#The Sports Sewer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fictionismyreality3 · 2 months ago

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Not Going Anywhere

Warnings: romance and every that comes with it, SMUT SMUTTY SMUT, daddy kink

Notes: you know who you are babes 💕💖

Your initial meeting with John Price had been embarrasing. A broken heel and a sewer grate in front of a military base didn't exactly make the best combination. But he had been a gentleman.

The offending shoe had been rescued and you left with a number and a new contact in your phone, one that he'd insisted on creating himself. One date turned to two, and soon you found yourself moving in with him months later. Domestic bliss was a good way to put it.

Still, even after 8 months, there was a lingering voice in the back of your head. Bitter, cruel, it spoke to you in whispers as you laid in bed, watching John’s sleeping face. It churned in the back of your mind, stirring that old, sour feeling you'd tried to contain in the corner of your brain. No matter how many times John consoled you, murmuring praises in your ear, worshipping your soft heart and soft body, the scab on your old insecurities remained.

And you couldn't help but pick at it.

Call it self-sabotage, but you curled in on yourself anytime you saw what you thought was a better, prettier version of you. Despite the glares John would send to the bubbly young waitresses who batted their eyes at him, you couldn't help but wonder why his arm was around you. Why did he stay with you?

He saw the doubt in your eyes, but he loved you. And he would prove it over and over again.

“Luv, I tell you every time. Get whatever y’want.”

Staring down at the menu, your eyes darted from the salad to the bacon slathered burger you wanted to order. The perky waitress stared down at you, an impatient grin plastered on her face. She twirled her hair, eying John while she kept tap, tap, tapping her stupid pen on her note pad.

"I'd like a-"

"We have really great salads, you know."

Fucking bitch.

"No, I think I'll take the-" The blonde ignored you as you opened your mouth, chattering on. "Just cause, you know.. you look like you could use it." She smiled.

John's gaze flickered up at that, a glower on his face. Suddenly, the menu was no longer very interesting.

"She'll have the fuckin' burger." The waitress paled, his harsh tone standing out in the air of the fancy restaurant.

"You'd know tha' if you actually let her fuckin' speak."

John saw it in the way that you carried yourself. The tight-lipped smile that you so often wore, expecting to fade into the shadows, unseen and unobserved. So he made sure to keep you in his sights at all times.

He was used to having eyes on him, year after year being the one people looked up to, the person people sought out if there was a problem. He was used to being seen. And he was comfortable with it, more comfortable than you could ever be. John saw the way you shrank yourself, wanting to rip his hair out any time somebody made you feel smaller. You were something made to be worshipped. People would be singing praises and scraping their knees in reverence if he had any say.

But you'd kill him if he put you in the spotlight.

The jangling of the doorknob had his head snapping up. Almost dropping the dishtowel he was holding into the frying pan, he scrambled over to the door.

His cock stirred in his pants at the sight of you. Messy hair, messy eyes, messy face. Your water bottle, keys, wallet, and scrunchie all held precariously in one had. God, he could forget the whole dinner and just take you then and there in the hallway of your apartment building. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd tried. Huffing out a breath, the thought was shaken from his head. Later.

Later.

"John?" The cute, bashful grin he was sporting let you know he was up to no good. "What's going on?"

Purse taken and set aside, your coat followed suit as his large hands guided you by the hips into the living room. Flickering candlelight painted the walls, a spread straight out of a Martha Stewart catalogue decorated the table.

"Thought I'd give you a little suprise, luv."

John held his breath. Was it too much? Should he have gotten a strawberry cake instead of chocolate? Did you still like red wine? Maybe it was too much. He could put it all away and just set up a movie. He could-

"You did all this for me?"

"I.. yeah, luvie." Your voice cracking had his heart squeezing in alarm, but the curl of your lip made him feel a little better about putting a foot wrong. "Is.. s'that okay?" Tentative. Unsure of himself for the first time in his life. He would let you take the lead, decide how much of yourself you wanted to bare to him.

"It's perfect, John." Cracked hearts sewn together. "It's perfect."

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

"Tha's it." John crooned. "Cum f'me one more time, birdie."

He'd said just one more two orgasms ago. Tumbling into bed had been a very good, and bad idea. Now he was splitting you open with his fingers, scissoring them inside of you with an expert touch. The sheets had long been soaked with your sweetness, the sight of you breathless and drooling permanently ingrained in John's brain.

Curling his thick fingers to hit that delicious spot that had you squealing, John revelled in the sounds you were making, groaning out his own pleasure as he watched you fall apart all over again.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Vaguely, in some all too cognizant part of your mind, you recall begging John to let you take care of him. The plea had been shot down so fast you wondered if you'd gotten a syllable out before he was nose deep in your pussy, eating you out like his very life depended on it. That seemed like forever ago.

"Where y'goin, hmm, sweet girl?" You blinked up at John, trying to focus through the searing pleasure. "You still with me?"

"Yeah."

Taking that as confirmation enough, Price wrapped his hands around the softness of your thighs, lifting them up and pressing them back so your knees were beside your ears. His eyes softened, one of his hands coming to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking just under the curls of your eyelashes.

"Gonna make y'feel good now, okay, little one?"

Slowly, torturously, John split you open with his cock. Inch by inch, he bullied his way in, your walls clenching and fluttering around him like you were made to take his girth. Hushing your hissed whimpers, his lips left a lingering kiss to your forehead. And then he was pitching foreward without warning.

"J-John-"

All of him, right to the back of you so you could feel him in your throat. His eyes were glued to where your already cutely plush stomach rounded from the size of him. Pupils blown out, he reached down to touched where your tummy bulged with each thrust. Rushing into his head like a runaway train, the thought of making you plump and round with his baby had his hips stuttering.

'No, not John, sweetie." Heavy balls slapped your skin, John leaning foreward you nip at your neck. "Y'know my name."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Daddy, p-please."

"Gonna make you a mama, huh?" A rough finger circled your clit.

"Gonna fill you up nice an' round with my kids." His head was spinnning.

"Fuckin' breed you-" John's cock twitched inside of you, his jaw hanging open as he panted in your ear.

"Cum in me." You squealed. "Cum in me, daddy! Please-"

Snap.

Growling out a curse, John's cock slammed into you with a pace so brutal, so deep you thought you might just pass out. His hands pushed your thighs down further, streching you, molding you into the perfect position to take his cum.

"Cum on this cock, baby." The blooming heat in your cunt grew to an inferno. "Cum 'round daddy's cock."

His hand tangled in your hair as you pulsed around him, screaming and twitching as he worked you through the most mind-melting orgasm of your life. Toes curling, your eyes rolled back and you squirted all over his abs, wetness coating him like a permanent brand. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix, cum pumping into your pretty pussy.

Breathless as he pulled you to his chest, he knew he would do anything to keep you like this. Safe. Sure. There would never be a day where you were worrying about being secure in your life, in yourself, not if he could make sure of it.

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theturtlelovers · 9 months ago

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のﾚﾘﾶｱﾉᄃ 丂乇ﾒ

Pairing: Leo/fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Contents: Leo gets injured during patrol and he gets in the mood for some love making time Warnings: 18+, mdni, brief mention of blood from a wound, hickeys, creampies, unprotected p in v (wrap it up peeps) Wordcount: 4,139 Sentence Prompt: # 14 + 67

𝕊𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕤

Notes: Wow, this one actually took quite some time to finish, and I'm surprised by the word count. I believe this might be the post with the highest word count I have so far!

He didn't intend to get injured; it was purely accidental, or at least that's what Leo assured you. You had no reason to doubt him, aware that he prided himself on emerging from skirmishes unscathed. When you've inquired before, he likened the sensation of a human punch to a light slap. His tough, scaled skin rendered him relatively impervious to the average human's blows, which were what he typically faced on patrols during robberies, inmate escapes, and the like.

This time, the incident involved a random drunk man who had been ejected from a bar. The turtles happened to be passing by when they noticed the bar owner, looking quite irritated, forcibly escorting the inebriated individual outside. Sensing potential trouble as he observed the man stagger away, Leo dispatched Donnie and Raph to carry on with their patrol while he and Mikey hung back to ensure the drunk didn't cause any further disturbances.

Unfortunately, the drunk man did cause trouble, picking a fight with a teenager who accidentally bumped into him. Observing the youth's attire, Leo guessed aloud that the kid was likely on his way home from a late basketball game, given the sport's uniform he was wearing.

As was their nature, Leo and Mikey sprang into action without hesitation. The teenager took the opportunity to flee during the scuffle, which was for the best since he didn't need to be involved in the first place. Mikey initiated his peace-making efforts, his good-hearted nature leading him to let down his guard to appear friendlier. However, approachable as a mutant turtle might be, he was still an unusual sight for a drunk man grappling with the fear he was hallucinating. Blinded by alcohol-fueled rage, the man suddenly drew a Glock from his pants and pointed it at Mikey.

Fear and panic were emotions Leo found unfamiliar and unsettling. When moment April found them—though it was more of a rediscovery, considering she had known them prior to their mutation—he was primarily concerned with how she would react with the information of their existence, knowing she posed no physical threat to them. He hadn’t genuinely felt them until the Foot Clan blasted a hole in their sewer home, Shredder nearly beat their father to death, and he and the two youngest were captured like animals. Raph was missing, and in the midst of his concern for his siblings, Leo had little capacity to consider his whereabouts. Luckily, that situation was settled with Shredder's defeat and Sacks' arrest.

That heightened sense of awareness, once sparked, never truly faded for Leo. The persistent fear that someone could tear his family apart lingered constantly in the back of his mind. Your support during their moments of respite was invaluable; you had a gift for easing his anxieties, reassuring him of his strengths and the progress his brothers were making in self-defense. And even though you seldom mentioned it, understanding his mixed feelings on the matter, you once suggested that his brothers might eventually collaborate with the police force individually, rather than always as a team.

However, when Leo saw the gun aimed at Mikey, his youngest and sweetest brother, those feelings of fear and panic surged anew, compelling him to act instinctively. He positioned himself in front of Mikey, turning to shield them both with his shell. The sight of a second towering turtle startled the inebriated man into a frenzy, and in his alarm, he fired the Glock.

Mikey remained unharmed, but the bullet found its mark in Leo's thigh.

Just as quickly the situation happened, the man was apprehended and placed into police custody.

