#ok where did that teenage mutant ninja turtles shirt go

[dameronology]

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 2

part two: a comprehensive study of how far you can push a cowboy before he breaks

summary: you continue to try and break jack’s ego, but nothing seems to be working - especially when you have to play a married couple, and his observant tendencies begin to break your confident facade instead 

song for this chapter: my friend by hayley williams

ok so this wasn’t gonna be out until december 1st but someone who donated to my ko-fi asked for part 2 and...i couldn’t resist. this also touches a little more on the reader + eggsy’s relationship and it’s background. enjoy!

- jamie

series masterlist

You had to give to the the Statesmen - the apartment they had leased you was fucking nice. 

It struck the balance between modern and homely, complete with a bath tub big enough for the whole damn agency and a bed to match. You knew that they had money, but not this much. The Kingsmen were wealthy but the Statesman put them to shame. It was a lifestyle you were happy to get used to, especially on the first morning. You’d woken up not long after 6AM - your body was still working on British time, after all - when it was still dark outside. The navy blue of the sky was pouring through the large windows, and paired with the remaining city lights, it lit up the bedroom in a cerulean glow. 

Blinking under the distant blue smoulder, you rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed. The bedroom itself was about the same size as your apartment back home and man, it was something you could have easily gotten used to. A bathtub the size of a swimming pool? Don’t mind if I do. A bed big enough to roll to your heart's content and not fall out? Fuck yeah. It made you wonder how rich some of your new colleagues were. You had noticed that Tequila drove an unusually expensive sports car. 

You frowned when you noticed that there was something heavy sprawled across your feet. It wasn’t necessarily in the bed, but rather strewn across the duvet. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sigh. 

‘Fuck’s sake, Eggsy!’ you raised your leg, kicking him front under the covers. ‘Why the bloody hell are you in here?’

Your friend suddenly jumped awake, almost falling off the mattress as you kicked him again. ‘Ow! Ribs!’

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘You haven’t tried to share a bed with me since we were ten!’ You tossed a pillow at him. ‘So I’ll ask again - why the bloody hell are you in here?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ He grumbled. 

Your frown softened, and you let out a sigh. ‘Have you been having nightmares about Galahad again? Because Merlin said he was making strides towards getting better-’

‘- That day from the church is still ingrained in my head.’ Eggsy cut you off, tucking his knees into his chest and under his chin. ‘It keeps playing over and over.’

It was something you sympathised with. Working as a Kingsman brought good days and bad days, but the latter would stick in your mind a thousand times more. You’d learnt to live with it by that point but then again, you were easier at separating your emotions from your professional life. You had a good rapport with your colleagues - minus the doofus at the foot of your bed, who might as well have been an annoying brother - but you tried not to become attached. It only made it harder when you lost them, 

‘Time, Eggsy.’ You leant over the bed to give his arm a squeeze. ‘You need time.’

‘It’s been almost a year-’

‘- recovery isn’t a race.’ You firmly interrupted. ‘And healing isn’t linear, for you or for Gala - for Harry.’ 

You’d become so accustomed to codenames that they felt personal. Harry was Galahad, and Amish was Merlin. You’d never called Roxy anything other than Lancelot. It just didn’t feel right. 

‘I hate when you make sense-’

Eggy’s rumbling was cut off by the sound of the front door and the fall of footsteps. You immediately leapt out of bed, tearing your gun from the bedside table. Pointing it out in front of you, you slowly kicked open the door and crept out in the hallway, weapon leading the way. 

‘Morning sunshine-’ Whiskey stopped in his tracks when he saw the pistol aimed in his direction. ‘Well that ain’t a very warm welcome is it, Percy?’

‘Percy?’ The words rolled off of your tongue with a tone of disbelief. Admittedly, the new nickname shouldn’t have been your first concern when you were a) wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas and b) pointing a gun at your new colleague, but priorities didn’t apply in this situation.

‘Short for Percival!’ Eggsy called from the bedroom.

‘Oh, I do apologise.’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Was I interrupting something-’

‘- Gross!’ You exclaimed. ‘No!’

‘Hey!’ Another call from the bedroom. ‘You would be lucky-’

You cut your friend off by slamming the bedroom door. ‘What do you want, Whiskey? It’s six in the fucking morning.’

‘And yet you’re up and pointing a gun at my head.’ The cowboy reasoned, complete with a small shrug. ‘Want to put the weapon down, pretty lady?’

Growling at the use of another nickname, you threw the gun onto one of the side-tables. That was when you realised you’d sprinted out the bedroom in cartoon pajamas, only to come face-to-face with Whiskey, who was in his usual leather jacket and hat. Frankly, you should have slapped it right off his head. That would have taught him to come bursting into your apartment at the crack of dawn. 

‘Maybe knock next time?’ You suggested, stalking through to the kitchen. ‘Especially considering that it’s not even light outside. A little bit predatorial, don’t you think?’

‘If you’d checked the schedule I emailed you, you would know that we have to be in the field in forty-five minutes.’ Jack shot back, leaning against the counter. ‘You should check your phone more often. I thought that most of your generation had their cell-phones glued to their hands.’

