#pretend all those emojis have motion blur

[prismatic-cannon]

How do you feel about persona user/phantom thief Mishima aus?? Love costume designs for him when I see them. I also adore your art btw -- has a lot of life and it's super dynamic

(wheezes) oh anon how did you find my abandoned wips 😂

I think PT!Mishima is interesting! One of the first few shuyuu fics I read was a PT!Mishima canon compliant au that sent me down this rabbit hole in the first place lol. It inspired me to try drawing some designs of my own but even after setting it aside for a few months it still doesn't look right to me. A lot of it looks pretty old and wonky now (I tried to imitate persona’s art style and it didn't work out lol) so I don’t think they’ll ever see the light of day. This one still looks passable though: behold, fedora Mishima 😂😂😂

I’m still fond of the concept I have but it’s put on the back burner until I think of better costume ideas. Tbh I think Mishima being a fanboy NPC confidant slaps even harder, especially since he gives you mementos targets so there’s that delicious civilian guy in the chair/superhero angle you could play around with … oh the alluring peril of romancing your PT bf sorry I’ll try not to lead this back to shuyuu again LOL

It seems really hard to write in PT!Mishima into the canon storyline though! The timeline is already so jam packed with palaces and major story events. It’d make the most sense for Mishima to have his awakening during the Kamoshida arc like the others but then again — you already have to deal with Ann and Ryuji’s awakening in that short amount of screen time so it’s like ??? Damn tf do you do :c I think out of all the Shujin students cutting Mishima from the PT roster makes the most sense given his more submissive personality, but there’ll always be a part of me that would love to see him rebel against Kamoshida’s shadow for all the abuse he’s gone through … 😭

But anyway, thank you for the question and kind words!! Always happy to share the food \o/

[hermannsthumb]

Hot tub sex??? *eye emoji*

scientists in a hot tub……what will they repress……..

18+/not safe for work below cut!!!!!

————————————-

Hermann is no stranger to shoddy motel rooms at this point in his career–indeed, on the shoestring PPDC budget, it’s more or less all he and Newton can afford when they’re shuttled out for conferences–but there’s a certain veneer to the crumbling Art Deco design and dusty plastic palm trees of this one that’s left him feeling strangely unsettled. It’s as if they’ve stepped into the past. As if the very motel is frozen in time. 

“Stop being so dramatic,” Newton says. “It’s just a stupid gimmick. Hold this, will you?”

He shoves his duffel bag at Hermann and (ignoring Hermann’s indignant hm!) continues, unsuccessfully, to cram a keycard into their door lock. “It’s upside down,” Hermann finally says.

“No it’s not,” Newton says.

“Yes it is,” Hermann says. “Flip it.”

“It’s not upside down,” Newton says.

“Flip the bloody card, Newton.”

Newton flips the keycard. The lock lights up green with a click. “Huh,” he says.

Their room is small, a bit cramped, even, with two twin beds (mercifully, they won’t have to share again, not like they did last time) draped in pink bedspreads, two nightstands, a beaten-up wooden wardrobe, and a single desk jammed in the corner. The pseudo-vintage wallpaper matches that of the hallways and lobby; the carpet, meanwhile, is too faded to make out what the pattern was once meant to be. “How terribly charming,” Hermann remarks, sarcastically. 

“I call bed next to the window,” Newton says, pushing past him to claim it.

Hermann busies himself with unpacking his belongings from his small carry-on suitcase as Newton takes stock of the room: poking around in the nightstand drawers, flicking through the wrinkled Gideons Bibles, fluffing his pillow, sniffing skeptically at the bars of soap resting atop their pillows. Hermann’s nearly finished settling in when Newton–flinging the door to their in-suite bathroom open–startles him with a sharp crow of surprise.

“Holy shit,” he says. “Take a look at that!”

Hermann sets down his last sweater on the bedspread, not bothering to look up. He can’t quite say he fancies finding out what kind of horror awaits them in there. “Roach infestation?” he sighs. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“It’s a fucking hot tub, dude.”

Hermann does look up at that. “Hot tub?” he echoes sharply.

Newton pushes the door open wider. Sure enough, around his shoulder, Hermann can make out pink tile and the deepest, most elaborate bathtub he’s ever seen, complete with its own set of stairs. “There are jets,” Newton says. He lunges for a bottle on the edge of the tub and waves it excitedly. “Look, they gave us bubble stuff, too!”