Ironically, Leo didn't even notice he'd been injured until Donnie brought it to his attention back at their lair. The wound appeared more severe than it actually was; it hadn't struck any vital arteries or tendons. Yet, as a surface wound, it bled profusely, likely exacerbated by adrenaline and his continued movement. Donnie easily fished out the bullet and stitched up the wound.

As Leo sat on the couch, he silently brooded, carefully masking his emotions while watching Raph and Mikey play video games. It was clear to anyone that Mikey felt guilty about the incident. Leo appreciated that Mikey was taking responsibility, acknowledging that his passive approach had escalated the situation, and offering a heartfelt apology. Despite this, a sting remained—not from the physical pain of the injury, which was linked to Mikey's inaction, but from the realization that Mikey was maturing. They were all growing up and evolving, a fact that brought both pride and a poignant sense of change.

Over the years, Raph had mellowed significantly. His anger became more focused during fights rather than exploding unpredictably like a tank's heat round. He even earned the trust to lead the team on some nights when the intensity was manageable. Leo vividly recalled the first time he challenged Raph to take the lead, fed up with his constant bickering. Raph, initially frozen with terror, was surprisingly humbled when the team returned more frazzled than when they had left. Although Splinter scolded Leo for his approach, there was a certain satisfaction in having Raph finally respect his leadership. Following the Kraang incident, Leo gradually began to relax, allowing Raph to take charge more frequently, initially with guidance. Over time, Leo found he needed to offer fewer and fewer pointers.

Donnie was still somewhat of a hermit, a trait that likely wouldn't change, which wasn't necessarily bad given his introverted nature. However, he was gradually coming out of his shell, engaging more with the world beyond his screens. Leo particularly appreciated Donnie's growing desire to improve his combat skills, as it provided a chance for the two brothers to spend one-on-one time together. Yet, as Donnie's skills sharpened, Leo found it increasingly challenging to best him in sparring matches. Even Raph, the physically strongest of them, was starting to struggle against Donnie.

Mikey was like experiencing whiplash with his dramatic transformations as he aged. The youngest was still brimming with energy, his jokes flowing as freely as candy from a pocket. Remarkably, he began taking accountability for his actions, cleaning up after his mistakes, and willingly taking on responsibilities without shirking them. However, Mikey's transition wasn't quiet. He often stonewalled during discussions about accountability and responsibility. His mood swings were abrupt, shifting from calm and content to inexplicably irritable when others presumed ignorance on his part. His bouts of anger, rivaling both Leo's and Raph’s combined, occasionally alarmed everyone, given that Mikey's default had always been to diffuse tension with humor. But almost as if it never happened, Mikey's emotional and mental state eventually stabilized into a more mature version of himself.

Everyone briefly wondered if Mikey was experiencing trauma, but the fact that he seemed more fulfilled with life after the tumultuous period reassured them and dispelled those concerns.

Then there was Leonardo, the leader in blue, currently wrestling with the idea that his brothers might no longer need him to look after their needs. He would always keep an eye on them, as neglecting to do so would contradict his nature as the eldest brother. However, the incident with the purple ooze, which caused a rift in his family, had truly opened his eyes. He never wanted to face your wrath again, having been viciously reminded that just because he wasn't used to the idea of his brothers possibly leaving to build their own lives—whether they remained turtles or mutated into humans—he needed to accept that they might not need him as much.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden warmth of your soft touch on his shoulders. How you managed to sneak up on him at times was beyond him. "Are you doing okay? Donnie told me what happened during patrol." Leo's insides melted as he looked into the gentle eyes you were giving him.

He nodded with a small smile, taking your hand in his and placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. "I'll be fine. I'll be back to normal before you know it." The corner of your lips lifted into a smile. So pretty.

Mikey spun around. "Oh hey, (Y/n)! When did you get here?" Raph only turned his head to look.

"Not too long ago." Your focus turned on them. "Heard you ran into a bit of trouble."

The youngest grimaced at the reminder but managed to maintain a lopsided grin. "Yeah, it was kind of my fault. But hey! We kicked their butts before they could even say 'Pizza Hut'!"

Raph rolled his eyes. "There was no way he was thinking of pizza in that moment, you doofus."

"Okay, but I was! I was hungry!"

You perched on the arm of the chair where Leo was sitting, gently leaning against his side as you watched the two exchange playful banter and dive back into their video game. Leo quickly made you comfortable, wrapping his arm around your waist and drawing you closer against him.

This had become what he looked forward to at the end of each day: returning to you, waiting with open arms and a sweet smile. You were his constant. His slice of peace. Although the years and the pressures of their lives had subtly shaped your personality, at your core, you remained the same person he had first met. His thumb gently traced the curve of your hip as he rested his head against you, quietly inhaling deeply to savor your scent. If you noticed, you didn't mention it.

As the day drew to a close, Leo finally had you all to himself in his room. He didn't mind sharing your company with his family, as it always comforted him to know how well you got along with them.

You moved around his room with such ease, changing into pajamas you had stashed in one of his dressers. It pleased him every time he thought about how pieces of you were scattered throughout his space. A hairbrush, aligned neatly alongside some hair products, sat on the very dresser you were rummaging through. A few photos of the two of you, and some with everyone else, adorned the cement walls. You had even added string lights, choosing blue because they reminded you of Leo, and you just had to get them for him.

Without a second thought, he pressed himself against your partially clad back, where you were still wearing a bralette. You let out a soft sound of surprise when he placed a kiss on your shoulder.

"Leo," you warned, though there was no real malice in your voice.

"Hmm?" He feigned innocence, continuing to plant kisses up the side of your neck.

"What do you think you're doing? You're injured," you remarked, slowly turning around to face him. He let you turn, choosing instead to press his lips to the top of your head.

His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "Tis but a scratch." That got a chuckle out of you.

“I’m serious, Leo. You really should be sitting down and resting,” you insisted, gently pushing him back toward his bed. While you both knew you couldn’t physically move Leo if he resisted, as he was a force of nature, he always allowed you to guide him where you wanted him to be.

Leo’s hands continued to roam freely over your body, tracing every dip and curve of your shape. Each contour was familiar to him, yet he remained tempted to explore it anew, regardless of how long you had been together. You followed his lead, your fingers tracing over his green scaled skin.

A brief, comfortable silence fell between you, unforced and easy. No words were necessary.

The tip of your nail lightly trailed over the raised scars lining his arms. "If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars." Your expression remained neutral as you observed him, but the waver in your voice betrayed your emotions. You empathized deeply with him, feeling the pain he must have endured as if it were your own.

There you go again, disarming him completely. In the past, he might have found this alarming, perhaps even considering you a threat to the defenses he'd built around his mind. But now, the idea of pushing you away was unimaginable. Your mind, body, and soul were too tantalizing and addictive for him to ever consider distancing himself.

Leo was at a loss for words as a small flush rose to his cheeks. Although he had never really viewed the scars he'd earned over the years as anything negative, it deeply touched him that you wished he had never had to endure the pain that caused them in the first place.

Since he couldn't find the words to express his feelings, Leo simply offered you a sweet smile and pressed his lips against yours. You sighed contently, naturally melting into his touch. The way your movements effortlessly synchronized always filled him with a sense of awe and satisfaction that no one else could provide.

The kiss deepened gradually, almost of its own accord, his tongue slipping between your plush lips in a practiced dance. His large hands encircled your waist, pulling you closer, your body significantly warmer than his turtle form could ever become.

With effortless strength, his hands moved to the underside of your thighs, lifting you up and gently setting you down on the bed beneath him. His breath was already heavy, despite having barely begun.

You squeaked in surprise, "Leo, you're going to hurt yourself." Your concern for him always came across as endearing.

"It’s sex, not an Olympic sport. I promise I can handle it," he chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. His mouth eagerly moved to the exposed skin of your chest, sucking gently. You let out a soft sigh, your eyelashes fluttering in response.

"Fine," you pouted cutely. "Just let me know if things start to get too much, okay?"

"Always." He murmurs against your skin.

Leo's fingers meticulously explored, slowly removing the remaining clothes you hadn't yet taken off. His lips seemed to move with a will of their own, seeking every curve and crevice to kiss and suckle on, leaving marks that were carefully placed where they wouldn't be visible to the outside world.

After what seemed like an eternity to you, Leo finally removed your bottoms, and his hands took their time exploring your most intimate area. You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, watching intently as Leo's movements brought his face closer to the space between your thighs.

His tongue eagerly reached out, tracing a long, wet line along your core. If his eyes had been open, you might have seen them roll back in sheer pleasure. You tasted musky and sweet, a flavor he yearned to savor more deeply. Firmly holding your thighs to prevent you from closing them, he suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves that quivered with need. You let out a moan, your muscles tensing beneath him. As he continued, one of his hands gently caressed your breast, kneading the soft tissue and pinching your nipple. Unnoticed by him, his own arousal was evident, tightly confined within his shorts, but he had no intention of attending to himself just yet—you were his focus, far more important in this moment.

The sounds you made were music to his ears. He groaned deeply, a resonant churring emanating from his chest, as his hips pressed desperately into the mattress. Your hands, seeking something to grasp, found his arms draped over your torso and thighs, holding onto them tightly.

"Fuck, don't stop..." you whined, your voice a beautiful plea. It thrilled him to his core knowing he was succeeding in pleasing you so thoroughly.

Leo remained steadfast in guiding you to the precipice of ecstasy, unafraid of the fall, for he would be there to catch you, as he always had. His tongue shifted its focus to your clit, allowing him to slide his thick finger into your sopping depths. When he curled his finger in that perfect way he knew you loved, it sent you writhing, a choked moan escaping your lips.

This was a kind of torture he relished, with spikes of intense need coursing through his body as he ground his pelvis into the soft blankets spread across the bed, now creased and bunched from your combined movements. Leo felt no shame as he groaned against your cunt, having long moved past any reservations in your shared sexual exploits.

Leo could tell you were nearing the edge as your thighs began to twitch more erratically under his grip, and your moans grew louder and came in shorter bursts. Somehow, his efforts intensified, driven by the desire to bring you to climax around his finger.

"Oh, God! I'm gonna cum!" Your feet kicked slightly, a reaction that might have made Leo chuckle if he hadn't been so intently focused, his attention fully claimed by the task between your legs.

A sharp suck on your clit coupled with a final, deliberate curl of his finger sent you into a state of bliss, your voice stammering out his name as a flush spread across your skin. As you shuddered beautifully beneath him, Leo marveled at his fortune, wondering what he had done to deserve such a blessing as you. His tongue enthusiastically lapped at the juices pooling from your core, keenly aware of how your inner walls clenched around his tongue each time he dipped it inside you.