‘Okay, grandad.’ You snorted. His dark eyes followed you as you darted around the kitchen, piling together a cup of coffee on autopilot. ‘What’re we doing in the field?’

‘Recon.’ He said. ‘One of Calahan’s contacts has been spotted working a jewellery stand down at 30 Rock.’

‘Okay, give me thirty minutes.’ You tossed a piece of bread into the toaster.

‘Dress...touristy.’ 

--

‘That is not touristy.’

Usually, Jack Daniels would have been the last person to object to a woman wearing a dress and heels, but you were supposed to be blending in with crowds, not standing out. He clearly hadn’t got the memo that you didn’t do casual - not in a professional sense, at least. In some way, you were matching, because you too were wearing a leather jacket. It was a staple in your wardrobe. 

‘Would you rather I have stayed in the turtle pajamas?’ You glanced across the table at him, thinning your eyes. 

‘Tourists don’t wear Christian Louboutins.’ The cowboy muttered. 

‘I wear Christian Louboutins.’ You shot back. ‘But points for recognizing the brand.’ 

‘Here.’ Jack swiped a t-shirt off of a cart as they passed by, thrusting a fifty in the vendor’s hand. ‘Wear this.’ 

He shoved a t-shirt into your hand; it was about ten sizes too big for you with ‘I ❤️  NY’ blazoned across the front. For a minute, you thought he was kidding, but Jack’s serious expression barely faltered. You tried to counter the look, quirking your brow as if to say yeah, good one. 

‘I’m serious, Agent. We can’t blow our cover.’ 

‘What cover?’ You frowned. ‘You never said anything about a cover.’ 

‘Our guy works for a jewelry vendor.’ Jack flashed a grin at you, before pulling a pair of glasses out of his pocket. ‘We need to get inside and get footage of the shop for the agents coming in tonight. These babies will live stream it right back to Ginger HQ.’

‘So I have to go jewelry shopping?’ 

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘We are going ring shopping, Mrs Daniels.’ 

‘You’re not serious.’ Your eyebrows shot up. 

‘I think we would make a very attractive couple.’ He retorted. ‘A bright-eyed Brit falling in love with a cowboy, their feelings for each other spanning the Pacific-’

‘- Atlantic-’

‘- ocean.’ 

‘Whatever.’ You pulled off your jacket, yanking the t-shirt from his hands and tugging it over your head. The shirt ended up being longer than your dress, and with your tights and heels it worked in a way that it definitely shouldn’t have. ‘Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.’

‘Incidentally, that’s something you would also say if you were my wife.’

You responded again with a groan, elongating it slightly when Jack wound an arm around your waist, as though somebody had just yelled action! 

How hard could it be? You’d been undercover as part of a couple before - admittedly, that had been with people you’d already had a rapport with, and ones who didn’t drive you up the wall as much as Whiskey. Eggsy was a close call, but having been your best friend for the better part of twenty years, it was easy to convince people you were a real couple. It had been a little awkward with Merlin and you had almost flat out refused to do it with Galahad, but there hadn’t been so much at risk then. If this recon went well, it could lead to leaps and strides in your bigger mission. Finding Calahan, proving yourself worthy of a promotion and eventual world domination (in a hero kinda way). 

‘Let’s go over the fine details.’ You murmured to him, glancing around as you entered the shopping strip inside 30 Rock. ‘Where did we meet?’

‘London. I was on a business trip.’ Whiskey quickly replied. ‘How did I propose?’

‘In front of the Eiffel Tower.’ You said. ‘And where do we live now?’

‘Kentucky, but we’re in New York because we plan on getting married here.’ He said. ‘You ready?’

‘Let’s go.’ You linked your arms with his, plastering on a fake grin as you entered the jewelry store.  ‘My glasses are recording this straight back to HQ.’

‘Hey there, cowboy!’ Calahan’s contact greeted you immediately. He wasn’t what you’d expected - the man was decked out in a suit and tie, complete with a dodgy looking spray tan and teeth so white they could probably reflect the fucking sun. ‘And pretty lady.’

It had been bad enough when Whiskey called you that. But this guy? Gross - and Jack couldn’t help but notice how you tensed up at the nickname. 

‘Watch it, pal.’ Jack joked. ‘That’s my fiancee you’re talking to.’

‘And I assume that’s what brings you in today?’ He flashed a grin at you. ‘I couldn’t help but notice she doesn’t have a ring.’

‘See if you can move closer to the case by the fire exit.’ Ginger’s voice came over your earpiece. 

‘These ones here look pretty!’ You suddenly exclaimed, grabbing Jack by the arm and yanking him in the direction that Ginger had requested. The cowboy let out a surprised yelp as you did, stumbling slightly as you dragged him across the store. 

‘Perfect. Thank you.’ She quietly said over the line. 

‘Any in particular catch your eye, Miss…’

‘It will be Mrs Jones when we get married.’ You plastered on the biggest shit-eating grin that you could muster. ‘And that one in the top corner is very pretty.’

‘That’s one of our most expensive rings.’ The jeweler’s grin was bigger than yours. ‘Is your event going to be as big? You know...price wise?’

