Beat them for me. Then, when you win, like a boss-" Raph emphasizes, his voice trembling for just a moment, "-remember me. Tell everyone how much I love them." Donnie says nothing. He's looking away from Raphael now, and Raph understands.

Raphael stands up. The dust and wind generated by the battlefield whip the tail ends of his bandanna around. He takes a deep breath. His mind flashes to all the people he's met in his life. Behind his eyelids, all his memories play out. Mikey. Donnie. Leo. April. Splinter. Barry. Cassandra. The Resistance. Casey. His heart seems to swell. It's for them. A fierce inferno suddenly sparks to life, fueled by all his grief, love, and passion. He's doing this for them. He will protect them, even if it's the last thing he does.

When Raph opens his eye, it glows red. Surges of energy crawl over his body as electricity would, and his teeth grit. There is no more fear. He takes a step forward, and the very ground shakes from the force. Already, his ninpo has grown his size. Bigger, he thinks.

Another earth-shattering thud. Pain surges through him, his body warning him of its constraints. He ignores it. Bigger.

This time, the earth cracks open under his foot as he takes another step. The pain is excruciating. Raphael can see the red lines spidering through his flesh, the cracks he absorbs with his entire body. His form remains solid. With each movement, his body is falling apart. He knows that if he continues, his body will tear itself apart. He will break like glass, and he will die. The thought doesn't do anything for him, and it only emboldens him to go faster. "Bigger!" He roars, his voice carrying through the battlefield in a cry so searing and fierce, he gains the attention of the lead Krang.

Krang creatures scatter from under his feet. Those that don't, he crushes. He is far from caring. He moves his way forward, soul on fire. If he can protect his people, his family, Raph will gladly feed his soul as fodder to his ninpo. His eye is fixated on the lead Krang as he fast approaches. Even from this distance, he can see the way the disgusting pink flesh alien's arrogance melts away into pure, unadulterated fear. It feels good. Raph grins, and he knows that his form follows suit. By the time the Krang realizes his intentions, it's too late. The roar of rage, fear, and defeat that Raphael hears is music to his ears as he grasps the Technodrome. His sheer size dwarfs the once massive ship. It fits into his hands the way a ball would, and his sudden fury at the thought of all those he lost to this alien ship causes his fingers to grasp tighter. His fingertips dig into the ship, and the groaning creak it gives as he crushes it bit by bit is exhilarating.

Raphael lifts it above his head. His ninpo holds strong, but he can feel every molecule of his body breaking under the pressure. He looks up at the sky. He'd wanted to see the blue skies with everyone at the end. At least, this way, he could help them do that, even if it's without him. His eye closes. I'm so proud of you all. I'll see you again. For now, this is Raph out. Like a boss. With a heaving cry that threatens to cleave the sky open and rip the very fabric of time, Raph opens his one eye. Tears fall from it as he fixates it on the lead Krang, his savage smirk only growing wider. He swings his raised arms down, slamming the Technodrome ship down with all of his strength. He screams, channeling every fiber of his being into ensuring that the ship is completely, utterly destroyed. They will never endanger their people with this ship again.

There is a burst of light accompanied by an earthquake that topples buildings and splits the ground, dust clogging the sky in a dirty mist that is impossible to see through. With it, shards of red float and swirl through the air. Everyone who knows what it is also knows what it means.

Raphael is gone.

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

There's nothing Mikey can do. He watches as his brother tears himself apart to fight against the Krang. He watches in horror as Raphael screams in equal parts fury and agony, destroying something that is a detrimental blow to the Krang. His hands shake, and his vision blurs, but he can't look away. A sob rips from his throat as he holds Leo, his eyes fixated on the crackling red figure in the distance. One hand cradles Leo while the other is clenched tightly on Raph's prosthetic arm. Somehow, Raphael knew. Somehow. Mikey doesn't know if Raphael is able to hear him, but he grasps the fingers of Raphael's prosthetic as if he is clutching onto his hand. "I'm here! Raph, I'm here! You're not alone, I'm here!" He screams like a wild animal; his tears and grief are unending. He screams as loud as he can, hoping, praying, willing that Raphael hears that he's not alone and that Michelangelo will keep his promise.

He looks until he is forced to close his eyes at the burst of light. There is no one but Mikey to catalog Raphael's final moments. He has to remember, to see everything.

When he opens his eyes. all he sees is a crumbling red figure. It deteriorates, shards floating in the air before it disintegrates. Almost like it never existed. As if Raphael never existed. Mikey stays where he is, too stunned and grief-stricken to even cry out anymore. He watches as Raphael's ninpo disappears. He feels reality slipping from his grasp. His mind can't help but shy away from the possibility that Raphael is truly gone. He denies such a reality, but even that comes to a stop. Something red flits down from the sky, and Mikey reaches up. His ninpo grasps the item, and when he brings it closer, Mikey feels his heart shatter. In his trembling hand is Raphael's bandanna. The only remnant of their brother's body. The only proof that he existed, other than their ashen memories. With shaky hands, Michelangelo brings it closer. He lays Leo down and looks around. Almost numbly, he takes Leo's abandoned odachi. He ties the strip of red around the handle, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against it. He's only like that for a moment before his eyes open again. The fire that burns within is an anger that burns brighter than magma in a volcano.

In another time, Mikey hadn't understood the word hate. The concept had eluded his grasp. Now... Now he knows what hate is, and more. His loathing now knows no bounds. He hates the Krang. He loathes them. The embers of his hate lodge in his throat as he snarls silently, eyes beginning to glow a fierce yellow. He burns with the force of the sun, his usual warm rays of light turning cruel. He will destroy them all. His orange bandanna falls from his face in ashes, and with it, his hair is released. He faces the enemy that has regrouped shakily from Raph's attack. The enemy that now has set their eyes upon their allies and the rest of them. Mikey knows that the shuttles have landed. He is the last line of defense against the enemy and his allies that need time to escape.

He's never been more glad for that fact. His power crackles, surrounding him like a violent whirlwind. The power surges through his body, and he can feel it chipping away at the years he has left in his body. His hair grows longer, blowing in the wind of his rage without his bandanna to hold it back. He floats, rising higher and higher into the sky as his power builds like a hurricane. He raises his arms, and Michelangelo holds onto his ninpo with a savage ferocity that almost outweighs the pain at the knowledge that Raph is now gone. His fury reaches new heights.

The coals that burn in his throat finally give, and the scream he lets out is like a banshee's. With it, he releases his ninpo. His power is as unforgiving and brutal as the sea, waves of light matching the caliber of a primordial force perhaps as old as time. It floods over the battlefield like an ocean, golden light rolling in with the strength of a tidal wave and the speed of a riptide. He screams again, but it is a wordless cry of unmatched wrath. Michelangelo will burn them. He will destroy every single one until there's nothing by ash and death. They will suffer the way that they have suffered. The blinding wave of light engulfs the approaching Krang, and with inhuman, blood-curdling shrieks, they burn in the fire of Michelangelo's hate.

Mikey lands down, his feet on the ground. He pants as he looks at the razed land before them. Suddenly, all his strength ebbs from him as he falls to his knees. He feels empty. With a sudden hiccuping sob, Michelangelo raises his hands to his face, burrowing into them as he cries uncontrollably. Raphael is still gone.

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

Donatello numbly watches as his wrist pad notifies him that the shuttle is arriving in 10 minutes. He feels detached. Everything is hazy, layered in a white fog. He feels as if nothing matters. He stays where he is, his eyes distant. His thoughts are quiet, for once. There's just... Nothing. He stares blankly at the horizon. He hadn't been able to see Raph's sacrifice. He isn't sure if he should feel grateful for that or not, so he doesn't think about it at all. There are other Krang and people fighting, but Donatello can't seem to pull himself together. It's all just so... Distant. Like he's not with this reality anymore. The logical part of his brain wonders if the powerful surges of energy and the earth-shattering showdown that has occurred have somehow transported him into a different universe. He almost laughs at the thought. Why does he feel nothing?