Once you began to whimper, he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. Seeing him, usually so composed, in such a disheveled state was shockingly obscene. You were certain Leo would be mortified if anyone saw him like this—flushed with arousal and messy from your release.

The sight left you more turned on than ever before.

"Lee," you called out, but he didn't respond, busy licking your slick from his lips and staring at your pussy with a dazed expression. "Leo." This time, he looked up, and the intense heat in his eyes sent goosebumps spreading across your arms. "Baby, I need you inside me, please."

Your plea sounded like the answer to every prayer he had ever uttered. In his haste to remove his shorts and position himself between your legs once more, a searing pain suddenly shot through his leg, halting his frantic movements.

He hissed, uttering a few 'ow's, and froze in place while gripping your knees to keep them steady. Your eyes widened with concern as you looked up at him.

"Are you okay?" You asked.

"Shit, yeah. Just give me a moment. I got a little ahead of myself there," Leo admitted. He took a few deep breaths, waiting for the pain to subside.

Despite the inconvenience of the gunshot wound, it fortunately didn't dampen the mood. Especially for Leo, since you were so patient beneath him, waiting for him to recover. However, you couldn't help but smirk at him.

You must have noticed him questioning the expression on your face. "I told you, you were going to hurt yourself," you said with a knowing look.

"Shut up," he huffed, his voice tinged with embarrassment. You giggled and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on them.

The kiss served as a welcome distraction, helping him to ignore the flare-up of pain from his injury. He adjusted himself carefully, positioning the leg that would normally have pressed onto the injured one, onto his shoulder instead to keep you comfortable.

You quickly took his throbbing member in your hand, running the head along your soaked folds. Both of you moaned softly as the tip grazed the nerves that Leo had tenderly swollen with his mouth.

After a moment, you guided him inside you, and he sighed in relief as he felt your warm, wet walls envelop his cock. This sensation was familiar yet something Leo could never fully acclimate to, no matter how many times you welcomed him. You squeezed your eyes shut and let your head fall back with a soft whimper, feeling completely filled by him and still somewhat sensitive from your previous orgasm.

It was as if you encompassed Leo's entire sensory system. He could smell you, feel you, hear you—the aroma of your earlier climax permeating the room with the scent of sex. The way your inner walls fluttered around him, despite being nearly filled to the brink, was intoxicating. And the soft pants you took in an attempt to calm yourself only served to excite him further, making him even harder than before. Again, he wondered: What had he done to deserve you?

"Can I move?" Leo asked, aware that although you handled him wonderfully, he could still be a lot to adjust to, regardless of your experience with him.

You nodded and whimpered, "Yes, Lee, please..."

"Since you asked so nicely," Leo murmured, biting his lower lip to maintain some semblance of control over his voice. He began to slowly pull out, leaving just the tip inside, before pushing back in deeply.

The gentle pace was good initially, warming both of you up and allowing time to adjust to being so intimately connected. However, as Leo's desires grew more potent, it seemed you were also feeling the same urge for more. The way your brows began to knit together was a clear indication that you, too, were ready for him to intensify the rhythm.

Leo leaned down, adjusting the leg on his shoulder so it rested in the crook of his arm, allowing him to press his chest against yours to feel the intense heat radiating from you, a sensation he reveled in. His thrusts became sharper and quicker, eliciting gasps from your lips. The sweat accumulating on your skin deliciously rubbed against his plastron.

Despite the slight change in position reawakening the pain from his gunshot wound, Leo was too caught up in the addictive pleasure you provided to let it bother him significantly. The discomfort wasn't enough to stop him from continuing to drive himself between your legs, savoring everything you willingly offered to him alone.

With his face now close to yours, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss, both to swallow your moans and to muffle his own sounds of gratification. Your tongues sloppily intertwined, failing to effectively silence your noises, but neither of you cared, too absorbed in each other's pleasure to give it any thought.

Although your whimpers were smothered by the kiss, Leo could still hear them escalating in pitch. You were close to the edge again, and he would have the privilege of feeling you come undone around him.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Leo panted, "Are you going to cum around me?" His breath was heavy, tinged with both desire and anticipation.

His hand slipped down to rub your clit, eliciting a whine from you as your head lolled back, exposing your neck. Seizing the opportunity, Leo gently nipped at the tender flesh there.

"Oh fuck! Don't stop, please!" you cried out, gripping his biceps for support as Leo drove you over the edge.

Leo groaned loudly into the curve of your neck as he felt your insides clench around him, the sensation both painfully intense and blissfully satisfying. It was exactly what he needed to push him over the edge, leading him to release inside your welcoming embrace. He didn't get a chance to warn you, but he knew you wouldn't have minded anyway.

You gently guided Leo by the chin to place one more kiss on his kiss-swollen lips. He hummed gratefully, his eyelids fluttering shut to fully enjoy the moment.

After a few moments of heavy breathing and basking in the afterglow, Leo carefully pulled away, prompting a brief whine from you at the loss of his closeness. He walked over to one of the many organized shelves in his room, where he kept stacks of rags. Ready to return to your side and envelope himself in the warmth you brought to his bed, he didn't linger long. He gently used a rag on you first, tenderly cleaning away any traces of your intimate moments together before he considered cleaning himself.

You peered up at him with a soft smile, your eyes tracking his movements. A grin spread across your lips when he finally finished, and you stretched your arms out, inviting him to return to your side.

He returned your smile, charmed by your cuteness, as he slid both of you under the duvet's covers. You snuggled up against his plastron, and Leo, feeling content, kissed your hairline and let out a satisfied sigh.

"You still doing okay, champ?" you asked, your voice lifting slightly with concern.

"Never better."

Tagging: @whygz, @coulrofilia-sexuell, @southernblossoms,, @peachesdabunny

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tangledinink · 2 years ago

Text

edit: tag! fic!

ive spent a stupid amount of time recently thinking about a rottmnt au where circumstances allow splinter to figure out a way to get cloaking 'brooches' for himself and his children when they are still lil, giving him a chance to raise them as 'normal' kids. (normal kids who are genetically engineered mutant turtles, actually, and they're, like, SO good at sports, dude.)

surely nothing can break this idyllic illusion of a life that splinter has built. definitely nothing that rhymes with daron braxum.

i can only imagine this would work if the threat of both draxum and big mama were neutralized. i think in this universe, draxum's life of crime caught up to him much sooner than it does in canon, and he's imprisoned for his unethical experimentation when the turtles are still little-- raph maybe around six or seven, mikey around four or five. once splinter learns of this, he pulls every string he possibly can to 1) get cloaking crystals for himself and his family 2) cut a deal with big mama to ensure his children's safety.

after spending about a week or two in the sewers fucking drilling the cover story into the children's heads ("remember, mikey, what do you do if people start asking you too many questions?" "CRY!" "good boy!") he very nervously brings them up to the surface, armed with an elaborate story to explain his disappearance and new children and a shitton of forged documents. there was so much fucking paperwork, christ. (also, it turns out the blue one is biologically female? but he does not have the mental space to deal with that so they all just keep calling him leo, and he's totally fine with that. so.)

and he collects ALLLLLLL the royalties, babey.

(the kids are kids, and definitely slip up occasionally or do... weird shit. but, luckily, since they're small children, people pretty much just chalk it up as "oh, these kids have such wild imaginations.")

eventually, enough time passes that the brothers just kinda... forget that they were ever actually turtle mutants who lived in the sewers. coz, like, that's crazy, right? they're pretty sure they just imagined all that stuff. they weren't turtles, they were PRETENDING to be turtles... and people give them weird looks sometimes when they bring it up, so they don't.

overall, they THRIVE on the surface, to no one's surprise. they are, in fact, secretly genetically engineered super soldiers, actually. and they are crazy good at, like. so many things. especially martial arts! they compete at a national level on the regular, in addition to a shit ton of other extracurriculars (ballet, art, basketball, and cooking for mikey, swimming, basketball, gymnastics, and theatre for leo, dance, gymnastics, and swimming for donnie, not even to mention all his academic stuff, basketball, wrestling, and swimming for raph...)

they're still besties with april, obvs.

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yutasbellybuttonpiercing · 3 months ago

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#1 – I hate you

kinktober 2024 — #1

pairing: park wonbin x reader

au/genre: pure filthy smut without much plot, college!au, non-idol!au, popular!wonbin

word count: 1525 words

warnings: lying to your only friend Anton 😔, hate fuck (everyone just has a big fat ego problem), backshots, hair pulling, choking, reader is addressed as a girl, finger sucking (???), manhandling, slight overstimulation, a shimmer of fluffy feelings (but they do not get vocalized, not really), nicknames of both praising and degrading nature, dirty talk, unprotected sex (DON’T YOU DARE!), a tiny bit of cum play…?

a/n: kinktober day one yippie! this gem has been sitting in my files since forever… I was thinking about making this longer, but I kinda like it like this! enjoy! <3

taglist: @rjreins @meowniee @deezbin @ant-onie @ablackbtsstan @gacktsa

College parties. Some love them, some hate them. For you, it's all about who's attending – or rather: if he's attending.

Park Wonbin. God, even thinking of his name makes your blood boil. He is a player, basically, and he's absolutely full of himself, or so you’re convinced. He thinks he's better than everyone else, prettier and more popular… which he is. He's always surrounded by a group of people telling him just how great he is, and he always sports that smug smirk that makes you want to dart over and shove him face first into a sewer. He’s just so hot…

“Why are you staring at Wonbin?” Anton asks casually, as if he hasn’t just dropped the most dangerous question of the night. Anton is your one close friend that you've met in your economics class, and you can't believe he's just asked you that.

“Because he sucks!” You retort defensively, as if that would excuse your shameless stare down with the back of Wonbin’s head.

"I don't get what you don't like about him," Anton pushes, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, his voice almost too soft to reach your ears over the bass booming through the room. "He seems nice."

“Everything. He’s the embodiment, the epitome of a full of himself rich kid with good genetics,“ you say much too quickly, and it just confuses Anton more.

“Has he ever done anything to you?“ He counters, not letting this go. He certainly thinks you’re being unreasonable.

You halt, a faint blush appearing on your cheeks, “w-well, n-not in this life, not yet!“ You reply hastily, now too flustered to go back to staring holes into Wonbin’s perfectly v-shaped backside. “It's just that his pure existence gets me so mad that I can't stand being in the same room as him.