‘Oh yeah!’ You chimed in, barely giving Jack a chance to think. ‘We’re renting out the Plaza Hotel. I’m wearing a vintage Emanuel dress inspired by the Princess of Wales and our honeymoon is three weeks in the Bahamas.’

You just had to ramble for a little bit longer whilst Jack looked around to get the footage. Luckily, it was something you were good at. You could talk somebody’s ear off if you had to and bullshit to the next degree; it had saved your ass on missions more times than you’d care to admit. If you ever retired from the Kingsman, you probably had a promising career as an actress. 

‘All this before you’ve chosen a ring?’ He raised his eyebrows at you. You’d been quick on your feet - so much so that you’d tripped and fallen. 

‘My baby’s been planning this thing since was a little girl.’ Whiskey quickly stepped in. ‘And it’s my job to make sure she gets it.’

‘He’s a lawyer.’ You went up on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek. ‘I’m marrying good.’

‘Oh!’ The jeweler glanced between the two of you. ‘This makes more sense now.’

‘Right, we’ve got enough footage.’ Merlin said. ‘You two can get the bloody hell out of there before I puke.’

After making an appointment to return the following day - which neither of you planned on going to, obviously - Jack took your hand and led you out the store. To keep up appearances, you kept your fingers intertwined as you walked back through the shopping mall. The fact you had managed to play a believable couple on such short notice was almost astounding. 

‘Oh my god.’ You murmured, glancing over your shoulder as you exited the mall and turned the corner. You pulled your hand back from Jack’s, stifling a laugh. ‘I can’t believe we actually managed to do it.’

‘Why are you so shocked?’ Whiskey peered down at you, a grin playing on his lips. ‘Like I said - we would make a very attractive couple, sugar.’

‘In your dreams, Daniels.’ You shot back. ‘But if I ever do end up in a relationship like that? Shoot me. I beg you.’

You kept strolling together, slowly heading for the Statesman headquarters - but neither of you were in a rush. Whatever the hell that was had just broken the initial tension between you, and you were actually enjoying one another’s company for the moment. 

‘What’s wrong with it?’ He asked. ‘Ain’t nothing bad about a man looking after his woman.’

‘That’s so outdated.’ You groaned. 

‘It’s not!’ Jack protested. ‘A man looks after his girl and his girl looks after him. Or a husband and husband, or wife and wife-’

‘- how progressive of you.’ You cut him off, rolling your eyes. ‘I don’t rely on anyone. Ever. I look after myself.’

It was probably a cultural difference. Jack had grown up in the south, in a household where his dad worked and his mum looked after the house. It had been the same with his late wife; had things not gone the way they had, he’d probably be the breadwinner whilst she stayed home with the kids. You, meanwhile, had grown up in a working class area of London where a majority of the households were headed by women - and most of the time, single women. If there was some unheard of future where you got married and had kids, like hell would you give up your career. Your job was your baby. 

‘We all need people to look after us sometimes.’ Jack nudged you with his elbow.

You shook your head. ‘Not me.’

‘Well you sound like a real heart-breaker, Miss Independent.’ 

‘It’s my speciality.’ 

--

Once you’d handed over the footage from your glasses to Ginger, you and Whiskey headed to the office. There was a comfortable silence between you - pretending to be a married couple had been one hell of an ice breaker. At least it was proof that you and Jack could work well together. You’d stayed on the same page for the entirety of your little improv love story, and it meant your first mission, however minor, had been a success. If working with him was going to like that for the rest of your time in New York, you might have been able to tolerate him and his ridiculous Southern drawl. 

(Not to mention the nicknames. It left you wondering if Jack had forgotten your actual name and was too afraid to ask.) 

Eggsy was waiting for you in the lobby outside the lift. He was leant against the wall, feet crossed in front of him as he tapped away on his phone. A frown came over your face when you realised that he had a bag beside him. He was scheduled to stay in the city with you until at least the following weekend. You had plans for a few days time to try and use your contacts to sneak into a filming of Saturday Night Live. 

‘Hey!’ Your best friend brightly greeted you. ‘Guess what? Tilde called!’

‘That’s great!’ You forced a smile. ‘So you’re heading back to London tonight?’

‘Yeah.’ His grin didn’t falter. ‘I figured since you two played a married couple successfully, you didn’t need me to stick around to babysit you and make sure you didn’t eat him alive.’

‘It’s still early days.’ You reasoned. ‘Are you sure you don’t wanna stay a couple more days? Adam Driver’s the guest on SNL this weekend.’

‘I gotta get back and fix things, man.’ Eggsy said. ‘I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.’

‘Right, of course.’ You held your arms out to him. 

He stepped forward and wrapped his own around you, lifting you off the ground and giving you a tight squeeze. If you had to choose one of your favourite things about Eggsy, it would have to be his hugs. The only reason you’d stopped calling him Hugsy was because he’d threatened to take them away entirely. They were far and few, usually when you were going to spend time apart, but you always appreciated them. 