The shuttles arrive. The shuttles arrive but Donatello doesn't move. He watches as others run to the shuttle. He can't help but feel a little resentful towards them, a dull flare in the dark abyss. Do they know what sacrifice just occurred to save their lives? Are they grateful? A distant part of him observes from its detachment the observation he makes is unfair. Donnie doesn't care. In the far distance, he sees April looking around. He can even see her face wet with tears as she searches. Some part of him knows that she's looking for him. She's looking for Leo, Mikey, Raph, or him. His distant thoughts suddenly screech to a stop. Raph. Raphael. She... She won't be able to search for him anymore. She won't find him. Suddenly, everything becomes too sharp. Too clear. The agony that rushes in almost makes him wish for the detached daze he had just been in.

It's at that time that he hears Mikey's scream. It emotes all that he's feeling, and it delivers a blow so gut-wrenching that whatever breath is left in Donnie's lungs is stolen away. Another blinding white light envelops the field, and this time, he knows that it's Michelangelo. This knowledge makes this new reality jarringly, horrifically real.

Raphael is dead.

Just as the numb daze is about to return, Donatello is made aware of the hiccupping sobs that undoubtedly belong to Mikey. All his doubts disappear, and he is confronted with the reality that they've gone from four brothers to three. It's here that Donnie realizes—he'd never gotten to say goodbye. He'd never been able to tell Raphael that he loves him, too. Something wet trails down his face. He's shocked for a moment before he realizes, once again, that it's his tears. They run hot, splashing down his cheeks and onto his collarbone. Then, it's like the floodgates open. His shoulders shake as he wails, face upturned towards the sky as he screams, shouts, and rages. He can't breathe, but Donatello doesn't care. He doesn't. Everything hurts. Raphael had died alone, protecting them.

Donatello's sobs join Mikey's as they howl at the sky like feral, wounded animals, their grief raw and insurmountable. It presses on both of their shoulders, through their plastrons, and into their chests; the weight is so heavy that Donatello wonders if he'll ever be able to stand up again.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rttmnt #rottmnt #tapakah0 #tapakah0 au #tapakah au #L.O.V.E #life of violence era #fanfic #ficlet #angst #rise donnie #rise leo #rise raph #rise mikey #future mikey #future raph #future donnie #future leo #pain #mourning #grief #unhappy ending #depictions of violence #major character death #agony #krang #life of violence fic #still pain #ow

[piscesnspices]

ʙᴀᴋᴇ

🎧 ᴄʟᴀss ᴏғ ²⁰¹³ ᴍɪᴛsᴋɪ ↻ ◁ ɪɪ ▷ ↺

.・。.・゜✭・.

Baking never meant more to Andie than it had now.

She recollected her teenage years to be a cliche movie. Full of “I appreciate your passion, but it’s just not mine.” And “I can’t keep living my life according to your expectations!” As she ran towards her room with the slam of a door echoing the house. Whenever life became difficult, Andie would find herself fleeing from her mother’s disapproving gaze. It was easier than confronting the disappointment in her eyes.

The idea of baking, resulted in eye rolling and a not-so friendly reminder of the messy aftermath, with dirty pans, and batter bits spilled. Just the thought of having to clean it all up to make the same mess over and over again, sparked an insufferable migraine in the back of her mind.

Andie’s mom had other plans in mind. It began with subtle small talk as Andie would walk in the kitchen while she baked. Eventually, it resulted in Andie finding her mom’s baking time perfect for conversation. Her mom was cheeky enough to further her tactics of drawing Andie into the bakery, asking her for an ingredient here and there, to stir the batter every once in a while, looking after the pastry while she left the room. It wasn’t long after, she began falling completely into her mother’s scheme and doing all the work. The first couple times were pleasant, spending time with her mom and watching the improvement in progress. Though after a while, it had become expected of her to use this new talent at the shop 4 times a week.

Andie had much rather spend her days painting in her room. The paintbrush would dance across the canvas as she lost herself in the strains of a familiar song. Each note, every lyric, was a doorway to another memory. Those of her father, and of past friends she’s pushed away to avoid them from seeing her in all her vulnerability. Little did she know, she was being conditioned, in order to take on the business.

The upheaval that once left her feeling shattered, now grants her the ability to savor simple pleasures like entering the pastry shop each morning, where memories of her mother flood her heart with warmth. Located in the heart of Lower Manhattan, the shop is not only a source of income but also a place where she can honor her mother’s legacy. Despite the challenges she faced, she was..

“Satisfied?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, picking up the pieces of the past and storing them back into the corner of her mind.

“You know, satisfaction doesn’t always equate happiness.”

“Sounds ripped off a bench ad.” She joked.

“No, sounds like my parents-“

The timer sounds, interrupting the conversation. It took away focus from her soap box, showcasing the struggles of growing up with a single mother living check by check.

“Look, all I’m trying to say is that you should do something that makes you happy. Not everything is about money.”

She avoided eye contact, instead glanced over to the shiny watch on his wrist that gleamed with status and wealth. Intricately carved into the silver was a brand name she could barely pronounce. But she was sure, he was more than comfortable enough for the name to roll off his tongue like butter.

“Your father is a lawyer and your mom, a doctor, yes?” She replied. Isaac nodded.

“Well, mines was a baker. I don’t know about you, but the gap between you and I could not be more obvious to understand that you grew up with money to spare and I didn’t. There’s no pressure on your end to exceed them because mom and dad will always be there for you, with one hand holding yours and the other carrying a thick wallet. My mom had a high school diploma and me.”

There was a pause.

“And, your father?” Isaac asked with caution.

“He promised he’d maintain my mom and I, but last I saw him was when I turned seven.” She whispered.

Baking was a livelihood, not Andie’s passion. A sweet reminder of her past sure, but not her peace.

Realization hit Isaac harder than ever before. Being wealthy, surrounded by other people who shared the same level of status or even higher. A world of luxury and traveling had encased him in a blissful ignorance. He felt selfish for saying what he did, as it might only apply to those like him

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, biting his lip

“Having money isn’t a crime. It’s what most of us strive for. Work your ass off so your successors can have what you couldn’t, right?”

“I just feel like I’m rubbing it in your nose, and I don’t mean to.”

“You’re not. Please don’t apologize and let’s focus on finishing your cake.” She smiled.

Andie couldn’t shake off the words he said. She hadn’t noticed sooner, but the bakery no longer retained that same warmth and comfort it used to bring. It was a different homeliness, the same found in the strangers arms and hands that had replaced it. Andie knew he was right. Feelings of satisfaction does not equate being happy nor does it mean one is unhappy.

It was until Isaac had left, that the pastry shop felt cold.

ᴍᴏsᴀɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ

#zsakuva #sakuverse #isaac rhoades #au #fanfic #art #asmr

[honeyhotteoks]

into the aurora - chapter fourteen (ot8)

chapter fourteen: passing the test

summary: you know now how much harder this is all going to be, but someone is here to help

warnings: PLEASE READ -- for this chapter we're diving deeper into y/n's past and some of her struggles with anxiety and depression. I need to be very clear, there is a panic attack described in detail at the beginning of this chapter. there is also discussion about mental health throughout the chapter. if you struggle with this or find it triggering, please read with caution. otherwise there is some light nsfw/smutty content.

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: fluff, angst, romance, ateez ensemble x reader, polyamory, non-idol!reader, fem!reader, smut

word count: 7.9K

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              Hongjoong didn’t mean anything by his comment, you know it. You know it, but it still puts you in a tailspin. Four weeks of work have gone by, and it isn’t anything like you expected or fantasized about. The work is good, but it became apparent to you quickly that you still have so much to learn, and Eden isn’t a necessarily patient man. The pressure to know more, as fast as possible, is overwhelming and after the day you’ve had today it hits you that maybe it isn’t possible.