"He's infuriating. Just look at him. God, he is obnoxious," you exaggerate before stepping away. You don't have to ruin your night by staring at the way his pearly white teeth sit so aggravatingly perfect in his mouth, or so you tell yourself…

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"Ah, pretty girl, and you're still coming back for more..." Wonbin muses from behind you. You don't even have to look back at him to know he's sporting that smirk that you hate so much.

"Just shut up and fuck me."

And he doesn't need to be told twice. Just as you asked, he pushes in, burying his length inside you entirely. He doesn't give you time to adjust because he knows you don't want him to, and instead sets a brutal pace from the beginning. His hips crash into yours, his grip on your hips is surely going to leave bruises that will remind you of this shameful encounter for the next week or so. Just like every time, you try holding back your moans. You're giving him enough satisfaction by letting him fuck you, he doesn't need to get his ego inflated by knowing how fucking good he's making you feel. Although, you fail as soon as one of his hands leaves your hip to grip your hair instead, pulling you back. The all too familiar sting in your scalp makes you clench around him, a choked whine leaving your throat as he forces you to arch your back. He knows what he's doing when he holds onto the roots of your hair instead, hand just atop of your head as he pulls harshly while his tip pleasantly abuses your sweet spot.

"You love this, don't you, doll face?" He teases, as if he's not feeling the way you clench around him, as if he's not able to see how your wetness starts dripping down your thighs.

"D-don't talk," you bring out, and he lets go of your hair, the wave of relief after the stinging pain fueling the knot forming inside you. You can't give him the satisfaction of cumming this early again, so you try moving away from the pleasure, but he is quick to wrap a hand around your throat.

"Ohhh no, you're going to take it like the good girl you are," he says and the amusement is evident in his voice. You whine as his hand leaves your throat alone again, your upper body falling onto the mattress in exhaustion. His movements never falter as he pushes you to lay down on your stomach for him. This way, he has better access to push two of his digits into your mouth. Automatically you begin sucking on them, swirling your tongue around them as you whine pathetically.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Wonbin groans, fingers pushing down on your tongue, "you're clenching around me so hard, pretty. What, are you gonna cum already?"

"Yes," you admit quietly.

"What? Sorry, couldn't hear you with your mouth full like this."

"Yes! Fuck," you cry out, although it's still muffled by his fingers. He seems satisfied, angling his hips slightly different to hit that exact spot that makes you feel him all the way up in your stomach with how deep he is.

A few more thrusts and he sends you crashing over the edge, walls clamping down on his cock like there’s no tomorrow. Yet, he is not finished with you; he pulls out and manhandles you onto your back, immediately pushing your legs as far up as they go against your chest, and pushes back in in one swift motion, groaning deeply at the feeling.

Your head feels cloudy from your orgasm, and you have to really concentrate on actively hating him right now because, honestly? With the way his grown out black hair softly sticks to his glowing, sweaty skin, his plush lips are parted as he lets out sighs of deep pleasure ignited by no one but you, and the subtle yet undeniable scrunch of his brows, you’d fall in love with him right now if you didn’t remind yourself that you’re supposed to hate his guts… for whatever reason.

“That’s it… you’re a little slut, aren’t you? Claiming to hate me, yet you let me do this to you…” he grunts breathlessly, pushing his cock in to the very hilt, watching intensely as it disappears between your folds repeatedly.

“Sh-shit… I do hate you-,” you cut yourself off by moaning involuntarily as he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, “don’t act so cocky, you- fuck… you love this.”

He glances up into your eyes, a mischievous smirk on his lips despite his eyes being glossy from pleasure, “I never denied that, princess. I never said I hated you. I’m just fucking you like I hate you because that’s what seems to get you off the most.”

“Fuck you,” you retort, attempting to glare at him, but he looks so pretty, and whatever he’s doing in between your legs makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

“I know no one’s ever fucked you better,” he states, completely ignoring your words, “that’s why you keep crawling back like the needy little slut that you are… you say you hate me, but you’d go crazy without this dick.”

"You're so- f-full of yourself," you point out weakly, pushing your hips towards him for an even better angle.

At that, he chuckles, "you're the one full of me right now..."

"Sh-shut-," but instead of finishing your sentence you cry out in pure pleasure as he rams his dick right into your sweet spot, rubbing his thumb into your clit with such precision it makes you see actual stars.

"Cum on this dick again, I know you want to," Wonbin urges, his own breathing heavy as he nears the finish line as well.

"I hate you, fuck- I fucking-," you moan pathetically, body tensing up as your high quickly approaches. Wonbin delivers a few more hard thrusts before sending you off into a mind-blowing orgasm that leaves you shivering and panting.

Your walls clamping down on him trigger his climax as well, and just in time, he pulls out, painting the clenching mess between your legs with his hot cum, a choked groan on his lips. He twitches and shivers as he brushes his tip through the sticky substances that mixes with your juices, earning a few whimpers from you as he rubs it over your oversensitive clit.

“That’s it…” he mumbles, eyes trained on where you were connected just seconds prior, “that’s my good girl…”

And even in your hazy mind, the word catches on.

My…?

#kinktober #park wonbin #wonbin smut #riize smut #kpop #smut #kpop smut #fem reader #neohub

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miiukkaa · 2 years ago

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raph's subway room 🧸

personally speaking, raph is both an easy and a difficult character to understand. he has grown up with the responsibilty of having to look after his younger brothers. he definitely can be rowdy, playful, goofy and irresponsible but there's a sense of responsibility that he carries and holds onto. i mention this only because i feel this shows in him wanting to let his brothers have things over himself (things like furniture, trinkets, food... just stuff in general). not in a dramatic way in which he'd sacrifice EVEYRYTHING for the sake of others and thus neglect his own needs, no, no, it's not black and white like that. this would simply mean that he owns less furniture/trinkets/things than what you'd imagine. a mindful guy looking out for those he loves (let us not forget that he looks after himself, too).

i gave the big guy a big bed which is supported by the subway car's seats opposite to one another as well as cinder blocks. again, very little space underneath the bed. there're a few teddybears by the foot of the bed (note that the mattress isn't as wide as the car so the bears are just sitting on the seat).

raph is a RnB fan and has shown to own a collection of vinyl records. i was feeling generous so i gave him a vinyl record player with an amp right next to his bed.

while i could have moved his DIY bench press in the car, i rather it stayed outside of the car as seen in the movie. he would probably still have some weights stored in his room (he could easily use smaller weights in his room, too - i feel there's enough room for that).

opposite to the main entrance, he'd have a clothing line to hang some of his clothes. oh, and the door on the right side? that's just half-open. i'm not sure if raph himself would fit through a half-opened door but i like to imagine it's more of a window to him anyway. (from the bed he would lean a little to squint what's happening outside before shouting "hey, what's the commotion about!?" or something).

posters! first we have ghostbear's poster which we have seen in raph's sewer room. i feel he would have ripped the poster off of the wall after feeling betrayed by the wrestler but then later taped it back up after having calmed down and feeling remorseful. he still does admire the sport and ghostbear after all. complicated feelings.

a new lou jitsu poster in which our favorite rat man is simply just posing for the fans. speaking of the rat man, i'd like to think he helped raph write down the famous japanese quote from the show: 「あなたは一人じゃない」 translated to "you're not alone". i mean, if i were raph, i'd want to write the quote down... ESPECIALLY since he doesn't know the language and it's easy to forget for that reason. it's like splinter signed his poster for his son in a way :)

the mad dogs flag looks like it was bought rather than self-made... so i doubt they would have bought just one for leo. i mean "mad dogs" is their thing so you gotta get all the siblings involved kind of like a shared tattoo!!

then a silly little drawing by mikey in which he drew raph flexing :)

and speaking of mikey! there's some graffiti art by him! both of them are near identical to the ones seen in raph's sewer room but... one of them just says "boss!" and the other is just flames.

a very simple room design but i feel it's just enough for raph :]

leo's room

mikey's room

#feel free to use for reference yall #miiukkart #rottmnt subway lair reference #rottmnt

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dubsism · 1 year ago

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The Sports Sewer: Episode 20 - Kaepernick and The Media...Yet Again

DISCLAIMER: I’m not going anywhere near the politics on this, largely because a) if you are regular reader of this blog, you already know I’m the founding member of the “Anti-Bullshit” movement, and every political discussion today rapidly devolves into an exercise in crap-spewing from either side, b) the polarizing nature of such arguments completely destroys the ability to objectively examine…

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#Colin Kaepernick #NFL #Sports Media #Taylor Swift #The Sports Sewer

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thursdaygxrls · 1 year ago

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thin ice — one

part one | part two | part three

summary — she didn’t handle the sports section of the campus newspaper, but apparently, she did this week. interviewing hockey players was easy, though—unless one of those players happened to be peter parker.

pairing — uni hockey player!peter parker x fem!journalist!reader

disclaimers — i don’t own peter parker. and pls don't come for me with the accuracy of this situation i'm begging

warnings — reader is referred to as ‘kitty’ (there’s a reason, i promise), slight one sided enemies to lovers, sewer slide jokes (very briefly), possible maybe slightly ooc, and very unedited

“You’re joking. You’re pulling the biggest prank I’ve ever seen, you are the impractical joker,” she huffs out, her eyes wide as furiously clicks her mouse, “I’m gonna die. I’m writing the note tonight—farewell, my lovely!”

“Woah, okay,” MJ, her roommate, had only just entered the room when she was bombarded with a sudden rant. She didn’t even have time to take down her ponytail of thin, red braids before her eardrums were assaulted.

“I mean it.” Spinning her chair, she meets MJ’s eyes.

“I literally just got here,” MJ plops down on the bed in front of the desk, “Care to tell me why you’re writing that note?”

“I’m a dumb, dumb girl, that’s why,” she groans in response.

“We already knew that.” MJ’s words only cause the girl in front of her to shoot daggers with her gaze; “Sorry, sorry. Why are you a dumb, dumb girl?”

“God, okay, so,” she lets out a loud sigh, “Eli is gonna be gone for the rest of the month—Europe or something, good for him. Anyways, they needed someone to cover his assignments for him until he gets back, and I volunteered, but, like, only to be nice, y’know? I did it as an obligation. But…”

“But?” MJ pressed.

“I just got an email, and it’s me,” she grumbled, “They’re putting me on Eli’s assignments.”

“Hm, I see,” MJ’s lips curl into a frown as she gently rubs the girl’s arm, “Too much work?”