“Oh,” Hermann says, not quite able to cover up his delight. There are very few things Hermann loathes more than flying: the cramped confines, even with disability accommodation, which leave his leg stiff and him tense and irritable–the fine layer of grime he’s certain sticks to him afterwards–how wretchedly exhausted he is when the whole affair is finally over. He can, frankly, think of nothing he’d like quite more at the moment than stripping down and getting into a hot soak in that tub. However filthy it may be. (And Hermann expects it’s quite filthy.)

He steps up behind Newton for a closer inspection. Pink. Dingy, but less so with grime, more so from age. Curved seats. Enough jets to already make Hermann feel woozy. Newton turns and shoots him a grin. “How many people do you think have screwed in there?” he says.

“Ugh.” Hermann winces.

“I’m serious,” Newton says. “It’s at least a dozen.” He nudges the faucet with the toe of his boot and laughs. “God, it’s so fucking sleazy. Why the fuck did they put this in here?”

“Perhaps the staff anticipated overstressed travelers would appreciate the opportunity to relax,” Hermann sniffs.

“Or perhaps,” (Newton says this in a crude mockery of his accent,) “the staff thought people like us might want a little extra bang for our buck, if you catch my drift.” He waggles his eyebrows.

People like him and Newton. Unable to help himself, and feeling suddenly rather flustered, Hermann blushes. “You’re so crude.”

“Maybe you just have a stick up your ass,” Newton says. He shuts the door. “Anyway, I’m gonna get a burger from the place next door. Do you want something?”

Hermann chooses not to remind Newton that he is a vegetarian. He’ll presumably remember it at some point on the walk to the restaurant–it’s rather a poignant thing to forget about one’s self. “No, thank you,” he says, and then, after reconsidering, because he is hungry, “Actually–yes. A sandwich. You know the sort I like–something with turkey. Or cucumber.”

“It’s a hamburger place,” Newton says, as if Hermann is a particularly dull toddler. 

“Surely they don’t only sell hamburgers,” Hermann says.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Newton says. He scoops up the keycard from where he tossed it on the dresser, pats his pocket for his wallet, and nods at Hermann. “I’ll be back in twenty. Don’t have any wild hot tub sex without me.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause.

“That’s not,” Newton says. “Uh. See you.”

Newton’s not been gone five minutes when Hermann finally caves in and starts the tap for the hot tub. The water comes out hot–nicely hot–and the jets–oh, the jets--Hermann is suddenly frightfully glad he allowed Newton to talk him into packing swimming trunks in the event they’re able to make it out to the beach before the weekend is up. Though tub is just as much a bathtub as a jacuzzi, it still feels strange to enter it nude. Especially after Newton’s lewd comments.

The tub takes the better part of Newton’s promised twenty minutes to fill, and it’s still not quite finished when Hermann–now stripped down to nothing but his bland pair of navy-blue swimming trunks–grips the metal bars at the stairs and eases his aching, tense body into the steaming water. He tilts his head back against the pink tile; he groans, a little louder than he means to. The relief is quite instant.

Perhaps a bit embarrassingly, his prick begins to stiffen.

It’s automatic, of course. Pavlovian by nature. He’s not at all thinking of Newton’s implication that people like them have appropriated the hot tub for other purposes, nor of his slip-up right before he left to get them dinner. It’s only that Hermann prefers to reserve certain personal activities for when he’s in the bath. He’s more relaxed–the undercurrent of pain in his leg less distracting, and indeed, even nonexistent. Anyway, it’s not as if he’s about to start pleasuring himself here, in a bloody hot tub, where Newton could walk in and find him at any moment…

(A small, warm twinge in the pit of his stomach; Hermann parts his thighs just a bit wider, only to make himself comfortable, of course.)

Then there’s a small click in the main room: the door lock. “They literally only had hamburgers, dude, like I said,” Newton is saying. “So I got you–Hermann?”

“In here,” Hermann calls back lazily.

Newton practically kicks the bathroom door down, glaring ferociously, greasy takeaway bags cradled in one arm. “You asshole,” he says. “You’re using it without me!”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean,” Hermann says.

Newton sets the bag down on the sink counter and kicks off his boots. Then he begins to strip out of his t-shirt. Then his jeans. Hermann sits up in alarm. “No, no,” he says. “What are you–?”

“I’m getting in, that’s what I’m doing,” Newton huffs.

“No you are not.”

“I am,” Newton says. He reaches for the waistband of his purple boxers.

“No,” Hermann says, a little louder, and then begins to splutter indignantly when Newton ignores him and slips those off too. “You brought–we have swimming trunks. Why are you–?”

“You’ve seen me naked before,” Newton says with a shrug. The motion, full-bodied, causes certain elements of his anatomy to move. Certain elements of Hermann’s anatomy begin to move, too, in response, but for an entirely different reason. “It doesn’t have to be weird.”