              Eden hadn’t yelled or said anything cruel, he had just listened to what you prepared with a quiet passivity, shaken his head, and left you alone in the studio room. You had been given your first real piece of something to own, and you had failed. In the kitchen later that night, you tried to ignore the bubbling anxiety about what Monday would bring. When Hongjoong asked how your day was, something in his tone told you he spoke with Eden.

              He didn’t mean anything by it when he said it, you know it, but at the words you’ll improve, you started to feel the familiar wave of building panic.

              You try to finish the dishes, try to keep the obvious tension off your body and ignore the impending panic attack, but it’s probably clear to anyone who looks at your right that things aren’t okay. Normally when Yeosang presses up against you to drop a kiss on your shoulder you respond well, turn and kiss him, but tonight you throw him a quick smile back and keep your hands busy in the sink. A moment later Seonghwa’s hand brushes along the bare skin of your lower back, and Jongho tries to casually speak with you for the first time in days. You can’t focus on them. You excuse yourself as calmly as you can, making the quick walk to your room, hoping you can control it until you’re behind closed doors.

              Panic attacks for you are far less common now, but you’re familiar with the signs. Your heart feels like it’s pounding out of your chest, your hands shaking as you push the door closed behind you and take in a sharp, unsteady breath. Thoughts invade your mind – if you fail at KQ and Eden isn’t interested in giving you time to improve, it’s all going to fall apart. You’ll have nothing left, no reason to stay with them. You had already upended your life by moving cities and getting rid of your apartment. What if you can’t improve at all? What if they had just been wrong about you? They had only heard two or three songs before they made you an offer after all, and Eden hadn’t heard any of your music. He took it on faith in Hongjoong that you were talented, but it’s possible that you just aren’t. This is the thought that takes hold of you and curls itself around your throat.

              Seated now in a full-blown panic attack, you reach for the pouch on your desk that contains your medications. You stumble and drop to the floor, wheezing in tiny pants of air and yanking the bag open. You sift through the contents of the small pouch and check but there’s only the two pill bottles with your regular daily medication present. You overturn the bag and spill the contents on the floor, sifting through the mess with shaking hands and still finding nothing.  

              Tears start to well, your heart slamming against your ribs. Crawling forward you yank the bag that you had used as a carry on at the airport towards you and dig through the pockets – had you taken one of your anti-anxiety pills to calm down before the flight? Did you forget to put it back where you always did? Your hands meet empty pocket after empty pocket and a sob bubbles up out of you.      

              You don’t hear Mingi come in, only aware of his presence when he crouches on the floor in front of you and closes his hands over yours to still your movements. You look up to him, frantic, and are greeted with his overwhelming calm face. He looks around you, seeing the contents of your pouch scattered on the floor and realizes quickly what you must be searching for. Mingi takes the bag out of your hands and makes short work of checking each pocket, finally locating a bottle at the bottom of the outermost zippered section.

              “Here we go,” his voice is steady and soothing. He twists off the top and tips one into his palm, passing it to you.

              You swallow it quickly, ignoring the need for water and just trying to choke it down so you can stop the spasming panic overtaking you. Breathing heavy through your nose, you brace your hands against the wood floor and squeeze your eyes shut, willing the medication to hit your stomach and start to take effect. It doesn’t.

              Mingi comes to settle behind you and lean his back up against the wall. His warm hands close on your arms and he softly pulls you back to rest between his legs. He cocoons around you, laying your back against his broad chest and wrapping his arms around you. “Do you have a breathing exercise?” he asks, his voice an even tone.

              You shake your head once and you know you’re digging your nails into his arm, but he doesn’t flinch.

              “Follow me,” he says and rests a wide palm on your chest. “In for four,” and he deeply inhales. “Hold for four,” he stays still, “out for four,” his hot breath passes over your cheek, “hold for four.”

              He says nothing but continues to model the breathing and hold you close. You struggle to meet his exact rhythm but close your eyes and separate your mind away from everything, only the steady motion of his chest and the sound of his breath around you. Oxygen rushes your brain, dizzying but welcome, and you drop your head back against his chest as the panic starts to clear off. The combination of your medication and his breathing trick easing you out of it.

              Your hands release, dropping into your lap.

              “Good,” he murmurs, “but don’t stop.”

              You keep pace with him until the feeling of panic makes way for just exhaustion and both of your breathing returns to normal. Blinking up at him you can see the way he is resting his head against the wall, his own eyes closed. “Mingi,” you manage, and he looks down at you immediately, a kind smile on his mouth.

              “Better?” he checks.

              “Thank you,” you nod.      

              “Good,” he murmurs, unwrapping his arms from around you and giving you enough space to extricate yourself if you want to.

              You stay against his chest for a few moments more, and then push yourself forwards with shaking hands, opting to turn towards him but you’re exhausted, and you stay on your hands and knees in front of him.

              “Do you get them often?” He asks, nodding towards your pills.

              “Uh,” you search for an excuse as to why you have the medication you do. Up to this point none of them knew you had struggled with anxiety and depression, and while you knew they likely wouldn’t judge you, something about telling them fills you with fear, but Mingi is giving you the most patient and calm look and you find yourself saying, “Not as often anymore, no.”

              “Mm,” he nods, “I used to get them a lot too.”

              “You did?” You ask quickly, and while you know he had been on hiatus from the group for almost a year, you obviously don’t know the details.

              “I had to take a break and get some help,” he says it, matter of fact.

              “Did you?” you ask, “get help, that is.”

              “Yeah,” he smiles at you, “it took a lot of work, but yeah.”

              Silence stretches between you for a few moments, and you move to pack up the bag you turned over, your hands still trembling. Mingi helps, scooping up the scattered items in his hands and dropping them unceremoniously into the pouch. You sigh heavy and gather yourself, knowing the next step is standing up and putting yourself back together and explaining to everyone why you ran off.

              Mingi places a warm hand on your back and murmurs, “you’re adrenaline crashing,”

              “Yeah,”

              “Okay,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “let’s get you to bed.”

              “It’s too early,” you protest, and he shrugs.

              “You need the rest,” he stands and reaches out his hands to you, gently pulling you to your feet and pushing you to the bed. “Don’t complain,”

              “Mingi,”

              “What?” he tucks more blankets around you like he’s wrapping a burrito.

              “I don’t think I can sleep yet,” you tell him.

              “I’ll get you some water and some tea,” he says, before turning and heading out your door. He doesn’t even give you an option, so you resign yourself to letting him take care of you.

              It’s only eight, and you can hear the low timbre of Mingi’s voice talking to the other members, though you can’t make out the words. You sit up in bed, some of the blankets slipping off you. When your eyes land on your open laptop on your desk, your music mixing software still open to the track you turned into Eden earlier that day, the anxiety bubbles back. It isn’t panic this time, just a steady growing knot in your stomach and you have to wipe away tears. You drop your head back in your hands and control your breathing, not letting the tears overtake and instead just letting the feelings wash over you numbly.

              You don’t hear Mingi come back, but you feel the bed dip where he climbs in on the opposite side and you let him pull you into his arms to rest against his chest. His hand coasts firm warm strokes up your spine and he takes one of your hands in his.

              After a while he breaks the silence, “What’s got you worked up tonight?”

              You sigh against him and sniffle, swiping the sleeves of your sweatshirt against your eyes, “Just a really bad day.”

              “At work?” He asks and you pull away from him to sit up next to him. He reaches for the bedside table and passes you a cup of tea, now the perfect temperature to drink.

              “I messed up,” you murmur, “I could see it all over Eden’s face, and I just want to do well. I don’t want Hongjoong to think he made the wrong choice offering me the job, and I just want to make you all proud.”

              “Ah,” he rests a hand against your thigh, “Eden is hard to please. I’ve been on the receiving end of that face a million times, so has Hongjoong. We all have.”