‘I’ll see you in a few weeks, tops.’ He said, placing you back on the ground. ‘And I promise we’ll get into SNL then.’

‘You better.’ You poked his chest. ‘I’ll miss you, Egghead.’

‘I’ll miss you more.’

You let out a tiny sigh as Eggsy picked up his bags and headed for the lift. You weren’t mad at him for going home early - just disappointed. And not at him, just at the situation, It had been a long time since you’d got to properly spend time together outside of work. Above all, however, you knew you had to respect his relationship. What kind of friend would you be to stand in the way of him and love? 

Once he was out of sight, you regathered yourself and headed to the office. Jack was already inside, his feet propped up on the desk and a glass of his namesake whiskey in hand. It was the first time he’d taken off his hat in front of you, and his hair was a little ruffled from it. 

‘Don’t need anyone my ass’ was the greeting he offered you. 

‘What?’ You furrowed your brow. 

Jack pushed his feet back to the floor, handing you your own glass of...well, Jack.  ‘I saw the way you looked at your boy, Percy.’

‘I told you before!’ You snatched the glass from his hand, dropping into your chair. ‘Eggsy is not my boyfriend.’

‘Doesn’t have to be’.’ He shrugged. ‘You looked like you were losing your brother. Tweedle Dum ain’t nothing without Tweedle Dee.’ 

Eggsy was your brother, by all intents and purposes. Heck, he might as well have been your twin. Your fathers had been best friends when they were in Kingsman, and you and him were reflections of that. You’d gone through every high and low of your teenage years together, and eventually adulthood. As previously established, he often came to you and he often needed you, but you hated to consider how it might have gone the other way. He was the only exception to your needing no one rule. And, considering that not even your own mother had made the cut, it was actually quite complimentary. 

‘I don’t need Eggsy.’ You insisted. 

‘How long have you known each other?’ Jack ignored your statement, instead posing a question. ‘Since school?’

‘No. He’s six months older than me, so...my whole life.’

‘I rest my case.’

‘You know nothing, Whiskey!’ You exclaimed. ‘You can’t make massive assumptions about me when you’ve known me for two days.’

‘I’ve met a woman like you before.’ He replied. He pondered for a moment, and his eyes were almost...vacant. ‘She pretended she didn’t need a damn person either, but she did.’

‘And who was that?’ You thinned your eyes at me. ‘Because I can’t think of a single person who I need.’ 

‘She needed me.’ He casually shrugged. ‘And I needed her.’

‘Right. Naturally.’ You murmured. ‘It’s too early for this, Whiskey.’

‘Got too deep for you, Tea?’

‘The hell did you just call me?’

‘Tea.’ He offered you a shit eat grin. ‘Get it? Because you’re British-’

‘- this face isn’t because I didn’t get it.’ You cut him off. ‘And on that note, I am done here. I shall be working from home this evening and possibly for the rest of eternity.’ 

Swiping your glass up, you poured the entirety of its contents down your throat in one swig, before slamming it back on the table. The whiskey burnt for a split second, but it felt good - and you didn’t need to be skidding down that slippery slope at two in the afternoon. Gathering up your bag, you swung it over your shoulder and stood up. 

‘Oh, c’mon!’ Jack protested. ‘We were just starting to get along, sugar!’

‘We were!’ You shot back, pausing when you were half-way out the door. ‘Then you started therapising me.’

He grinned at you. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re contractually obliged!’

‘Fuuuck off!’ 

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x you #kingsman x you #kingsman x reader #kingsman imagine #pedro pascal characters

[sylvain-writes]

Scarlet Letters (TMNT Raphael x Reader)

Chapter 6/8: Goodbye

It’s time for Raphael to head home.

(Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ao3)

Goodbye.  That word has caught your heart in a vice for as long as you can remember.  Today it’s charged anew as you watch Raphael stir in his sleep.  Your stomach twists at the thought of that word, of its history.  You figure you’ll say, “See ya,” when you and Raphael part ways.  But the meaning will be the same.  

Fear of goodbye is the reason you let Raphael hold you even after the power returned.  It’s why you stayed in his arms long after the baseboard heat had warmed the room.  It’s why, for hours, you remained in bed with him under the guise of sleep.

You’re dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants by the time Raph wakes up, but that doesn’t erase his memory of what lies beneath your shirt.  Even as he rubs sleep from his eyes, he stares at your shoulder like the scar is still on display.  

Gingerly, Raphael pushes himself up to sit and lets the blankets pool in his lap.  

You pay no mind to his focused attention, or so you tell yourself.  Instead, your thoughts drive you forward, urging you to fix the bandages that have started to peel off of Raphael’s side.  Certainly, his fresh injuries are more deserving of attention than a wound that’s well over a decade old.  

Raphael, however, isn’t fooled by your fussing.  “Your shoulder-” he stops your fidgeting with a hand on your wrist.  “How did that really happen?”

Though you two had spent more time in bed swapping life stories than sleeping, you’d made sure to sidestep any topic that would steer the conversation back toward the scar.

You glance down.  No matter how understanding Raphael had been, you knew more questions would come.  No one carries around this kind of mark their whole life without people asking questions. 