“Oh, no, my stuff’s easy,” she waved her off, “Just reading the poetry submissions. I mean, it can be exhausting, but it’s not too bad.”

“Then what is it?” MJ cocks her head.

“Eli…Eli does sports,” she shuddered. MJ couldn’t contain the loud laugh that slipped out, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle it.

“You’re worried about sports?” She giggles, her eyes twinkling.

“It’s not funny!” She smacks MJ lightly, “Sports aren’t unbearable or anything, but, like, why me? I don’t know enough! I’ll screw it up, I’ll lose my spot, they’ll stick me back in—”

“Relax,” MJ grabs her shoulders, bringing her closer, “First off, no, you won’t lose your spot, we both know they’d be losing their minds without you. Second, they wouldn’t just throw it on you if they thought you’d give them bad work, right?” She eyes MJ almost suspiciously. There’s a momentary stare-down before she relents.

“I hate that you’re right,” she sighs, spinning her chair around. MJ stops the spin by putting her hands down on the arms of the chair.

“Thought you’d be used to it by now,” she giggles, “So, what do you have to do?”

“I don’t know.” Is the mumbled reply.

“You didn’t even look?” MJ laughs again, “You were losing your mind, and you didn’t even know what you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry that I’m sensitive,” she huffs. Her gaze moves back to the laptop before her. The email is open on the screen, so she begins scrolling through it, MJ reading the words over her shoulder. Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she gets to the end.

“Fuck this,” she almost slams her laptop shut, but is stopped short by MJ.

“Slow down!” The redhead slaps her hand out of the way to read the rest of the email.

The ESU hockey team had made it to the NCAA Division I Men's Ice Hockey tournament for the first time in six years—and they were doing damn good. Eli had been tasked with interviewing the team captain as well as a few other star players, but, of course, it was no longer Eli's job.

"Oh, come on,” MJ rolled her eyes, “They gave you a Google Doc with questions, all you have to do is ask them and write down their response."

“That's the problem, I have to ask,” she shivered.

"You've done interviews before!" MJ was ready to smack her.

"With professors! And cool artsy people! Not hockey guys," she cringed, “I bet half of them are in a frat. They're probably gonna be assholes and tell me I have cooties."

“Are you twelve?” MJ groaned, “You sort of lucked out with this—half the work is already done for you! You don’t need to write up any questions!” A sigh left her lips as she took on a more comforting tone: “If it makes you feel any better, Harry is on the team.”

Ah, Harry. MJ had been seeing him for a little over a month by now. He wasn’t a bad guy at all. A little full of himself, but nice enough to talk to. Her eyes roved over the list of players she was set to interview. Sure enough, Harry Osborn was there. So was Miles Morales, who was described as an extremely promising freshman. Zack Coleson, who had the highest number of goals for the season. Last on the list was the team captain: Peter Parker.

“I can talk to Harry,” MJ offered, “I can let him know that it’s you doing the interviews. I’ll make sure he tells them to go easy on you—”

“No, no,” she shook her head, “That might make it worse. And they already know that it’s not Eli coming. Or they should, at least”

“You sure?” MJ quirked a brow, her features crinkling in a way that was only intelligible as concern.

“They’ll be walking on eggshells around me if they know I’m chickenshit, I won’t get a good interview,” she sighed. Even if the interview wasn’t what she wanted to do, she was going to have to. And she would do a good job—a great job.

“You got this, Kitty,” MJ squeezed her shoulders. The nickname pulled a smile from her, and she gave into MJ’s touch.

“We’ll see about that,” she relented. Her eyes traveled back to the computer screen. The interviews were scheduled two days from now at the Stark Memorial Rink.

“Hey, MJ,” she hummed, “Could you grab me my noose?”

The rink was colder than she expected. The empty stands provided no body heat, not to mention there was a literal sheet of ice on the floor. Tugging at the strap of her messenger bag, she took slow, careful steps to the plexiglass.

Clink.

Her eyes widened. There were around ten to fifteen guys in full gear out on the ice, and another ten to fifteen more on a bench near the glass or flitting around the edge of the rink. She was nervous, so she got there early. Now, she was stuck watching them practice.

Leaving was so tempting. She could go back to her dorm, or better yet, leave college entirely. She could just give up and fall off the grid, cut her credit cards, throw her phone in the ocean, sail off to Greece—

“Hello?”

She cursed the muffled voice that pulled her back into reality. Blinking, she found that standing before her was one of the very hockey players she’d seen skating on the rink before her. He was tall, and gear under his black and purple jersey made him appear far more bulkier than she theorized he was. He slipped his helmet off to reveal brown, curly hair that was drenched in sweat.

“Hi,” she replied, trying not to sound as nervous as he would. He cocked his head at her as he popped out his mouth guard.

“This is a closed practice,” he said, though, he didn’t sound all too upset that she was here.

“Oh, yeah, I know,” she nodded quickly, her fingers toying with the strap of her bag again, “I’m a bit early, I’m supposed to be interviewing some people on the team. I’m—”

“Kitty?” She was interrupted by the sound of a voice as well as skates scraping across the ice. Glancing past the guy in front of her, she saw Harry slide off the ice and clomp to benches where they currently were.

“Hey, Harry.” Her lips were screwed up in a tight grin. He’d heard MJ call her Kitty once, and now it was the only thing he’d refer to her as.

“Kitty?” Mystery guy repeated the name with a hint of intrigue.

“It’s not my real name, my friends just call me that,” she shook her head.

“What’re you doing here?” Harry asked, swinging an arm around the shoulder of the guy in front of her.

“I’m Eli’s replacement,” she explained, trying to plaster a friendly smile to her lips, “I’m doing the interviews.”

“Aw, shit, why didn’t MJ tell me we got the cool Kitty-cat on the case?” Harry grinned.

“Could you try to never say those words again? Really hated it, thanks,” her nose crinkled.

“You got it.” He tried to point finger guns at her, but with the thick gloves on, it just looked like he was pointing his whole hand.

“Hey,” he started up again, “You’re a little early, so practice isn’t over yet, but we’re almost done. It’s just the four of us, right?”

“Right,” she nodded in response. It was a relief that they’d been briefed on the situation.

“Alright, well, I’m Harry, obviously, Miles and Zack are on the ice somewhere, and this right here—” Harry jostled the shoulders of the Mystery guy, “—is Peter. Oh captain, my captain!”

Peter chuckled as Harry clapped him on the back. The noise that emanated from the friendly hit was harsh, but Peter didn’t move a muscle.

“Right,” she nodded, “So, I figured we could do them individually? There’s some sort of specific questions for each of you.”

“Sounds good, Kitty,” Harry replied. She’d smack him if he said that name again.

“Sit tight for a bit,” Peter spoke up. Even with the stubble on his chin, his smile gave him a boyish appearance. He looked her up and down quickly, “We can try to wrap up practice early.”

'A bit' ended up feeling like forever. At first, she tried to distract herself with her phone, but it didn't work: she would open apps, scroll through them, then close them just to reopen them over and over again. So she organized her bag, which took about five minutes. Time seemed to tic by in a tauntingly slow manner. It was only when she saw a few of the players emerge from the locker room did she let out a breath of relief. She immediately sucked that breath back when she realized that she would actually have to talk to some of them.

Harry went first. It was easy enough to go through the questions with him. It was like talking to an over-eager relative at a family reunion, one who was just dying to talk about all the new things they're doing. Miles wasn't all that bad to interview, either. He was a lot more nervous than she was. His awkward pauses and constant strings of 'um' and 'uh' was almost comforting. Then came Peter.

"Kitty," he grinned as soon as he saw her seated on the bench next to the rink. He no longer wore his gear—just a hoodie and a pair of gray sweats. His hair, however, was still wet and tousled. She gave him a tight lipped smile in return.

"That's not my name," she replied. Before she had time to properly introduce herself, his raspy chuckle was already echoing through the open arena.

"You said that's what your friends call you, right?" He cocked his head as he sat down on the other edge of the bench.

"You're not—” If she could just make it through the interview without fuss, she'd be one person away from being free, "—right. That's what my friends call me."

"I'm going to be recording this, just so I can reference it later," she explained almost monotonously.

"This isn't my first time," he responded with another light laugh. She had to physically bite her tongue to fight off any comments. A soft click sounded from her phone as she started a new voice memo. Her eyes scanned the list of questions on the page before her. Some she'd already asked to Harry and Miles: How does it feel to make the tournament? What is the atmosphere of the team right now? She chose a fresh question to start with.

"What's it like to be the captain of this team? Are you proud? Overwhelmed?" She asked, her voice taking on a new tone closer to a news anchor than a regular person. Peter's lips curled up at the change.

"I'm proud, yeah," he nodded, his voice smooth, "This is a great group. But we all work our asses off, so I'm not surprised by how far we've come. Being their captain is really something."

"And—"

"Do you normally do sports? For the paper, I mean." Before she could even get her next sentence out, he interrupted her. Her grip on the papers in her hand tightened.

"No, not normally," she grit out, "And going along with your thoughts on being captain, what about making it to the tournament this year?"

"It's the best feeling in the world. It's something I've been chasing after for years now, finally getting to it is just...sort of indescribable." Even when his tone is nothing but sincere, he can't wipe the cocky grin from his lips.

"I can imagine," she smiled tautly in reply, "What was it like working your way up to captain? Was it a personal journey, or did you get support from the team?"

"I'd say it was an even mix of both," he hummed, "Do you like hockey?"

"What?" She furrowed her brows.

"Are you a hockey fan?" He reiterated, "Because our next game is home, and it's sort of packed, but I could get you some tickets assuming you don't have some already—"

"No—Peter," she let out a frustrated huff, tapping on her phone to momentarily pause the recording, "This is an interview, not social hour."

"Aren't interviews inherently social?" His smirk was infuriating.

"I mean that I ask the questions, you answer them," she grumbled, "Do you act like this with Eli? Are you not taking me serious because I'm a woman?"

"What?" His smirk fell immediately, "What? No—no. I'm taking you seriously, I take women very seriously. I'm all for women. They're great."

"Then can we just do this interview and get it over with?" She sighed, her finger hovering over the unpause button. He nodded, but before she could resume the interview, he quickly added: "But do you want tickets?"

Ignoring the question, she carried on. Peter seemed to mellow out after a while and didn't interrupt again. It was almost surprising how well he'd listened: he was giving her real, insightful answers to her questions without a hint of flirtation. The final interview with Zack flowed easily, and she fled Stark Memorial Rink as quick as she could.