              “You have?”

              “I thought he hated me for the first month I was a trainee here,” he smiles at you, “he’s a genius, but he expects a lot from everyone.”    

              “I was afraid he’d realize I don’t deserve to be here,” you confess quietly.

              Mingi shakes his head, “If he thought that you wouldn’t be here at all. He’s pushing you because he wants to see you grow, and he knows you have the ability to do it. Hongjoong knows it too. You’re still young and new to this, we had years of trainee experience before we came to KQ and it was still hard.”

              You swallow tightly and exhale through your nose, “you’re right,”

              “Yeah,” he replies, and his face says he knows it.

              “I think I was just,” you start and shift in bed to face him, “I was afraid things at KQ wouldn’t work out, and then what’s the point in me being here? And then I don’t have a place to go back to, I leased my apartment, I sold my stuff, I moved everything here.”

              “First of all,” Mingi is shaking his head and he reaches for you to still your hands and meet your eyes, “we want you here, whether you work with us or not.”

              “That’s nice, but I just don’t know how we would make it work,” you say, your anxiety getting the best of you again.

              “We’re not going to have to figure that out,” he dismisses your statement, “you’re with us. We’re with you. That was what we all wanted.”

              You pause and sigh, dropping your head against Mingi’s chest with a groan, “has anyone ever told you you’re extremely smart?”

              He chuckles, “Yeah,”

              He rubs your back softly, and you pull yourself back up. “I’m so exhausted,” you murmur.

              “I’ll let you sleep then,” he says, squeezing your hand.

              “Would you stay?” you ask suddenly, still not wanting to be alone with your thoughts.

              “Stay?” his eyes widen.

              “Just until I fall asleep?” he still says nothing, so you backpedal, “You don’t have to, I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together yet. If you’re uncomfortable or would rather,”

              He cuts you off, “y/n,”

              “Yeah-yes?”

              “Move over and get the light,”

              “Oh,” you push back onto your side and scramble for the light. The room is still somewhat illuminated from the dim light outside in the hallway, and you can see him stand to slide his jeans off before climbing under the covers with you.

              “Come here,” he reaches for you, and you move closer. You settle facing each other, but close enough for your legs to tangle together and Mingi to wrap a warm arm around you.

              “It’s been so long since I was that anxious,” you confess, “I forgot how exhausted it makes you.”

              “Mhm,” he murmurs, “it wears you out.”

              You exhale and move closer to him, “Thank you for staying,”

              His face is warm and soft, and he reaches to brush your hair away from your cheek and over your shoulder. “Have you always struggled with anxiety?”

              “Oh,” you glance down, memories swimming in your mind’s eye, “no, not always. It’s been a few years now that I’ve been dealing with things.”

              “Things?” his fingers are soft against your scalp.

              You’re not ready yet, not even close, to being able to talk about your past with these men. Despite Mingi’s warmth and how his gaze lacks any judgement, all you can manage is, “I went through a tough time about four years ago and I’ve just been trying to figure it out since,”

              He doesn’t push you, just shifts to pull you into his chest and holds you close. After a few moments he says, “I know your entire life is different now, and we’re asking a lot of you. If you need to rest, you can rest with me,”

              “Mingi,” you nuzzle closer to his chest.

              “You can lean on all of us,” he murmurs into your hair, “we lean on each other all the time. That includes you now too,”

              Tears fill your eyes again, hot and clouding your vision, and you press your eyes shut tightly and hide your face in his chest. You know he can hear you sniffling softly, probably feel the warm wet patch growing on his chest where your tears spread on his t-shirt, but he doesn’t push you. Mingi strokes your hair and lets you cry, his arms tightening a little, “y/n,” he finally says, quiet and a little nervous, “are you happy here?”

              “What?” You pull back from his chest to meet his eyes, sniffling and blinking back tears.

              Mingi smiles, a little sad and sweeps your tears away with the pad of his thumb, his hand how warmly on your cheek, “I just need you to be honest,” he says, “are you happy with us or is this too much?”

              “I’m so happy here,” you interrupt him, scrubbing your tears away with your sleeve, “I promise… this is more than I ever could have imagined. Don’t worry about that,”

              His expression clears, “Good,”

              “It’s just a bad day,” you sigh, “I have those sometimes, today was just a lot out of nowhere.”

              “Okay,” he nods, and he leans forwards to kiss your forehead, warm and lingering, before he says, “I get bad days too.”

              “What do you do?” You find yourself asking.

              “It used to run me over,” he says honestly, “but now I just let myself feel it for a bit. I don’t let it eat me up, but I sit in it for a bit, I figure it out. I don’t push it back anymore, when I did that, it would just all come back like a train at the worst times.”

              You’re nodding with him, the feeling so familiar and you squeeze his hand, “Me too,”

              “You have your mornings,” he says, and you didn’t even realize he knew about your rigorous routine, “I have my nights.”

              “You do?” You ask.

              “Mm,” he nods, relaxing into the pillows a little more so he can talk to you comfortably, “I do pilates and breathing exercises, but then after a certain time I just turn my phone off and do a little reading. Get my head clear before sleep,”

              “That’s nice,”

              Mingi shifts and runs a hand up and down your arm softly, “Do you get bad days a lot still?”

              “Not as much anymore,” you tell him honestly.

              “Do you,” he glances down and then back up to meet your gaze, “is whatever that happened four years ago something you need to talk about? Would it help?”

              A light chill runs up your spine, “No,”

              “Okay,” his hand pauses on your arm.

              “It’s honestly fine,” you press, “I just don’t like talking about it.”

              His eyes tell you he sees straight through you, and you have to look away, his exacting gaze too much to stomach. “Talk to Yunho,” he says and your head snaps back up.

              “What?”

              “If you ever need to,” he explains, “he helps.”

              You hadn’t had much of that time with Yunho yet, and so far, what you had seen of him was the bubbling fun energetic one. He was handsome, easy going, and altogether unbothered, but now that he says it plainly, you have noticed the way he watches Mingi, carefully and kindly. “Yunho helps?” You clarify.

              “He’s my best friend,” he says, “and when I took my break he was there. He’s good at helping,”

              “I like talking to you,” it slips out of you, and you don’t mean that you can’t talk to Yunho, but right now in this moment Mingi feels safe.

              “You can,” he smiles warmly and brushes your cheek, “You always can, but I don’t know that I…” he searches for the right words, “I don’t always know what to say. Yunho knows what to say.”

              “Oh,”

              “Just think about it,” he lets it be, and he sighs deeply, letting his eyes slip closed while his thumb strokes softly against your skin.

              You stay simply like this, breathing the same shared air, your muscles unlocking and relaxing one by one until you feel sunken into the mattress, heavy and sluggish. Sleep feels close, but you keep replaying the images of Yunho and Mingi in your mind. The way that Yunho watches his best friend with pride, but with a studying hesitance in his eyes – like he’s waiting for the moment he needs to swoop in.

              “Mingi,” you whisper, not sure if he’s still awake, but when you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you with an easy gaze.

              “Hmm?”

              “He seems protective of you,” It’s not necessary to explain who, he knows.

              “He is,” Mingi smiles, a little sadly, “he’s always been that way.”

              “Oh,” you nod, but Mingi continues.

              “I think he blames himself,”

              “For what?” Your mind flickers with images – your family’s faces suddenly at the forefront and you blink them away.

              Mingi pulls you closer, and you’re almost nose to nose as you murmur to each other in the dark, “We were all working really hard, and things were finally coming together for us when I had to step back. I tried to keep it together for a long time but when it finally snapped, it happened really quickly,” you slip your hand into his and hold it softly, squeezing his fingers, “He didn’t know how bad it had gotten, and I think he blames himself for not helping sooner.”

              “That’s hard,” you sigh.