You raise your hand to your shoulder and are comforted by the way Raphael’s hand comes along with it.  “It was the Dragons,” you confess, thinking about the purple-tipped dagger the gang had passed around like your fear was a game.  “They cornered me and my dad.  The doctors said the poison never really left my body so...”  So, you got stuck with this reminder.  A jagged, puckered scar with lines dark as India ink branching out like a web.

Raphael’s thumb draws circles over your shoulder with precision; he remembers exactly where your scar lies hidden underneath your clothes.  It’s too much - his unhurried touch, his attentive gaze.  

You listened to Raphael talk about his family as you laid together before sleeping the rest of the day away and you learned the way he cares for those he holds dear.  He feels things - everything - intensely.  With his whole heart.  It’s how anger takes hold.  Everything fuels it - fear, love, sadness.  

Now, you see his worry.  And you wonder where that anger - that shield behind which he’s learned to hide his vulnerability - has gone.  

“Raph, I-”

Your phone trills, cutting you off with the alarm you’ve set for departure.  You think, maybe it’s for the best.  

The sun set a few hours ago.  It’s well past dark.  “We should get going,” you say and you hope he doesn’t notice the tightness in your voice or the way your hands shake before you stuff them into your pockets.

⁂

Raphael insists on walking ahead, which is fine by you.  It gives you a chance to admire your handiwork on his shell.  

"Are you sure?" You had asked, looking down at a picture of the characters he’d worn when you found him.  But you understood.  By then, you had gained understanding that this was part of his mask, part of his armor.  

"That's me.” Raphael rolled his shoulders back defensively, but the way he shifted on the stool had betrayed his fear of rejection. “And if you don't like it-"

It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, or didn’t respect what it stood for.  But you had something else in mind.  

Your phone clunked against the table when you shoved it toward him.

He stared at the screen, frozen.  He swallowed hard but didn’t look away.  "Yuuki?  Naw.  That's not for me… that's-"

“It’s OK.”  You could see he was getting agitated and you didn’t know the story of the Kanji or much about the Bushido code, so you weren’t going to force the issue.  But you wanted him to know, “Since I’ve known you… and from all you’ve told me… This is who I see, Raphael.”

By way of answer, Raphael brought up an image of the characters Michelangelo had been spray painting on his shell since they were teenagers.  You looked up at him as he placed the phone in your hand.

“Please,” he said.

“Teach me,” you replied.

Anticipating the touch of your paintbrush to his shell, Raphael held his breath.  His arms flexed as they tightened around the back of the chair he was straddling.  The tick of his jaw matched the pat of his hands as he nervously drummed a beat against his elbows.  

You weren’t sure if it was the act of being marked or the suggestion you made to change his characters that had him anxious, but you stood behind him, ready to stop at a word.  This was for him.  And if he didn’t trust you with this, if he didn’t want it-

“...ya start yet?” Raphael asked.  The way he sat, with his face tucked into his forearms, made his question nearly inaudible.  But you didn’t think he was really looking for an answer.  He knew you hadn’t touched his shell.  Because the moment you placed your non-dominant hand upon it, you heard his sharp intake of breath.  You felt his body quiver with it.  

You paused, allowing him time to get used to your touch.  “Should I…”

Raphael nodded against his arms.  And when you brought the paintbrush down to the hard scales of his back, he released his breath in a rush.  

With slow strokes, you followed the diagram Raphael had drawn out.  There was an order to the characters; you would get it right.  

Each time you lifted the brush for more paint, Raphael rose into the palm of your other hand.  It was as if he missed the pressure, as if he needed the contact.  So, you slid your hand along the edge of his carapace in languid sweeps as you worked.  You let yourself get lost in it - in the brushstrokes, in the quiet, in the notches and grooves of his shell.  

And now Raphael walks with his kanji emblazoned on his back, but you don’t see the bright red characters as a marker of unprovoked violence.  Not after everything Raphael and his brothers have been through.  Not after the effort Raphael has put into his training and the growth he’s described in not as many words.  

You believe the characters are a testament to his strength and bravery and compassion.  When he’s in control of it, Raphael’s anger is his ammunition and his shield.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you and Raphael turn a corner.  He doesn’t lead you much further before he finds an alley that “looks familiar.”  Nonetheless, it still takes him a solid minute to find what he’s looking for under the snow.

Once the manhole cover is clear, Raphael lifts it and sets it aside with ease.  

“So, eh, ya comin’ down or what?”

You look at the giant mutant turtle standing in front of you and at the open sewer beneath your feet, and you smile knowing that life can’t possibly get any weirder than this.  You smile as you lean into it.  And you smile with the realization that you’re finally excited to see where life wants to take you.  It’s brought you to him.  And you want to see how far this will go. 

But your damn phone won’t stop buzzing with requests from work.  

“It’s Damian again.”  Your Nurse Manager has been trying to bribe people into work with promises of free pizza.  You had texted back, ’How about double-time?,’ nearly an hour ago.  

You frown at the response that just came through.  ‘I got you for time-and-a-half.’  You can’t turn down the money.  “I gotta go into work,” you say apologetically.