This is true; Newton’s had enough lab accidents in their career which require use of the emergency decontamination shower that, hypothetically, Hermann should know his body like his own at this point. This does not make it any less alarming. Or any less exciting. Newton’s sturdy bare legs, verging on too-hairy, small scars on both his knees from what Hermann knows to be a rollerblading accident when he was twelve; Newton’s tattooed arms, muscled just enough from the demands of his lab work; Newton’s tattooed chest, his rosy pink nipples; Newton’s pudgy stomach, his love handles; between Newton’s soft thighs, his perfectly sized–well–

Hermann forces himself to tear his eyes away as Newton climbs in across from him. They’re so close their knees knock together. “Wow,” Newton says, and wolf-whistles. “This is awesome.”

“Mm,” Hermann says. 

He chances a small glance over. Newton has slipped off his fogged-up glasses; his body is a colorful blur beneath the bubbling surface of the water, but his chest, and his chest piece, are on full display, and his head is titled back in such a way that his soft throat is bared in a way that Hermann might call sensual. How terribly lovely he is. How terribly light-headed Hermann feels from the hot water–surely it’s why, not even bothering to pretend he’s not ogling Newton, he blurts out “What a marvelous tattoo that is.”

Newton furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“Your tattoo,” Hermann says, and–for some reason–reaches out and grazes his hand down Newton’s sternum. He hears–no, feels–Newton’s breath catch in his throat. “It’s very interesting. I’ve never seen it properly before.”

Newton laughs nervously. “Oh,” he says. “I thought you hated my tattoos.”

“Of course I don’t,” Hermann says, and he’s surprised to find he means it. “I can’t say I approve of the subject material, but one would be a fool to deny their artistic value.” Hardly believing his own daring, he settles two fingers on Newton’s left pectoral, just above his nipple, and traces the edges of the great green kaiju’s head. “Was it terribly painful?”

“Nn,” Newton squeaks.

“Hm?” Hermann says. 

“No,” Newton says. He sounds breathless. “Hey, uh, you almost done–” The edge of Hermann’s thumb accidentally grazes his nipple, and Newton squeaks again, the rest of the sentence coming out in a high-pitched wheeze, “–uh, feeling me up?”

Mortified, and finally realizing exactly what it is he’s doing, Hermann snatches his hand away. “Ah–Newton–” he stammers, ears going hot, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Newton chooses precisely the wrong moment to glance down. Difficult though it is to make out definite shapes through the water, there is no denying that Hermann’s swimming trunks are quite tented. Newton’s eyes widen. “Hermann?”

“Oh, hell,” Hermann says. He buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Newton, I didn’t mean–”

There are strong, calloused fingers on his wrists, prying his hands away, and Hermann opens his eyes to see Newton’s face above his, Newton kneeling in the vee of his legs. His breath is warm, and smells like the bottle of soda he bought at a vending machine in the airport. “I’m gonna kiss you,” he declares.

Hermann blinks.

Newton’s tongue–pink–darts out to wet his lower lip–pinker. He presses his mouth–soft–to Hermann’s. For a minute, they move awkwardly, chastely, against one another, stiffly, even, and then Newton gives a tentative swipe with his tongue at the seam of Hermann’s lips.

The floodgates of desire open within Hermann all at once. A filthy moan rises in the back of his throat; he seizes Newton’s shoulders, drawing him forward, closer, until their chests are flush together; his mouth parts open eagerly for Newton, and he draws Newton’s tongue forward with his own. “Newton,” he breathes out. Newton tastes like the soda, too–sugary, too-sweet. “Oh, Newton–”

Impatient, over-excited, Newton shoves his hand gracelessly down Hermann’s trunks and wraps around his prick. “Fuck,” he pulls away from their kiss to whine, “were you jerking off before I got here? That’s so fucking hot. God. What were you thinking about? Were you thinking about me?”

Hermann had not been jerking off, but if Newton’s libido will be stoked to greater heights with a little bit of flattery, he can’t see how a small lie could do any harm. “I was,” he says.

Newton begins to slide his hand up and down Hermann’s prick. He’s very skilled at it. The other hand, he settles at the back of Hermann’s neck. “Fuck. Were you thinking about doing me in here? Over the side? Or me doing you?”

“Er,” Hermann wheezes out. “Yes?”