              “Yeah,” Mingi tightens his hand on yours, “he’s just worried.”

              “You’re doing much better though, aren’t you?” He seemed to be, at least.

              “Much,” he nods.

              “Have you told him that?”

              “Mm,” Mingi nods, “but that’s Yunho. He’s a worrier.”

              A picture of Yunho was coming together, something much more substantial than just the self-proclaimed team vitamin and energizer. You turn the thoughts over in your mind, but before you can form something solid to say, Mingi shifts and clears his throat a little.

              “You should sleep,”

              “Yeah,” you sigh, “thank you,”

              “For what?”

              “Staying,” you answer immediately, “for earlier too. It’s been a harder transition than I thought it would be.”

              Mingi nods, but in the dim light you can’t see him well, just his outline in the dim light from under the door and the sound of him rustling against the pillow. “Y/n,” he starts, but his voice cuts off and you’re about to open your mouth and say something, but he dives forwards across the small space between you both and catches your mouth hard against his.

              Your teeth bump the inside of your upper lip a little, and you can’t help the little noise of surprise that bubbles out of you. He wraps his arms around you and draws you closer, his lips adjusting and finding the right pressure to try the kiss again. His mouth is soft, his tongue a little hesitant against yours but picking up confidence the minute you start to reciprocate. One of your hands curls into his t-shirt, pulling slightly, and you find one of your legs slotted between his to get closer.

              You sigh against him, and he breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, “Sorry,”

              “No,” you tip your head forwards and press another kiss to his lips, “I liked it,”

              “You should sleep,” he repeats, and he knows as well as you do that you’re exhausted.

              “Yeah,” you nod against his head.

              “Then let me hold you,” he adjusts his position and tucks you into his chest, dropping a kiss on your hair, “I’ll kiss you in the morning.”

              Your stomach knots at his words, nervous and fluttering and you nuzzle closer to him. His steady warmth is soothing, and it doesn’t take long for the weightless feeling of your limbs to return despite the sudden intimacy between you both.

              When you wake, it’s obvious that it’s the wrong time. Mingi sleeps heavily next to you, head back and a light snore sighing out of him with every exhale. The steady tick of the clock on your nightstand thrums like a metronome, and after minutes of holding yourself still and seeking sleep again, you start to replay the day.

              You walk through the conversation with Eden, watching his face when your edit of the track started and his passive features. Your mind replays the music, pulling it apart thread by thread. Before you know it, you’re slipping out of bed and pulling the comforter over Mingi, tossing on a heavy hoodie, and curling up in your desk chair.

              You pass your finger gently over the trackpad of your laptop and it lights up the room instantly. With a quick glance at Mingi’s still sleeping form, you lower the brightness and pull your headphones on to get to work. The clock in the bottom corner reads two-thirty, and it’s just as well, you always worked better late night. You listen to the song again, the track that was intended to be a guide version for a future comeback. You let it loop and sink into it again.

              Things start to click into place somewhere in the back of your brain and you start to adjust things, saving a new version of the file and starting to workshop it again. An hour passes around you, your eyes dry and tired but your creative juices finally flowing again. You’re focused fully when a hand drops on your shoulder and you nearly jump out of your skin, stifling a shriek with your hand clapped over your mouth.

              “Mingi!” You pull your headphones off to hang around your neck and sigh, “You scared me!”

              “Sorry,” he whispers, “I guess you didn’t hear me calling for you,”

              The music from your headphones is loud even now and you blush, pausing the track quickly and twisting in your chair to look up at him.

              “What are you doing?” he gestures with a nod of his head towards the computer.

              “Oh, uh,” you push the laptop to the side so he can see the screen a little better, “I just couldn’t stop thinking about this project and I couldn’t sleep.”

              He smiles warmly, leaning down and studying the screen a moment. “Scoot over,” he says.

              “What?”

              He taps your hip with his hand lightly, “Move,”

              You scramble up and he takes your seat. His eyes are still clouded with sleep, and his hair is sticking up every which way in the back, but you can’t help but like how handsome he is when he’s focused like this. One of his wide hands reaches around and takes your hip, drawing you back to his side and into his lap. You stumble into it, but he settles you and pulls on your headphones to listen to what you have so far.

              You open your mouth to explain your choices, clarify that it’s unfinished, but he holds a hand up to stop you and presses play with a click of the spacebar. As the song plays, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, now fully settled onto his lap, and he drops his chin onto your shoulder while he listens. When it ends, he loops it back, his fingers dancing on the keys suddenly as he plays a section over and over again. He pulls off one ear of the headphones and angles to look at your face, “What did Eden say exactly?”

              “Not much,” you sigh, “but this isn’t what he heard, he heard this one,” you slide your hands onto the keys and queue up the old version of the song, Mingi’s warm hand coming to settle on top of yours and he nudges the headphone back over his ear with his shoulder and closes his eyes to listen.

              When it finishes, he hums and low sound of understanding and pulls the headphones free, “The new one is better.”

              “I know,” you sigh.

              “It’s a lot tighter,” he continues, “but there’s something,” he chews on his bottom lip slightly and taps his fingers against the desk as he thinks.

              “What?”

              “This is our next title track,” he says, “Eden would never let someone junior have this much creative control over the guide version.”

              “What?” You twist in his lap to look him in the eyes, “I mean he asked me,”

              “I know he did, I’m just surprised. He’s never done that before, and we’ve had junior production staff.” Mingi observes, one hand softly stroking the bare skin of your thigh.

              You take in his words, staring at your laptop screen and it hits you, “It’s a test.”

              “Mm,” Mingi nods.

              “He’s not going to use it, he wants to see what I’d do with it,” you shake your head, “I can’t believe him.”

              Mingi shakes his head, “I should have guessed,”

              “He wants to see if I’ll bring him back a new version, and he wants to see if it’ll be better, doesn’t he?” You twist around in his lap again and study his expression.

              A small smile quirks on his mouth and he nods, “He has a way of getting the best out of you, and you don’t even know he’s doing it.”

              “Fuck,” you can’t help the sudden curse and the laugh that bubbles up in your chest, “I seriously thought I was just a failure for a second.”

              “No, the first version isn’t bad,” he says, “but the second one is more interesting. Here,” His arms reach out around you, and he pulls the headphones over your ears.

              With you tucked into his chest, he navigates the song and isolates a fifteen second section to replay you. When it runs through three times he reaches around and picks things up where you left off. He saves a fresh copy of the song, and starts to tweak it, and then he lifts off the right side of your headphones, “What would you change here?”

              You work steadily alongside him until sunlight starts to filter into your room, and the song starts to feel finished, maybe not perfect, but so much closer to what you wanted. When you press save for a final time Mingi nudges you and leans back in your chair, dragging you back with him to lean against his chest, “I think you should give it to him today.”

              “Yeah?”

              “Why not?” he shrugs, “if it’s a test, ace it.”

              You grin, sighing against him, “I’m sorry you didn’t get much sleep,”

              “It’s fine,” he kisses the side of your head, “it was worth it.”

              One of his hands continues to stroke the soft skin of your thigh, the other splayed wide across your belly, his fingertips just barely brushing the skin of your stomach where the sweatshirt has ridden up on one side. You shift in his lap just slightly, and as you do you feel the telltale twitch of something hard and warm under you. Mingi clears his throat and tries to subtly move you so that you’d be situated on one of his thighs and not directly centered on his lap, but all it does is drag you against his half hard cock again.

              Reaching down you still his movements with one hand on his thigh, and you arch your back gently, rolling your hips once against him, and you’re rewarded with another twitch, firmer this time as he comes to a full erection.

              He says nothing, but you feel his legs widen their stance underneath you, and he slides his hands over your body slowly, holding your hips and rocking you back onto him again. His own hips jut up, thrusting his hard cock against your ass through the layers of clothing.

              “Mm,” you sigh pleasantly, fingers tightening on his thigh again, and you let your head fall back onto his broad shoulder.