“Oh.  Right.  Well...” Raphael looks down at the ladder and his brow creases with dark thoughts.

Your hand rises and falls.  You’d like to touch him, to hold onto him, but to what end?  “You could come by sometime, y’know.  Talk to your brothers, clear the air.  Then, come and tell me all about it over take out or somethin’.”  

He probably figures you’ve invited him for greasy, MSG-loaded Chinese, but you know you’ll pull a bait and switch.  Recruit him as a sous chef.  All his boasting about being a ninja and you’ve yet to see his knife skills in action.  “Whaddaya say, Red?  Dinner at mine?”

Raphael shuffles in place, scratches the back of his head, and gives a half-hearted shrug.  

“Maybe bring your brothers around,” you say, so he knows you have no qualms about meeting them.  “I know I live in a pretty rough neighborhood,” you joke to cut the tension, “but I hear you turtle guys know a thing or two about fighting.  Maybe you can teach me…”

Raphael seems to perk up at that, but you can’t help but poke fun at him just a little.  “On second thought, maybe I should take another class at the Community Center.  You did get your ass handed to you yesterday.”  

“Hey, if I hadn’t been pushed-”

Was it really only yesterday?  Your eyes drift over his injuries, impressed with how quickly he’s healing.  “Just keep your feet on the ground, alright?”  

This time, when your stomach flips, you give into the urge to reach out to Raphael.  Laying a hand on his forearm, you draw in some of his courage.  “And if ya don’t wanna bring around your brothers.  If, maybe, you wanna visit - just you and me - that’d be fine, too.”  Your smile widens as you tighten your grip and bring yourself a step closer.  

Raphael’s cheeks flush.  You think all is going well until he steps out of your reach and you come to the conclusion that maybe you can’t read Raphael as well as you thought.

His hands are up and his eyes are on the ground as he backs away.  “I-I ain’t some cursed prince, y’know.  What ya see is what ya get.”

“I like what I see.”  He has to know that by now.  You need him to know that.  “Is this about me going into work?  Bring me down to your place when I’m done.  I’m not scared to see where you live.  I want to know you.”

“I gotta go,” he says.  And out of respect, you have to let him.

“Raphael.”  You call out his name as he turns toward the ladder.  Your heart pounds against your chest at the thought of never seeing him again.  “Here,” you say, reaching into the pocket of your parka.  “It’s not much.  Just an antibiotic.  Apply it twice a day, when you change your bandages.”

The tube of cream is dwarfed by his palm, but he accepts the ointment with a small word of thanks.

“A-and,” you stall as he starts to turn again, “I know you said your brother helps out with the med stuff.  You can tell Donatello the stitches shouldn’t be removed yet.”

“OK.”  

You take a deep breath as Raphael stands at the edge of the manhole, knowing these words are your goodbye.  “Give it about four or five days, OK?  But no longer than that.”

“OK.”

“A-and, Raph,” you hold up your hand as he prepares to jump, and he waits.

“Yeah, ___?” 

You bite your lips together to keep yourself from saying something stupid, something revealing, something you can’t take back, “Nevermind.”

Raphael nods.  

“Take care of yourself,” you say, finally, and when he looks up this time the turtle is holding his injured side and wearing a small smile.

“Ya killin’ me with all this red light green light, y’know.”

You wince.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“See ya in about four or five days,” he interjects.

Your eyebrows shoot up.  “Wha-?”

“To take out the stitches.  Ya think I’m gonna trust Donnie with dis pretty face?”

Your heart leaps and you’re smiling so hard that it hurts.  “OK.  Yeah.  OK.  Four or five days.”  

⁂

You walk home with a bounce in your step and your head in the clouds and your eyes on your phone.  You have to text Damian confirmation that you’ll be in as soon as you can.

There’s no foreboding change in the air.  No dark clouds rolling in.  No ominous music playing, when you’re jumped.  But there are figures dressed in black, a soaked cloth over your mouth, and the clatter of your phone as it hits the pavement.

#Gender Neutral Reader #Raphael x gender neutral reader #TMNT Raphael x gender neutral reader #Raphael x reader #tmnt x reader #Raphael 2014/16 #Bayverse Raphael #Scarlet Letters fic

[fanatic-scribe]

A Bottle and Some Cards

Chapter 1/?

Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2012)

Word count: 2,484/2,484

Ao3: Here

Characters: Donatello (main), Casey Jones (main), everyone else

Pairing: Donatello/Casey Jones

Warnings: Aged-Up Character, Drinking Games, Slow Burn (kinda)

Ch 1 / / Ch2 (coming soon) / /

Summary:

Ethanol is the intoxicating part of alcohol and its molecules are so small that they can actually pass into the gaps between brain cells. There it can interfere with the neurotransmitters that enable all the brain’s activities. If you drink fast, alcohol will start to flood the brain. Alcohol affects parts of the brain responsible for self-control. And that is why Donatello did all this dumb shit to himself.

A/N: Just something fun I made for the hell of it. There may be other pairings in this but Idk yet.