Clearly pleased, Newton begins to wank him faster. “Guh,” he says. “Touch my chest again, that was so hot. Please, please–”

Hermann obliges gladly. He splays his hands over Newton’s pectorals, squeezing, and–once he realizes how terribly sensitive Newton’s nipples are, because twice now Hermann’s only grazed one and produced a full-body shiver in the man–focuses his onslaught on those instead. With every small pinch, Newton cries out. When Hermann lowers his head to take one in his mouth, Newton straddles his right thigh and begins humping his hard prick against it in earnest.

“That’s so debase,” Hermann pants into his chest, blushing. “Really, Newton, you ought to just let me use my hand.”

“Guh,” Newton whines again. “No, no, I want you to touch me instead.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Newton says. “Anywhere, anywhere…”

His hand is flying over Hermann so fast it’s difficult to think, let alone to consciously grope and explore Newton’s body, but–resuming variably grazing his teeth and flicking his tongue over Newton’s nipples–Hermann obliges again, dragging his nails down Newton’s sturdy back, digging his fingers into the soft skin of Newton’s backside and kneading at him gently. Newton’s movements against his thigh turn graceless, and Hermann is excited to feel small slide of sticky precome on his skin before the churning water quickly washes it away.

“I’m gonna come,” Newton pants. His head is tossed back in wild abandon, the image of hedonistic pleasure. It’s a wonder he can even still formulate whole sentences: Hermann imagines if he were as overstimulated as Newton obviously is, he’d black out. The simple handjob is almost too much to bear. “Yeah, I’m gonna come, are you–?”

“Kiss me, and I will,” Hermann says.

Newton stoops down, mashing their mouths together happily, and light fizzles behind Hermann’s eyelids as he spills over Newton’s hand. Newton gives a few more needy thrusts against his thigh; his cry echoes off the bathroom walls, and Hermann feels more sticky warmth on his skin. He slumps on top of Hermann when he’s finished. He’s shaking.

Hermann pats his back. “Well done,” he says, weakly, and Newton giggles just as weakly. He could go for a nap, he thinks. Preferably with Newton curled up next to him. The twin bed will be a tight fit, but they’ll manage.

[another-tmnt-writer]

Homecoming

Raphael x Reader

Author: Morgan 

Homecoming

Note: This takes place in an alternate universe where the turtles took the offer to have normal lives and started going to high school. More to come?

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1539

Against all of his expectations, Raphael liked high school. He liked getting up every morning to go to class and staying after every day for football practice. He liked everything about it. Even the homework. It made him feel...almost normal. Kind of. He still needed help with his math homework, but even when Donnie was too busy, one of the girls in his class was more than willing to help him out.

“I’m telling you, Raph. She likes you.” Leo told him at lunch, just after you walked by. You had waved at the boys, smiling. Sure, some of the kids were still a little afraid of their large green classmates, but you certainly were not one of them.

“I don’t think so.” Raph shook his head and took a bite of the burger in his large green hand.

“Did you see the shirt she was wearing today?” Mikey asked. “It had us on it!”

“Plenty of shirts have us on them, Mikey.” Donnie interjected. “Ever since...you know.”

“Right, but-”

“Right, but she’s a cheerleader and I’m a big green freak.” Raph smirked and rolled his eyes. “Just because most of them pretend to accept us now doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well, here she comes anyway, Raphael.” Leo looked too smug for the red-clad brother’s liking.

“Hey Red, I have a question.” You walked over to Raphael and tilted your head in the way that made him weak in the knees. He smirked and leaned on his large green elbow.

“Fire away, princess.”

Leonardo rolled his eyes at his brother. And Raph claimed they didn’t like each other. As if.

“Okay, so the homecoming game is tomorrow night and all of the football players are giving their uniforms to one of the cheerleaders to wear for the day.”

“I’m aware.”

“And I was just wondering if you had given yours to anyone yet.”

“I have not.” Raph raised an eyebrow. He tried to ignore his heart hammering away in his chest. “Would you maybe wanna wear mine?”

“Only if you wear my bow.” You winked.

“I think I can do that, shorty.” Raph reached into his backpack and handed you the large jersey sporting the school colors. You pulled the bow, decorated with your name and cheer number, onto his wrist and then kissed his cheek before returning to your seat at the table with your cheer friends.

“What was that about her not liking you because you’re a freak?”

“Oh, shut up, Honor boy.”

***

The next day was the best day ever. Raph caught sight of you in the hallway before Algebra, practically swimming in his jersey. It was huge on you, but it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You were standing at your locker snapping selfies with your cheer friends. He was about to go into the classroom five whole minutes early before you caught sight of him.

“Raph come take pictures with us.” You motioned him over.

He looked around before pointing a large green finger at his chest. “Me?”

“Yes, you!”