              He seems hesitant, just like the kiss from the night before. His hand slides back to its previous position over your stomach and presses down slightly so you roll your body against him again. Mingi slips his fingers under the waistband of your sleep shorts, just an inch, his eyes on you and looking for some kind of confirmation that you want to do more than just innuendo.

              Settling your free hand over his, you guide his hand down, slipping under your shorts and further still under the soft fabric of your panties. Your hand is much smaller than his, but you keep yours resting on top of his when you navigate him lower, pressing his middle and ring fingers down through your folds to find the hard button of your clit.

              You can feel him breathing behind you, hear his shallow exhales, and you expect him to move but he doesn’t quite yet, he simply watches. He’s still hard underneath you, jerking his hips with little thrusts every so often just to get some friction on his cock, and you press down more with your fingers to apply pressure to your already aching clit. When you prompt him to circle his fingers he snaps back, and his free arm tightens around you, the rough pads of his fingers working your nub and earning an instant flush of blush through you and warmth in your core.

              “Oh,” you widen your legs, and he helps you hook each one over his to hold you open. His lips descend on your neck, nuzzling and sucking at your throat, his fingers darting low to dip into your entrance and dragging the wetness back up to your clit.

              Mingi leans back a little more, your desk chair tipping backwards just slightly but his feet are still firmly planted on the ground and holding you steady. In this position your feet don’t come close to the floor, and you’re fully supported and held by his hands and his broad chest.

              His fingers speed up slightly and your hand falls away, gripping his other thigh. “More?” His voice comes so low against your ear that you shudder and can only manage a nod, your breath coming in shallow pants. He presses more firmly, rocking his hand faster, and you can’t help but work your hips along with him.

              “Oh god, oh god,” you stammer, hot pressure curling in your core, “please don’t stop,”

              Mingi groans softly behind you, every thrust of your hips into his hand also brushing against his cock. He snakes a hand up under your hoodie and pulls down the top of the sports bra you had fallen asleep in, freeing one of your breasts so he can palm it, knead it softly, and then focus his attentions on your pert nipple. Pleasure darts from your chest down to your core and you feel yourself close, the pressure tightening inside you.

              He dips his fingers to bring more of your wet slick up against your clit and you keen, arching back against him and whimpering, your cheek now pressed against his as you strain, simultaneously trying to get closer to his hand and your hips forcing themselves away. When you come, it’s hard and fast and you jerk forwards, your legs tightening to close and Mingi holds you close and steady, keeping your legs open wide and working his hand quickly to crest you up into your orgasm.

              When he’s sure you’re through it, his fingers slow and still, sliding out of your shorts. He readjusts your sports bra so that you’re tucked back in and shifts to just wrap his arms around you tightly, lips resting on your shoulder.

              “Oh my god,” you sigh into him, boneless and warm, “you’re good at that,”

              He laughs hard against your shoulder, shaking his head, “you’re cute,”

              As the haze starts to clear, you feel him still hard against you and you turn your head to kiss him, slowly working your mouth against his and sighing into him. His hands tighten, and you rock your hips against his length again, wetness pooling in your core at the feeling of him.

              Mingi groans, his tongue dragging against yours and punctuating the sound with a thrust of his hips when the sharp sound of your alarm echoes through the room.

              You break apart, and his hands move to still your hips.

              “We have time,” you tell him, “Let me help you at least,”

              He shakes his head, craning back and checking the time, “We have an early schedule, I really can’t.”

              “Are you sure?”

              He sighs into your neck and presses a kiss to your skin, “Yeah, I’m just going to get the coldest shower of my life,”

              You smile and turn your head to kiss him softly once more, “Rain check, then,”

              “Yeah,” he squeezes your hips and then lifts you off, sitting up and easing you off his lap.

               You click off your alarm and sweep your hair up into a bun, and when you look back up at him you can’t help but blush. He’s still hard and straining against his boxers and you clear your throat glance away, he’s clearly bigger than you expected, and you can’t help the way your muscles tense up at the thought of him inside you.

              “Come here,” Mingi pulls you towards him by the hand and kisses you again, quicker this time but still warm, a hum on his lips when he leans away, “I’ve got to get ready,”

              “Go,” you tell him, nodding, “we’ll pick this up another time.”

              He slips out of your room quietly, smiling back at you, and you hear his footsteps fade away, the shower turning on not long after.

              You move through your morning routine with ease now, yoga mat down and headphones in. You spend a little extra time on your breathing routine this morning, steadying yourself after last night’s anxiety attack, but spending the night with Mingi had helped more than you knew it would.

              When you finish and head out into the kitchen, Yeosang still isn’t up yet, and with their early schedule it’s possible that you might not actually get your morning with him after all. You move slowly through the kitchen, grabbing an apple out of the basket on the counter to wash and bite into, and start making coffee for yourself and tea for Yeosang.

              You’re pouring the hot water into his mug when you hear him enter the kitchen, “You’re up earlier than me,” he comments, leaning into you and kissing your temple.

              “I woke up at two-something,” you hand him his cup and you watch his brow furrow in concern.

              “Are you alright?” He sets his mug down at his usual place and returns to your side, “I was worried about you last night.”

              “I’m good now,” you tell him honestly, “it was just a tough day,”

              “But you couldn’t sleep?” He cups your cheek.

              “Kind of,” you admit, “but it was good I got some work done on something that was bothering me,”

              “Don’t overdo it,” he reminds you, “I could see that something was upsetting you yesterday.”

              “It’s okay now,” you lean in and kiss him first, “I promise,”

              Yeosang nods against your lips and reciprocates, holding you close and his kiss more tender and searching than usual. He pulls away after a moment and takes his tea, “I don’t have long, we all have to leave in about twenty minutes.”

              The big block of time on your shared calendar together reminds you they’ll be gone for most of the day into the late evening, a long day of filming and travel. Ji-Ah had lamented the early wake up when you talked to her at dinner the other night, and even Iseul seemed like it was going to be a challenging day even though you rarely saw her ruffled.

              “Just relax then,” you tell him, “Can I get you something to eat?”

              He shakes his head, “No, we’ll figure that out on the go.”

              “If you’re sure,” you move to finish fixing your coffee now that it’s done brewing. You’re reaching back into the fridge to put the cream back when you’re pulled back from the cold door and into a broad tall back, Mingi’s arms wrapping around you.

              He hums pleasantly in your ear and kisses the hollow below, his fingers squeezing you softly as he curls over you from behind. You light up with a giggle, surprised but happy to be in his arms again and you cuddle back into him, “Hey,” you sigh.

              “You’re too cute,” he kisses your neck, “now I can’t keep my hands off you.”

              Blush flares up your cheeks when you realize he’s being so affectionate and forward in the very public space of the kitchen with Yeosang mere feet away, and you slap his arm softly, “Mingi!”

              “What?” His voice sounds pouty.

              You step to extricate yourself from his arms, but he holds you firmly, but the side-stepping motion has you both turn away from the fridge and counter towards the rest of the kitchen facing out to the main living space. You blush deepens when you realize you have more of an audience than you realized.

              Yunho and San stand together, and while San has a knowing, wry smile on his lips, Yunho looks more surprised than anything, and you wonder if he’s ever really seen Mingi with a girl before or even really a crush before. You know they’ve dated before you, but this type of intimacy usually doesn’t have your best friend as an audience member.

              Yeosang is smiling into his tea, suppressing a laugh, and you catch Hongjoong behind them rushing into the room and gathering his things scattered around the shared living into his backpack. It takes him a minute, but he catches sight of you both too and stops short.

              “What?” Mingi asks the group, shrugging but not letting you go.

              “This is new,” San chuckles, and he sighs, “also very cute,”

              “Oh my god,” you drop a hand over your face.