Transcribing the interviews was the easiest part. Days later, she would be hunched over her computer in the darkness of her shared dorm, playing and replaying the recordings and typing out the words onto the screen. Her concentration was briefly interrupted, though, when the door opened and a stream of light threaded its way through the room and onto the back of her head.

"Light bad!" She slapped her hands over her eyes, "Light very bad!"

"You're gonna go blind if you keep staring at your computer in the dark," MJ spoke in a warning tone, but ultimately closed the door.

"Then blind I must go," she sighed, swiveling on her chair to look at her roommate, "How was class?"

"Normal," MJ shrugged, sliding her bag off her shoulders, "But I have a little something for you."

"Something for little ol' me?" She gasped in dramatized delight.

"Yes," MJ grinned widely as her hand reached for the zipper of her bag, "Close your eyes."

She obliged immediately, her nose scrunched in anticipation, "I hope it's a million dollars. Is it a million dollars? Am I close?"

"Almost," MJ giggled. After a moment of anticipation, MJ gently grabbed her hands and place something into them. It was thin and papery and rectangular. Opening her eyes, she looked down to see a white envelope with 'Kitty' written out on the front. Her brows furrowed at the unfamiliar handwriting.

"Is there a check for a million dollars inside?" She asked as she cocked her head.

"No clue, it's not from me," MJ shrugged.

"Then who's it from?" Her fingers slid under the lip of the envelope.

"Harry gave it to me to give to you," MJ grinned, "He said it's from Peter."

She should've sailed to Greece when she had the chance. Inside the envelope were two tickets—Empire State University versus Pennbrook University this Saturday at seven. A long groan left her lips before she finally met MJ's eyes.

"You never got me that noose I asked for."

a/n — not sure how i’m feeling abt this one guys. hockey peter has been causing me brain rot tho so i couldn’t help myself.

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froot-batty · 1 year ago

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(most of) The sewer squad!

Surprisingly, Clay and Croc were super fun for me to color. Rat was the one that kicked my ass this time

(P.S. sorry about the lore being so long down there)

Waylon Jones was originally born in Louisiana. He was born into a relatively low income but very big, very loving family. He was also born with Epidermolytic Ichthyosis, which caused patches of his skin to blister or thicken, sort of like scales. This would be the first thing he'd be bullied for as a child, and it would only grow worse as he went through school and his undiagnosed ADHD and dyslexia would make it ten times harder for him. He would eventually decide to drop out of school, both because of his learning difficulties and the bullying.

One thing Waylon had always loved was boxing. His father had taught him and all of his siblings the basics of boxing, and Waylon was one of the ones who really took a shining to it. It helped that he was a naturally bulky guy who could put on muscle pretty easily. So now that he was out of school, he decided to put his free time towards participating in amateur boxing matches. It didn't rake in very much money, and usually took place in some guy's backyard or a junkyard, but he thought it was a lot of fun - and, most of all, he was good at it.

He made the choice to move to Gotham after he'd collected enough money to start a life somewhere else. He loved his family, and it hurt to move away from them, but a big city like Gotham provided more opportunity than backyard brawling. And indeed, it did! He graduated from probably illegal homemade boxing matches to actual, professional matches - still nothing above amateur, but it was something, and it made a lot more money!

It was during this time when he'd gain the nickname Killer Croc, from a combination of his skin condition, how big he was, and where he'd been born. (He didn't actually kill anyone though, he was a sweetie. He's just killer at boxing).

Things started going downhill for him when he finally won enough matches to go up against another relatively popular name in the amateur boxing league. This opponent, not wanting to lose against what was still a fresh face in Gotham, conspired to cheat in order to win. Because it's Gotham, and anyone can be made to look the other way, no one caught the man as he mixed plaster of Paris with his hand wraps (which hardens into something similar to concrete) before the match.

Safe to say, Waylon lost the fight pretty badly. While he would have been a good sport about it, he knew that who he'd fought had cheated, and he was pissed. As soon as he was out of the hospital, and his face was healed enough for it, he caught the other boxer as he was leaving the gym. He tried to convince him to admit that he had cheated and forfeit his win, but they'd end up getting into an argument that'd turn physical when he tried to punch Waylon.

When the cops arrived, instead of breaking up the both of them and taking them both in, they instead arrested just Waylon. Because the other boxer chose to press charges, Waylon was shipped off to BlackGate Penitentiary after a hasty trial. But he didn't stay there for very long.

Doctor Hugo Strange, head of Arkham Asylum, had followed Waylon's arrest closely in the news. He took an interest in the boxer specifically because of the irony of his nickname. Strange would go on to convince the superintendent of BlackGate that Waylon was unfit to be housed in a regular prison because of how dangerous he might be - Arkham would be a much better fit for him.

Strange promised Waylon that being in an asylum would greatly reduce how long he'd have to spend incarcerated, as he could get out of an asylum when he was proven "sane". But Waylon was given a cell in the lowest pits of Arkham - in the basement, where Strange made his monsters. And he would become the living test subject for what would become Kirk Langstrom's own bat-serum; his nickname, Killer Croc, once a source of pride, becoming a cruel prediction of what he'd become.

Unlike Kirk, however, Waylon is permanently trapped in this new form; shunned from society and now living as Gotham's monster in the sewers. Forever a Killer Croc.

??? (Nickname: Rat/Rats) was born in....Well, actually, no one really knows where it came from. Rats was there the first time Waylon escaped into the sewers, and it seemed it'd been there a long time before that, too.

Rats is like a cryptid to most of the Gotham population. But, like, the kind of cryptid where everyone knows it's real, you just don't encounter it that often. 12 year old rat child in the sewers? Yeah, everyone knows about that

They're shy, unnerving, and tend to be nonspeaking, their only appearances to most of the public coming from brief glimpses in the sewers or, occasionally, guiding people lost within them back out.

To the rogues, though, Ratcatcher is a source of information. It seems to know far more than it should, due to communication with the all-seeing eyes of it's many rats. But how much it's willing to help depends on how much it trusts you, which is usually not very much at all.

And if they don't want to talk to you, then Waylon will be sure to escort you quickly out of the sewers.

(Fun fact: Rats communicates mostly in ASL!)

Basil Karlo was born and raised in Gotham. A lover of performance from the moment he could join the theatre club in school, he was dead set on pursuing an acting career after he graduated from college. His first experiences were small background roles or roles in commercials, but even then directors could see the acting potential lurking within him.

Small roles grew into more major roles, as they grew from background actor, to minor actor, to eventually starring in major roles. And they were a popular guy! Pretty face, charming voice, they became Gotham's own star!

In one of these movie roles, Basil would grow very close to one of his co-stars. Their relationship would move very quickly from friendship to romance, as it does when you work so closely with someone. It might have even moved a little too fast, as they decided to get married the moment they returned to America from their filming location. She moved into his home in Gotham, and things were good, for a little while.

But a lot of cast romances end up not working out, and this was one of those cases. Basil and his wife began to drift apart, focusing on their own careers and neglecting one another in the process. Their relationship began to decay, and with the nature of Basil's career, there began to be...people on the side.

They thought he kept these escapades a secret. They did everything they could to not let their wife or the public know about their cheating.

Of course, this was a pipedream.

This all happened around the time J's Red Hood Gang was at their peak. They figured out Basil's secret, gathered material, and would present the evidence to Basil himself. To keep their secret safe, Basil was forced under the Red Hood.

Basil...did not take well to what he had to do as a Red Hood. But he was desperate to save face amongst the well-to-do of Gotham, so he continued doing the bidding of J and her gaggle for a good while.

Until the day, with no interference from the Red Hoods, their wife left them. She had apparently been contacted by one of Basil's partners, and now they were going to leak that to the press during the divorce proceedings.

Basil's life was ruined. His reputation was in shambles, and he was doing more work for criminals than directors. But he decided he was going to change that. What was the point of working as a Red Hood if they had no way to blackmail him anymore?

So they attempted to leave. They confronted J and demanded that she let them go, and without waiting for her response, left.

Red Hoods were waiting at their home when they got back there. They kidnapped them, dragged them to Ace Chemicals, and proceeded to pour an experimental chemical onto their face. This chemical made flesh like clay—moldable, which the Hoods used to their advantage as they toyed with Basil's face. Morphing it into different shapes and expressions for their own amusement.

When they were done, they dragged him to the vat where they were developing that chemical and threw him into it, expecting him to die.

Unfortunately for Basil, they did not.

#frootverse #waylon jones #killer croc #ratcatcher #basil karlo #clayface #batman #rogues gallery #my art #rogue design

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swordsandarrows · 9 days ago

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Rewatching MHA from the start. Currently at the Sports Festival arc where the business course is debating over Midoriya's future profitability potential and the one kid flat out says, "His appearance is out." Like EXCUUUUSEEEE MEEEEE why the FUCK does everyone in this universe paint Izuku as "plain" when he's probably one of the most adorably designed characters???!!! How is he PLAIN?! Mf's got curly, green ass hair, a face full of freckles, big fat emerald eyes, and y'all wanna call him "plain."

Maybe yall should talk about how 1st/2nd season Katsuki looks like a sewer rat hopped up on steroids 🙄 (don't hate, I love Katsuki, but the animators did that poor boy dirty af lmao)

#like i'm sorry but Izuku is literally the most adorable lil thing #bakugou looks like a creature until he starts getting more character development fr #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #mha anime #my hero academia anime #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #mha season 2 #mha sports festival #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bri rambles

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opal-owl-flight · 6 months ago

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in an au where someone else were the agents, what would the agents life be like instead? (for eight, Octo expansion still happens but like she quits agent work after that)

This is a very interesting ask! This is a "things go well despite someone else filling in their roles" situation. Only got 3 and 4 so far bc I know who'd replace them EJDJE

Under readmore bc long! Also bonus Alt!3 art under there

4/Rain remains in the turf leagues after highschool. Sometimes working Grizzco for the cash, but once she went pro she left. A huge bitch to everyone, teammates and opponents, yet somehow making it work. Shes proud of where she is. She made a great life for herself here in Inkopolis and shes not going to let ANYONE forget. Doesnt help that the squids in that particular community/rank are also rude as fuck. Shes imitating the common attitude to fit in. Find SOME place she feels she can belong.

Marie called to her from the sewers to be Agent 4, but she declined the offer. Because...

...of 3/Tanara.