He hesitated before tossing his backpack into his chair by the door and then walking over to you and your friends. He had to basically crouch to get into the shot, but he didn’t mind being closer to you.

When the bell rang, you all scattered to class, you and Raphael both going to the same Algebra class. Your seat was right next to his. It was part of the reason you met in the first place, helping him with the math he didn’t understand.

“I’d ask ya to send me those pictures, but I don’t have your number.” Raph leaned over. You held out your hand and he raised an eyebrow.

“Give me your phone, Red.”

Raph reached into his pocket and pulled out his shell-shaped phone. You smiled at it a little bit. Cute, you decided. He unlocked it for you and then set the large thing in your tiny hands. You punched in your name, followed by a heart, and then your number. Then, you sent yourself a text. Your phone pinged on the desk. You gave Raph his phone back.

“Well, now you do.”

He was sort of dumbstruck at how quick you were to send all of the pictures to him. And he couldn’t help but grin when you tagged him in an Instagram post captioned ‘getting ready for game night with the girls when a wild hunk appears <3 thanks for the jersey, Red. I owe ya one. *kissy face emoji*’

“I think my jersey looks better on you than me.” Raph grinned, resting his chin on a large green hand.

“I think you look great in whatever you wear.” You winked. Your words sent Raph’s heart into a frenzy. He sort of laughed it off and pretended to be cool, but he couldn’t shake this feeling. There was something about you. Something he couldn’t help but fall in love with.

***

All throughout the game, Raph couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to you on the sidelines. You were there, cheering with the other girls, prepping for the halftime show and getting the crowd hyped. Raphael had his jersey back, and he and Leo were on the field while Mikey was playing mascot in the crowd (The school’s mascot was a turtle, so he didn’t even need the costume.) And Donnie was working the scoreboard.

Splinter had found a seat in the parents’ section, chatting with the other parents and whatnot. He liked finally being able to talk to someone about parenting and his sons. He could not have been more proud of them. After all of these years in secret, they were finally able to live on the surface.

During halftime, after a brief break in the locker room, the coach brought the boys back out to the sidelines. The cheer captain had reached out to the football coach and explained to them what they had planned. Raph and Leo needed to see this routine. So did Mikey and Donnie. You had a feeling they would like it.

“Hello, can everyone hear me?” Raph bolted upright when he heard your voice over the loudspeakers. His eyes found you immediately, and you flashed him a warm smile. The crowd cheered in response. “So, I’m sure you all know about the new guys that started school this year, right? If you don’t, they’re pretty easy to spot. I know that in high school, every day sort of blurs together and things that used to seem odd or different just sort of seem normal. All of us on the cheer squad hope you remember something about the new guys. Because just over a year ago, they saved all of our lives.”

Raph’s heart raced. He could barely keep the smile off of his face. Your eyes stopped roaming the crowd and found his instead.

“We didn’t forget. So, here’s our thank you.”

You winked at him and then got in your place, tossing the microphone to the techie on the sidelines.

The music started, and immediately, Raph and the others recognized it as the one rap song that was written about them that had gotten really popular. The squad had been divided, each of the girls sporting a bandana somewhere on their bodies in one of their four colors, and Raph couldn’t stop his heart from soaring when he saw the bright red bandana tied around your eyes. You were one of the four girls in the front, a shell-shaped backpack strapped to your back.

He had never seen you move like that before. You were way better than he thought you would be. He watched you go through all of the moves and then end in a team pose. The crowd was on their feet by the end of it, and all four of the boys had found their way to the sidelines.

Raph walked over to you, doing everything in his power to stop himself from running to you and scooping you up in his arms.

“So?” You tilted your head to the side, still wearing the red bandana around your eyes. “Did you like it, Red?”

“I...you had me grinnin’ like an idiot, princess.” Raph smiled and leaned down closer to you. You reached up and gave the ends of his bandana a tug, pulling him closer yet. His face was inches away. You could feel his warm breath against your skin. “It was amazing.”

“It was my idea.”

“Well, I coulda guessed that.” He chuckled. “Do you maybe wanna...meet up after the game to talk about it?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” And then, finally, your lips met his.

*Bonus*

Later that night, Raph was scrolling through Instagram when he got a notification for a comment on his post. He had put up a picture of the two of you while you were wearing the red bandana and the turtle shell. The cutest look he had seen you pull off so far. It was captioned: ‘Thanks to the amazing @yourusername for being the Beauty to my Beast <3’

You had commented: ‘Oh, please. You’re my prince charming <3 *kissy face emoji*’

Raph was sure he was gonna have sweet dreams from now on.