This work will be tagged with #B&C tmnt

Chapter 1: Salt and Lime

“Pussy.” Mikey huffed at Casey as the human chugged down his cup of beer. Casey stuck out his middle finger as he drank.

“I’d say sensible,” Donnie chimed in, “the dare said to ‘drink a concoction of whatever the opponent makes using whatever they can find in the kitchen.’”

“Yeah so?” The other’s looked at him dumbfounded. Flashes of Mikey’s bizarre “food” concoctions from when he was a young chief, and them too worried to crush his dreams, flash in their minds.

Taking turns they began to reminisce of his old creations. The ‘Squid Oatmeal Pizza.’ that Raph still swears he saw an eye on. But, as Donnie pointed out at the time, “It could be a raisin. You know, from the the...oatmeal...part?” at least that's what the boys keep telling themselves. They ate the entire pizza that night.

And who could forget the ‘Apple Pizza Pie Suprise’ with ‘All the wonders of both pies together with a twist!’ Poor April, who had not yet tried his creations and was too late to hear the turtle’s warnings, found the twist quickly after chewing on the bite only once. The brother’s had watched helplessly as their best friend’s soul left her body to the depths of hell. The pizza part of this creation was a classic Mikey order that she has seen only once; double anchovies, roasted garlic, chocolate, cappuccino pizza. The only thing that had stopped her from spitting it out before Mikey had walked away was the shock of the taste, it had paralyzed her. All she could do was open her mouth to let the food fall onto her plate and push it directly into the trash next to her. None of the brothers could blame her. She remembers her bite having a certain pop to it that she tried many years to forget.

‘Asian cowboy fusion calzone dude!’ Is what had gotten Karai. By this point, Mikey was a better cook, he would make odd foods for himself all the time still but no one had told Karai. She took a small bite that Mikey offered her but immediately spit it out, much to the turtle’s amusement as he was laughing. She found out later that to Mikey “cowboy” meant beans and s’mores and “Asian” meant teriyaki sauce, ginger, and shrimp. Karai learned an important lesson that day, never trust Mikey’s original cooking.

“And that was all him being nice and trying to cook.” Casey added pouring himself another cup of beer, “This would be him making something bad for my dare.” Everyone shuttered thinking about the horrors that could have been. Except for one bubbly laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right dude.” Mikey took a drink from his cup, “I get creative when I’m drunk so I probably would have killed you.” They all chuckled at this, everyone would have rather drunk.

They loved their weekends together because they got to do this, have fun and laugh. April was in college and spent a lot of time studying, even if she came to the lair at least four times a week. Casey wasn’t in college but he had a job at his local ice arena, he helped teach young kids hockey and did general cleaning and maintenance, that kept him pretty busy. Karai was always busy, over the time she took over the Foot Clan had reclaimed their good name but she was still having to deal with certain people still loyal to Shredder or mob bosses who saw her as an easy hit. Even if they were busy they still would try to gather together every weekend to relax and half fun together. This Friday night, with alcohol already clouding their minds, they were playing Truth, Dare or Drink.

Leaning forward Casey took hold of the bottle and spun it, still leaning forward he plucked up a dare card not looking at the words yet. “Wow, Casey Jones picked dare.” Donnie chaffed, “Did not see that one coming.” Casey smiled cheerfully at the turtle with wide eyes, gap teeth, and a middle finger on both hands. There was a chuckle at their banter, Donnie had become comfortable with it and often looked forward to his time with Casey. They had truly become good friends.

As the sound rolling of glass slowly dulled so did everyone’s voice until both were silent. The neck of the bottle pointing, if a bit vaguely, at Donnie. Mikey oohed with excitement like Casey Mikey enjoyed movement rather than talking so he always preferred dares. Hopefully, this dare won’t be a drink instead.

Dramatically, Casey lifted his arm to point at the turtle, “Donatello! The cards dare you to,” He lifted the card up to read aloud, “do a body shot off your opponent.” There was a chorus of laughs and oos from everyone as Donnie shook his head.

“No, no. I’m not doing that. I’ll drink.” Everyone turned to boo him. “BOOO!” he answered.

“Donnie you haven’t done one dare!”

“Mikey, I’ve only gotten one other dare.”

“AND YOU DIDN’T DO IT!” Mikey was having a hard time trying to understand what Donnie didn’t get about this very simple topic. Just before Donnie could say anything Raph leaned forward from his spot on the couch interjecting their argument.

“Hey come on, it's fine. This is Donnie’s choice.” He paused for a second taking a drink from his cup as everyone looked surprised. He smirked as he pulled the cup away, “And he’s choosing to be a fucking killjoy.” There were a few laughs as Donnie just rolled his eyes, he reached for his cup leaning forward from his spot on the floor.

A hand reached out and stopped his wrist, he followed the hand up to April who had walked over to him from her seat next to Karai. She was crouched down sitting on her heels, he ninja training with the other girls must be going great, he had not even heard her move. “Look, Donnie,” He’s heard that tone of voice before, “if you don’t want to do this that’s fine but you had two easy dares. Just have fun no one will make fun of you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Did you see us make fun of anyone else?” Thinking back Donnie could remember everyone laughing at crazy antics but then just more celebrating all together. When Leo had to let Raph draw on his face with a sharpie everyone was laughing, even Leo now sporting a lovely penis across his forehead among other drawings.