This snooty bitch of a squid also made a good life for themself after escaping from an oppressive home. Hows Rain any special? Worst of all, theyre one of the few who can go toe to toe with her on the field, snarky comments and everything. Rain's sure that they enjoy seeing her stumble (they do).

Proud of their progress and skill, they tend to (literally) look down on anyone that doesnt impress them. Their prior training as a squidling really helps them dominate matches, in both combat and strategy... Tanara lives for the sport. Their life is sport. Its the life theyve always wanted -- a life of play and fun and fresh vibes forever! If its too easy, wheres the fun? They seek hard fights.

Rain impresses them, for sure. But they also just LOVE messing with her. Rub in her face how much better they are. Its exhilirating to see all that bluster crumble! Yes! The bitch is down!! Eat your words!! Type of shit.

As for the other two...

John would still be great as an Agent 3 — remarkably, he doesnt get sanitized bc he takes care of himself and doesnt crash headfirst into a blender. he kicks it instead. doesnt get knocked out.

Hes kind as always. very supportive of a terrified all the time Sun. Hes like…a silly agent 3. hes goofy hes a lil stupid hes John

John does get war hardened but its not as intense a time as 3 had. Hes still smiling a lot! probs the fact that he had a good home life and a good support system in his team. (Tanara is in his team!! Hes the one usually reining them back from emotionally wrecking opponents. Hes also the one who makes Tanara's soft side emerge! They have one. Its just buried under their desire to be Cool)

and Sun? he never got into Grizzco. he became Agent 4 and saved the world! barely!! he keeps running from the troops until Marie has to drag him back by the ear! John carries Sun around like luggage a lot. its comforting for the nervous wreck.

------

3 was just…theyve already been dealt a bad hand, and the universe kept expecting more from them. theyre under so much pressure, all the time!!

at least here, they dont have to worry about anything but their win streak and how 4 is annoyingly cute

Anyway. More Alt3!

#Alt!3 makes me so gay.#splatoon #splatoon fanart #agent 3 #agent 4 #splatoon promo kids #john splatoon #kaori splatoon #surume splatoon #LMAO CUTTLEFRSH DOESNT HAVE A TAG I THINK. RIP BOY

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 1 year ago

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Turtles x tattoo artist!reader

Got this idea after I read a Leo x tattoo artist on Wattpad. It was super cute, but as a tattooed person that has started tattooing my friends, I have to tell my fellow ff writers something that will make your tattoo ff more realistic. DON’T EVER REUSE NEEDLES!!!! WEAR GLOVES!!!!! ALSO WHEN YOU PUT ON A STENCIL!!!!!!! Hopefully I saved some turtles from an infected tattoo.

Enjoy!💙❤️💜🧡

Warnings: Needles, pain, tattooing, some of the turtles being cheeky, spelling.

—-----------------------------------------------

Leonardo:

As your last client of the day went out the door with their newest tattoo, you breathed a sigh of relief. The last few ones have been though. Unable to sit still, with a need to look at the tattoo several times while you were working on it, almost causing you to go outside of the lines. Not what you needed. But all the thought of irritation and frustration washed away, when you remembered; your boyfriend was coming to get a tattoo.

Last night, Leonardo had asked you if you would do a tattoo on him. You had obviously said yes, excited to finally tattoo your boyfriend. Leo was by far heavily tattooed, but he did sport a few on his arms, all symbolizing his brothers.

As you locked the front door, flipped the open sign to close and pulled the curtains, you could hear the back door that led to the alley, open and close. It was Leo. You rushed to the back door with a happy skip, and greeted your green boyfriend with a big smile. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and brought his face down to yours for a kiss.

“Hey”, you smiled.

“Hey”, he smiled back before giving you another kiss.

You brought him with you back into the main area of the shop, asking him what he wanted to get tattooed. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pockets and gave it to you. You unfolded it.

A katana. Simple black lines with minor shadowing. You were pretty sure that Leo had drawn this himself.

“Of course”, you chuckled, looking at the paper in your hand. “Where do you want it?”

“Right here”. Leo pointed to the side of his left forearm.

“That could actually be really good”, you said, studying his arm. Leo’s arm was nothing new for you. They had been wrapped around you so many times, that you knew them as well as the back of your own hand. But on the rarest occasions, had you thought about tattoo placements on his arm.

“I think we should size it up. Around… this big”. You measured out his arm, with one finger marking out just above his wrist and just below his elbow.

“Is that because you as a tattoo artist know it would look better, or is it because you as my girlfriend want an excuse to keep tattooing me for as long as possible?”, Leo asked with a smile.

“A little bit of both, I would say”.

“In that case, I think we should do it”.

To say that you were happy was an understatement. All your earlier tiredness and frustration flew out the window, as you went to your desk so you could draw the stencil. Leo followed you, and watched you intently while you drew over the stencil paper, tracing the outlines of his design.

“That’s not how Raph did it”, Leo said with a small chuckled, remembering the time he and his brothers did each other's tattoos, with a tattoo machine Donnie had made.

“How did Raph do it?”, you asked, smiling at the thought of what Leo had told you. Young turtle brothers sitting in the shared bedroom of their old lair, long after Master Splinter had gone to bed, tattooing each other like the young rebellious teenagers they once were.

“He drew it directly on me with a marker”.

“Doesn’t sound very sanetray”, you laughed. “Especially not in a sewer”.

“Nope. That is why I’m going to you from now on”, Leo said as he reached down to kiss your forehead.

With Leo’s stencil finished, you went to work preparing your station one last time that evening. You put on your gloves, wrapped the station in film, prepared the cream, poured the black ink, got your new needles and wrapped your machine for a better grip.

Leo watched you with those eyes that always made you blush, while you disinfected his arm, applied the transfer jell, and then placed the stencil. When you moved back and told Leo to look in the mirror, he didn’t move. Instead he just stared at you with those eyes and that little smile.

“I trust you. It looks good”.

Fighting your flustered face and biting down your lip, you moved Leo into the seat, before stretching his arm and moving it to an angle, so it would be easy for you. With that you started your machine and began doing his lines.

Leo - with his high pain tolerance - didn’t move a muscle, but instead just stared at you as you worked. You could feel his strong gaze on you, trying your hardest to focus on his tattoo in front of you.

You continued working in silence, with nothing but the sound of your tattoo machine being heard. Silence wasn’t new for you and Leo, nor did it make you uncomfortable. The two of you would often enjoy each other’s presence in silence, each doing your own thing, simply finding comfort in being near each other. Like him meditating or sharpening his katana, while you were drawing or reading. Just like right now. Leo admiring you while you were working.

After two hours of tense work on Leo’s arm, you finally finished. With a last whip over his arm, you wrapped it up, making sure it would be protected during the first stages of healing.

“So, what do you think?”, you asked Leo as he assessed the katana on his arm with warm eyes.

“It’s amazing”, he said, smiling bright. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

“You might have told me a few times”, you said as you started cleaning up.

Leo stood up from his seat and walked to you, before wrapping both arms around you, bringing his face down to yours.

“I love you, my amazing little tattoo”, he said, before letting your lips meet in a sweet kiss. And with that you knew, you would definitely tattoo Leo again.

Raphael:

Under normal circumstances, you would have said no to be doing a tattoo in the sewers. No way that wouldn’t get infected and heal probably. It was a tail made for disaster. But when your brute of a boyfriend asked you as nicely as he did, and promised you cuddles and a foot rub, there was no way you could say no. Especially not when he made those big teddy bear eyes that only you got to see. You just had to say yes.

So there you were in Raphael’s room, in the sewers deep below New York City, setting up a small tattoo station on his nightstand. Raphael stood right behind you fiddling with a football in his hands, watching you unpack your stuff with curiosity. Yes, he did have a tattoo, but one that was made with a machine Donnie had but together, not a real machine. So to see a real one in front of him for the first time, had his attention peaked.

“So”, you asked, checking the battery for your machine. “What were you thinking of?”

“A samurai”, Raph said with a small smile, as he spun the football in his hands.

“You and those damn samurais”, you chuckled and laid out your paper and stencil paper. “I thought that this time around you would like a ninja”.

“Maybe one day, on the other leg”, Raph said with a smug smile. “If this one goes right”.

“Well okay smart guy”, you laughed turning towards him. “Where on your leg do you want it”.

“I was thinking here”. Raphael laid the football on the ground before going to the outside of his right calf, measuring out from his knee to ankle.

“Do you want it to take up the whole side?”

“Of course”, Raph smiled. “It has to match”. He pointed towards the samurai on his shoulder.

“Just as black?”

“You know me baby”, he said, giving you that smug smile.

You bit back a smile, trying to fight back the blush that was creeping up your face. Damn Raphael and his smooth comments.

“Okay, I’ll do a sketch and you tell me what you think about it. If you like it, we can get tattooing”.

“Sounds like one of the best plans I’ve heard in a long time”, Raph said, still smiling like that smug fucker he is. But damn you loved that man.

As you got drawing on the sketch, Raph would walk in and out of his room, grabbing drinks and food from the kitchen, before returning. Every once in a while he would get up from his bed, just to give you a kiss on the cheek, wrap his arms around you, and look at how far you’ve gotten.

Raph loved your finished sketch, stating something along the lines of; “so far, so good”, just to annoy you.

With Raphael laying on his bed, with pants rolled up and wrapped around his knee and slightly turned to the side, you placed the stencil on the side of his muscular side calf. You had to admit, you were proud of your work so far. The artwork flowed with the curve, sway and size of Raph’s calf, showing it off.

As you started the machine and dipped the needle in the ink cup, Raphael got comfortable with his hands behind his back, still with his smug smile plastered on his face.

“Are you ready?”, you asked as you placed your other hand on his leg to spread the skin.

“Born ready”.

And with that statement from your boyfriend, you started working on the lines in his tattoo.

Raphael’s tattoo was big and detailed, which meant a lot of work. But not even 15 minutes into the tattoo, you saw Raph shifting and grimes for a split second, before pressing his eyes shut. Your tough boyfriend was breaking character.

“You okay there, Raphie?”, you asked with a sly smile, dipping the needle in the ink once more before going back in.

“Yup, I’m okay. More than okay actually”, he said, still with his eyes pressed shut.

“I hope so, because you know, the closer I get to your foot and the closer I get to your knee, the more it’ll hurt”.

“Ah fuck”.

“And that’s just the line work. I’ll have to go in afterwards and do filling and shadowing”.