              “Mingi, you’re late,” Hongjoong says, a pointed look on his face and you realize that Mingi is behind you wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, his skin still somewhat damp from the shower and his hair dripping on you.

              “Fine, fine,” he grumbles, dropping a wet kiss on your cheek before untangling himself and jogging out of the room.

              Yunho watches him go and smiles, shaking his head. You’re about to try and say something now that Mingi’s left you alone and blushing in the middle of the kitchen, but San who is already cleaned up and ready to go for the day moves in to kiss you, “Good morning,”

              “Morning,” you kiss him back, but it’s quick, and he slides past you into the kitchen to fix himself some coffee.

              You clear your throat and look back up at the rest of them, “Can I get anyone coffee for the road? I know you have to leave soon,”

              Yunho nods, “Do you mind?”

              “No, no, I got it. Hongjoong?” You start to fire up the espresso machine and pull down a few of their travel cups from the cupboards.

              “Um, yeah, yes, Americano?”

              “Got it,”

              Yeosang finishes off his tea quickly and deposits the mug in the sink, pressing a kiss to your hair, “I’m heading out, but have a good day at work.”

              “You too, be safe,” you catch him for one more quick kiss, and he smiles wide before recovering and heading out of the room.

              San slides close, reaching across you for the sugar for his coffee, and you know he must be tired if he’s choosing to have any caffeine. You focus on finishing the first cup of coffee for Yunho, the room behind you getting louder as the rest of the boys pile into the room and get organized for their long days. You can hear the voice of one of their managers splitting them up into the appropriate cars and reiterating that they had to leave in ten minutes, no exceptions.

              “I’ll see you tonight,” you murmur to San, knocking him with your hip slightly and he grins at you.

              He nods, “You might be asleep by the time we get home, but we’ll text you.”

              “Okay,” at the sound of their manager rallying Wooyoung and Jongho into their shoes you laugh and give San another nudge, “you better get going. Stay safe,”

              He parts with a kiss, and you finish putting the lids on Yunho and Hongjoong’s travel cups. Mingi skids back into the room behind you and grabs your attention though one last time as he yanks a sweatshirt over his head.

              “Hey,” he kisses you quick, “I left you something on your desk, so check it before work.”

              What he would have left you, you have no idea, but you nod, “Okay, sure.”

              “Remember what we talked about,” he says, and you feel a sudden flutter of nerves knowing the rest of the boys are within earshot, “and… text me if you need to. I don’t want you to feel,”

              “I’m okay,” you interrupt him, “just focus on the shoot.”

              He nods and kisses you once more before heading back to the door and out to one of the waiting vans. Yunho approaches slowly then, and you pass over his coffee. “You better get going,” you tell him.

              He accepts it gratefully, but catches your hand in his for a moment, “See you tonight,” he says, even though it looks like there’s something else there, something held back on his tongue that he’s not saying.

              “Tonight,” you squeeze his hand, “now, go before your manager blames me for making you all late.”

              You turn the tone positive again, cheerful, and he seems to relax. He kisses your forehead quickly and throws you a wink, turning cheeky again before he’s out the door behind the rest of them.

              You’re left with Hongjoong, and he calls over his shoulder to let them manager know he’s grabbing one more thing before he ducks in the kitchen with you. The same tension knot from the night before locks in your gut and you pass his coffee over quietly, still a little nervous about what he said and what might have been shared between him and Eden the day before.

              “y/n,” he starts, but seems to struggle to find the right words.

              “Don’t worry, just get going or you’ll be late,” you smile, trying to lighten the tension.

              “Can we talk later?” He asks.

              “Of course, Hongjoong,”

              “I owe you an apology,” he says, his voice soft.

              “You really, really don’t,” you reach for him, resting your hand on his arm, “It was just a tough day, but I’m a big girl.”

              “I still feel terrible, I know I upset you,” his eyes flick down.

              “It’s okay,” you shake your head and squeeze his arm softly, “I’m good. I have a new version to show Eden today, I worked on it last night.”

              “You what?” He looks back up, eyebrows raised high, “You do?”

              “Yeah,” you nod, “so don’t be worried about me. I’ll even text you and tell you what he thinks, okay?”

              “Okay,” he agrees, “you better.”

              “I will, now go before someone drags you out of here.” With a glance at the clock you can see for once Hongjoong is running a few minutes later than everyone else, and you’re sure none of them will let him live it down.

              “You’re right, okay,” he steps back, “thank you for the coffee.”

              He’s gone in a flash, and you’re alone once more in the quiet dorms. You have an hour before you have to leave for work, and you finish your coffee slowly at the counter, thinking through your day. It isn’t until you are rushing to pack up your bag to meet your ride that you remember that Mingi left you something.

              You scan the desk quickly and then you see it. A note is tucked under the corner of your medication bottle, and you read the hasty writing quietly to yourself.

              Take these with you today, just in case.

              Call me if you need to.

              Pass the test. Give Eden the song. It’s good.

              Your fingers pass over his handwriting as you read it again, and again. Pass the test.

              You slip the bottle into your bag, tuck Mingi’s note in your pocket, and go to work.

💌 - taglist:  @butterfliesinthenightsky @stitch3s @flowerboykun @theartofhotchinthesnow @spookydanielle @mangislovur @inarinabina @justanotherkpopstanlol @parkurhope @bikou0327 @teti-menchon0604 @becauseiloveyunho @stardustmoonlightteaandbooks @yeosangsbiceps @auhhrii @multifandomizer @softsugababes @amazingly-amazing-loser @bangtanxberm @nyxmoon @xosim @arkive78 @elk-1998 @tenebrisirae @mysticfire0435 @jo-hwaberry @ddeonghwva @meginthebuilding27 @sookacc @noonaishere @lucenchan @asjkdk @yunhosprettyhand @realliquanzhe @simplyaghostsworld @blueevelvt @8tinytings

#into the aurora fic #into the aurora series #ateez series #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez x reader #ot8 x reader

[hitlikehammers]

WIP Tag Game

RULES: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I was tagged by the lovely @apomaro-mellow a WHILE AGO and missed it, and the inimitable @hbyrde36 today so—let's do this:

fuck google sideways with a toffee apple on a stick; Pt 11

ozh'esta

psychiatric greenhouse 

Valentine's Exchange

you take the high road (I'll take the low road)

RBB

time has come now to stop being human (find a new creature to be)

zero-pressure tags: @pearynice @miraculousmultifan @soaringornithopter @dreamwatch @tboyeddie @blubblesandink @penny00dreadful

Snippet as proof of commitment:

See okay, here’s the thing: Steve’s felt out for his Soulmate since he was a kid, since that day at his Pop’s bedside where he learned what it means to reach and how it was sacred and had to be used with caution and then through the years when he was scared and he needed to check and know, and then after his life cracked down the middle and the world opened to monsters and shit and it was all the time that he felt for his Soulmate and his actually-not-his-Soulmate-in-the-end: they reached back. So Steve knows what his Soulmate feels like. He knows what his Soulmate’s always felt like. He’d learned it as a child, it grew with him and into him all at once, and he’s reached for it through all these years. Same frequency, always: he knew what he was looking for, and he found it. He reached for Eddie on the brink of fucking death because he knew where to tune the dial, he knew exactly how to reach, but also; he knew the song. He knew the chords, he knew the singular notes that were only his Soulmate. Only were Eddie.

#hitlikehammers writes #hitlikehammers v words #tag game #wip weekend

[mxngldmxdnsss]

The Hunt - series

Chap 4. Thinkin Bout You - Recom Miles Quaritch

LMFAO i couldn’t find a song to match the chapter so I just went with this also I had the best mango smoothie while writing this omg

pairing - recom miles quaritch x omatikaya!fem!reader

cw! masturbation

sexual content ahead : proceed with caution!

Taking a shot at your plan was a complete and utter fail. You felt your face warm with embarrassment after the days events. Today you were supposed to help the Colonel learn more of your language.