“H- how long do you think all that will take?” Raph’s eyes now open, looking at you with a slight fear in his eyes.

“Well, with a tattoo this size and this detailed, easily four hours”.

“So only three more hours?”

“Raph, baby, we’ve only been going for 15 minutes”.

Raphael groaned loudly, grabbing onto the pillow behind his head. “Fuck me”.

“Later baby”, you laughed. “It won’t be a good idea while you have an open tattoo”.

Raph sighed. “(Y/N), I love you, but sometimes you’re annoying as fuck”.

“I love you too Raphie, and if it helps anything, I too find you annoying sometimes”, you smiled sweetly at him, causing Raph to bite back a smile, the same way he made you do not too long ago.

“And just so you know”, you continued while wiping ink away from Raph’s leg. “You still owe me cuddles and a foot rub afterwards' '.

Raphael exhaled loudly, face scrunching up as the needle went back over his skin. “I really didn’t think this through, did I?”

“Nope, not at all”.

Nevertheless, after four hours and many loud exclamations from Raphael that could be heard all throughout the lair, your boyfriend had gotten himself a new big tattoo. And if you had to be honest, it was pretty hot, and not just because you were the one that made it.

Donatello:

When Donatello had asked for you to tattoo him, you were kind of shocked to say the least. Your sweet, tech nerdy, genius of a boyfriend, who did not have a single tattoo on his beautiful green body, wanted you to tattoo him. You had to blink and ask him to repeat his request.

But Donatello was serious. He wanted a tattoo. He even offered to give you space in his lab, so you could set up a propper station, and that was an offer you just couldn’t refuse.

You had unpacked your station in Donnie’s lab, currently drawing the design Donnie had given you onto transfer paper, while he was taking a closer look at your tattoo machine.

“It’s very different from the one I made”, Donnie noticed, turning it in his three fingered hands.

“How did you guys even do it back then?”, you asked, eyes still on the drawing.

“Well, I made the machine, and the guys had several designs”, he said, thinking back to the old days in the old lair with a smile. “We all got a turn tattooing Leo”.

You chuckled, finding the thought amusing. Stupid and reckless, but amusing nonetheless.

“Where did you get ink from?”

“A pen. Many pens actually”. He placed your machine on the table, before taking a seat next to you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder, looking at your hand working. “We broke open the pens and poured it into a solo cup”.

“That is really not sanitary”, you laughed, leaning your head to the side, so your temple was pressed against Donnie’s forehead.

“No, it really isn’t”, he laughed, nuzzling his face closer to yours.

“Now Donnie”, you said, nodding towards the drawing in front of you. It was a design of a turtle, somewhat like the one Leo and Mikey shared, but with its own intricate design around it. “What is the meaning behind this, and why do you want it?”

“Well, it is a turtle, so much is obvious”, Donnie said, causing you to nudge him slightly. “And well, it just felt like it was about time. I just finally want a tattoo. And me being the lucky guy that I am, have a tattoo artist as a girlfriend, so it just seemed obvious”.

“Well, that is enough reasoning for me”.

You finished the stencil and put on gloves, getting ready to prep Donnie’s skin with disinfectants.

“The shoulder is one of the easiest places”, you told him, as you smoothed the paper over his shoulder. “Many people experience that the shoulder hurts way less than any other places”.

“Did yours hurt?”, Donnie asked, nodding towards the tattoo on your shoulder. He had looked at it so many times, often wondering how you felt while getting it. It was probably one of the main reasons why he hadn’t gotten a tattoo yet; the fear of it hurting. Especially after he saw the way Mikey and Raph reacted to their tattoos back then.

“Not at all”, you said, peeling the paper back from his skin, leaving back purple lines for you to follow. “I almost fell asleep during mine. Now, take a look in the mirror and tell me what you think”.

Donnie went to the mirror and took a look at his shoulder, before turning to you with a smile.

“It looks great”, he said.

“Then sit down good sir, and let me get started on you”, you said, opening a new needle with your gloved hands.

Donnie sat down like you told him to, and watched as you got the needle ready. You turned on the machine, dipping it into the ink cup while it hummed. You placed your other hand on Donnie’s shoulder, spreading his green scaly skin.

“Remember, you can always tell me if you need a break or if you're getting uncomfortable. Keep your breathing calm and level, and it will save you from a lot of unnecessary stress. And with that in mind, are you ready?”

Donnie nodded with a small smile. “I’m ready”.

You let the needle brace Donatello’s skin, watching for any reaction by your boyfriend, showing any discomfort.

“Okay, that is not as bad as I thought it would be”, he said, turning his head slightly to look at the needle.

“It’s rarely that bad”, you told him, wiping the first line. “Trust me. I still get surprised every time I get tattooed”.

Donnie chuckled, imagining the scene of you in a tattoo shop.

As time went on, and as you were half way through the tattoo, you noticed the first signs of discomfort from your boyfriend.

“Okay, I can feel it now”, he said, grimacing slightly. “It is not bad, but it’s more. I’m not sure how else to describe it”.

“Don’t worry. We’re halfway done”, you said, dipping the needle in the ink cup. “But I will recommend that you take it easy afterwards and get a good night's sleep”.

“I will if you stay and keep me company”.

“Well, you don’t have to ask me twice”, you said, wiping the tattoo down one more time.

It didn’t take long before you finished the tattoo, smearing cream over it before wrapping it up. Donatello seemed slightly shocked by it.

“Are you done already?”, he asked, looking at his new tattoo under the plastic wrap.

“Yeah, it was not a super complicated tattoo”, you laughed, as you started to clean up after yourself. “And you’re really easy to tattoo. That only made it quicker”.

“Well in that case”, he said and stood up, before wrapping his arms around from behind. “Would you like to start that good night’s sleep a little earlier?”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do”, you said, pulling your tall boyfriend down to you for a sweet kiss.

Michelangelo:

Bless your boyfriend and his kind, sweet, beautiful, helpful heart. What he wouldn’t do for you? Nothing. He would do everything and even more if you asked for it, also if you didn’t ask for it. And that was the nature of Mikey. Showing his love for you in spontaneous and caring ways, that not even you had expected. Such as volunteering for you to practice your tattooing, after hearing you talk about how much you wanted to practice.

And that was what led up to you and Mikey sitting on your couch, talking about the best place for you to tattoo him.

“I don’t know, baby”, you said, pressing your fingers against Mikey’s upper stomach. “I’ve never tattooed a plastron before”.

“Don’t worry Angelcakes, it will be fine”, Mikey said with a bright smile. “It will just be right here”, he said, gliding his finger over the top of his stomach, to outline the placement.

“But can a needle even get through that?”, you asked, pressing a little firmer against his plastron. You knew how firm Mikey’s plastron was. You had found yourself being pressed against it so many times, that you had familiarized yourself quite well with it at this point. But the thought of poking a needle through it had never crossed your mind.

“I don’t know. Maybe? There’s truly only one way to find out”.

“But baby, what if I break your plastron instead?”

“It’ll heal. Have you already forgotten this beautiful body as mutagen running in it? I can heal in no time!”

“But”, you said in thought. “Aren’t your shell and plastron also bulletproof?”

“But Angelcakes!”, Mikey pouted. “It could be so sick with a tattoo like that! I would look so good!”

“But you already look good Mikey”, you giggled.

“I know but still”.

You sighed. It was no use trying to argue with him about it. It would take either your needle or his plastron cracking slightly before he would drop the topping, so therefore you finally agreed with your silly turtle of a boyfriend.

“Yes!” Mikey fist pumped the air before giving you a quick kiss. “I knew you couldn’t resist the thought of me with a stomach tattoo!”

You laughed, shaking your head, before going to your room to find your supplies. Mikey already had a very clear idea of what he wanted. He wanted he and his brothers’ birth year of 1999 tattooed over his plastron, in good old gothic lettering. It actually relieved you that he hadn’t chosen anything more detailed. You just wanted to practice, not rival his name sake.

It didn’t take long before you had finished the stencil and placed it on your boyfriend, before telling him to go look at it in the mirror. You couldn’t help but smile, as Mikey started posing in front of the mirror. The 1999 on his plastron, still dark purple from the stencil ink.

“Yup! I like it! Lets go!”, Mikey said, jumping back towards you with a big smile. “I’m ready!”

“You cute goofball”, you laughed, guiding him towards your couch. “Come and lay down”.

Michelangelo did as you told him, and laid down on his shell, with his hands comfortably behind his head, watching with a smile as you sat yourself down. That smile could easily make butterflies erupt in your stomach, and it did so in that very moment, right as you dipped your needle in the ink.

To your surprise, the needle glided over Mikey’s plastron easily. It was almost easier than on real skin, and closer to the fake skin you usually would practice on. You didn’t even had to spread the surface with your other hand. Mikey seemed to enjoy himself.

“Do you feel anything?”, you asked, wiping the tattoo. It stayed pretty well.

“I can feel it, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s a little strange to be honest”.

“Strange or not, I still think you're cute”.

Mikey smiled, hinting at you to come closer. You removed the needle from his plastron and leaned closer to his face, before being met by him in a sweet kiss. You giggled before returning to his plastron to continue his tattoo.

“I am the luckiest man and turtle in this world”, Mikey then said. “I have the hottest girlfriend there is, and she makes some pretty awesome tattoos. I’ll say I got the best of both worlds”.

You giggled, shaking your head one more time, feeling a blush grow on your face. What did you do to deserve this guy?

With Mikey not feeling any pain from his tattoo, and the fact that you didn’t have to spread anything or do much, it didn’t take long before Mikey’s plastron tattoo was finished. You were throwing the used needle out in the kitchen trash can, when suddenly a question popped into your head.

“How long does it take for your plastron to heal?”

“Not long”, Mikey answered, drinking casually from a Capri Sun by your side, poking slightly at the new numbers on his front. “I think it will be healed by tomorrow”.

“So you don’t need any aftercare at all?”, you asked, pulling his hand away from his tattoo.

“Depends”, he started, placing the Capri Sun on the counter, before wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling his face closer to yours. “What kind of aftercare are we talking about?”

“Dork”, you laughed.

“Hey, don’t deny what we both know will happen”, he said, getting ever closer to your lips.

“When your tattoo is healed, Mikey”.

“Oh well, would you look at that”, Mikey said, pointing towards his plastron. “I’m already healing”.

After that night, Mikey would definitely be asking for more tattoos from you.

—-------------------------------------------------

I need another tattoo soon…

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