You two spent the whole time bickering over whether or not he was horrible at speaking Na’vi. Laughing when you heard his accent meshing with the words. Eventually Miles had enough and left, leaving you to your own accord. Telling you over his shoulder that Spider might be a better teacher.

You figured he wouldn’t come back so you laid back down in your cot and got comfortable. What you didn’t expect was for the thought of Miles to purge your brain. Being so up close and personal to you. You almost died when he would lean in, trying to soak up whatever sounds and vowels you made. You could smell him even at a distance, it you feel tingly inside.

Swallowing nervously at the thought, you pulled a blanket over yourself and tried to sleep. Only for the images of Miles become even dirtier. You could picture him doing just about anything and it would make you burn up inside. Just him glowering down at you made your thighs tickle. It was wrong, you knew this, but the fantasy you were replaying inside your head was even worse.

You could picture Miles, pushing you face down and tail up as you two mated for the first time. It was exciting, feeling your stomach churn at the thought. Maybe he’d push your belly into the grass and take you like that. Or maybe against a tree. Or perhaps in one. You squeezed eyes closed, not wanting to be distracted from getting rest, but it only worsened.

Sitting up, you took a look around the room, making sure there were no cameras hidden within a corner. Laying back down your dipped your hand beneath the blanket and pulled your bottom to the side. Shuddering when you felt how wet you were. After a hesitant moment, you ran your fingers down your slit and stopped when you reached your clenching hole. You’d done this before but for some reason, with Miles on your mind, the action was somewhat intimidating. Pushing your fingers into your cunt, you whimpered out.

Giving yourself time to adjust, you began to thrust your digits inside. Panting out, you brought your legs up, clenching your thighs together around your arm. You kept the image of Miles in your head, feeling your walls clench around your fingers when you brought back the fantasy from before.

You moved your other hand beneath the sheet and began your best effort at rubbing your clit, hoping for a quicker release. Finally you felt a pressure release in your belly and you rode out your orgasm with a soft moan.

You were embarrassed to find you’d soiled your sheets, the damp area a soft white sheen. Bringing your out of the blanket, you did your best to wipe off the remaining slick before relaxing against the pillow. You began to drift off to sleep, only to be surprised by Spider and the Colonel.

You heard the sound of the door creaking, and with it the sound of even louder arguing. Gasping, you jumped up from your spot and fixed the blankets. You hoped they wouldn’t notice the redness of your cheeks, or the look on your face of horror. Before you could compose yourself correctly, Spider bounded over to you, angrier than ever.

“Y/n, you’ve gotta take him back. You’re a better teacher than I am.” You sighed waiting for the two to calm down in order to explain to you why they were bickering. “It ain’t my fault you’re bad teacher.” It was ridiculous, watching them fight like five year olds.

“Fine.” You spoke, voice cracking as you blocked off their view of your cot. The two perked up and looked at you. With Spider smiling triumphantly and Miles looking annoyed as ever. You watched as Spider began to make his way back to the doorway. Confused when Miles sat atop the table in the room.

Nervously you bid Spider goodbye and looked back at Miles, his face bore a weary expression. Almost as if he was going to regret what he was going to tell you. “Is everything alright Colonel?”

Miles sighed and looked back up at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Tomorrow, we have a task.” You tilted your head, frowning as he stood and paced around the room. “What kind of task?” You followed after Miles, watching his shoulders tense when he realized you were behind him. His tail swished from side to side in an aggravated manner. “Colonel?” Your voice was meek and filled with underlying fear.

Before you could begin to muster another question, Miles stopped abruptly and turned to you. He glared down at you. “We’ve tracked a signal of something to the water clans. You’re going to help interpret for us.” Your breath caught in your throat. There’s no way. The Sullys would never let themselves be tracked like this. They’re careful.

But why did they bed you, Spider was fluent in Na’vi. Though you’d guessed why they might need you. Na’vi weren’t exactly trusting of any humans, your presence may calm them. You gaze fell onto the floor, too choked up to answer the Colonel face to face. “Okay.”

After hearing Miles leave your room, you made your way back to your bed. Sitting down with your face in your hands. What force were they going to use on these innocent tribes. You saw what they could do. And it was only a matter of time before they tracked Sully down now that they had his relative location. You could only try to catch your breath and fight down the horror for what you were going assist in.

Chap 5. Decode

#Spotify #recom miles quaritch #avatar miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #thinkin bout you #frank ocean #the hunt series

[saturnsorbits]

How Do you like your Eggs in the Morning?

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Somnophilia, One Really Bad Cheesy Joke. Word Count: 700 words.

Summary: Kaminari knows the best way to wake you up.

Kaminari always wakes up too early. It's a symptom of the job, a life of early patrols and urgent morning call-out's will do that to even the most resilient night owls and he is no different.

The birds have barely began their morning song when he rolls over, hands reaching out for your sleeping form. It's almost a routine, how he gently slips a palm over your side to cup a breast, kneading the flesh and encouraging a nipple to pebble in his fingertips. There's a familiar ache in-between his thighs as he rolls you onto your back and ever so quietly manoeuvres himself over you. He pushes open your thighs and kneels between them, taking a second to marvel at just how peaceful you look.

Your lips are parted, eyes closed shielding you from the sun that is beginning to rise and throw light through your window, but your cunt is wet. You're always wet for him, always willing and pliant, your body always ready to take his no matter the time or place. It's something he loves about you, just how eager you always are. Even now as you bask in your steady slumber, ignorant to the gentle kisses and touches he lays on your body, you're burning so pretty for him.

He runs a thumb over your clit, smirking as you breathing picks up, catching in your throat for a second before you swallow it and resume your snoring. Continuing his assault, he draws a handful more casual circles on your clit, careful not to apply too much pressure and wake you. Working you open with his fingers is a little more tricky. He has to ease his way in, press against the spongy roof of your cunt and stop, at least twice, save disrupting you and ruining the moment. When he finally slips in, stretching you open on his cock, he can hardly suppress the groan that rips through his chest. He rocks his hips against yours, bottoming out on his third thrust and earning himself a surprised moan as you come too already wrapped around him.

'Denki...' Your voice is distant, laden with sleep and heavy in the back of your throat as a gasp cuts off the rest of your speech. His cock splits you open deliciously and by the time you're aware of what's going on, you're already so close to falling apart it's almost painful. You love waking up like this, with his hands bruising your hips and his cock already working you up, dragging along your walls and making your thighs shake.

'Morning, baby.' He's out of breath when he says it, the pet name tripping off his tongue in between pants as your cunt squeezes around him, begging for his release. 'You gonna -.' A moan shakes his throat. 'You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna make my morning perfect, huh?'

You nod frantically and force your head back against the pillow as your orgasm rocks through you. Your sleep addled brain struggles to keep up, reducing your body to a shivering mess as he continues to fuck you.

Chasing his own orgasm, he picks up his pace using your body to please his own. He ruts against you relentlessly, driving his cock deeper and deeper inside of your soaking cunt as he nears his own edge. It takes a few more sloppy thrusts, his thighs flexing as buries himself to the hilt and then, he's cumming and filling you with thick strings of white. His stomach twitches, the muscle there almost vibrating as he curls himself over, jaw clenched as his balls pull up trying to fill you to the brim. Panting, he chews at his lip before placing a gentle kiss to your lips.

'Don't say it.' You mutter as soon as he pulls back, eyebrows raised into high archs.

He smirks, making his dick twitch inside of you.

'Denki.' You caution, but you already know it's too late. Throwing an arm over your face, you roll your eyes and groan when he makes the same joke he always does.

He shrugs, refusing to squash the dumb smile on his face. 'S'not my fault I like my eggs fertilised in the mornings.'

-> Masterlist

#kaminari x reader #kaminari x reader smut #Kaminari smut #denki smut #saturnsorbits #saturnscribbles