Donnie sighed, might as well give the people what they want, “Alright fine I’ll do it.” he said throwing his hands up. Before he could even stand up Casey and Mikey had already hoped up and started moving to the kitchen laughing and cheering. As everyone else stood and made their way to the kitchen Casey was sitting on the table, legs dangling over the sides, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it to the side. Bent over the open fridge Mikey was looking for the tequila Casey had brought over with the beer. The salt and lime already in his hands as Mikey grabbed the chilled bottle and placed the items on the table. Soon the rest of the group joined them at the table just as Casey began to pull his shirt over his head.

Donatello couldn’t help but see how the human had really grown into his frame, as a scientist observes an animal grow and mature. His muscles were more defined from when he was a gangly kid, his abdomen had the defined lines of muscle. His hips made a V just before his pants, this was accented further due to a small patch of hair leading from his belly button to bellow his pants. Donnie realized this felt different than observing and animal grow and mature, ‘Must be the alcohol.’ he thought to himself, because what else could it be? A shout from Mikey quickly shook him from his trance. “Dude, what the hell!”

“What?!”

“What the fuck is on your nipples?!”

The turtle’s had seen Casey shirtless before but something had changed. Now there was a visible bar of metal going through each nub where there hadn’t been last time. “Oh yeah,” Casey chuckled looking at his chest, “I got my nipples pierced.”

“Well, that part is obvious!” Shouted Raph, “When did you do this?”

“A little after the tongue at a shop.” Raph had known about the tongue. They had gotten their tongue piercing done together by Slash. Sure it may have been a ‘teenage at home piercing’ but it was straight and healed up just fine, that was almost a solid year and a half ago. Donnie rolled his eyes as he got to work cutting the lime, being very careful as he could feel his body sway.

“It’s just body modification, lots of humans do it.” Even though his words were indifferent his eye’s lingered on Casey’s chest, a slight amount of dark hair contrasted with the sparkling silver rings. There was something fascinating about it that just drew in Donnie’s attention, they suited Casey.

“Dude, it’s so weird looking!” Mikey reached forward and poked at the human’s nipple. Normally Casey was cool with being randomly touched by Mikey, especially in a party situation like this. However, as soon as he pressed down on Casey the turtle had his hand pushed away as Casey scooted away on the table with a nervous hum, laugh. He had reached up to covering his nipple with his hand and other arm held up to keep Mikey at a distance.

“Whoa! Ok!” There was still a chuckle with his words, “Hey Mikey lets not touch my nipples ok.” There was a questioning look in his eyes as well as everyone else, Casey shrugged, “They made my nipple more sensitive than I'm used too.” There was a slight pinkness in his cheeks as everyone briefly discussed this new topic. Donatello could feel his face heat up as well, ‘Must be from the alcohol.’ he thought.

Raph snatched the lime slice Donnie had cut and ran the fruit next to Casey’s belly button and poured salt over it, the crystals clung to the lime juice on his skin. After much debate, the group decided to pour the shot into the dip made by Casey’s pronounced collar bone when he leaned his head back. It wasn’t enough to fit an entire shot and he wasn’t allowed to move or he would pour the tequila but it made the body shot feel more authentic, whatever that means. Casey complained slightly about the cold fruit and liquor but no one really cared enough to change anything, besides it was already too late to change anything. So Casey just sat there, neck stretched back, leaning on one arm with a lime slice in his mouth waiting on a certain purple-clad turtle.

Donnie stepped between the human's legs a bit reluctantly, they looked at each other, well as best they could without Casey moving his head.  Donnie with his arms crossed, he waited for Casey to back out because surely he would by this point. But he just sat there, lime sticking out of his gap teeth surrounded by a shit-eating grin, Donnie couldn’t let that grin win. After a few more still, silent seconds Donnie took a breath and bent down.

Donatello’s rough tongue ran over the area of salt on the human’s stomach, he could feel Casey tense slightly under his tongue, he could feel the soft, warm skin as it contracted against muscle. Donnie ran over the slight dip were his abs were more defined, he couldn’t taste the human over the tart lime and salt but some animalistic part of him wanted to. Some inner part of his brain wanted to bite the human. Vaguely in the distance, he could hear hoots of encouragement but they were drowned out by the sound of hot blood rushing to his head. Still, they pulled him back to the task at hand, already forgetting his primal thought.

As Donnie stood he rested his hands on either side of Casey on the table, he leaned forward and touched his lips to the human’s collar bone and the tequila. Donnie could have sworn he heard Casey’s breath hitch over the chorus of cheers when his tongue lightly ran over the soft alcohol wet skin. With a loud, almost comically, disruptive slurp Donnie had swallowed the alcohol, it burned his throat but the salt helped.

Moving on, he leaned forward to take the lime from the other’s mouth, he bit down and pulled only to be met with resistance. Casey held onto the lime with a smirk forcing Donnie to play a game of tug o’ war for the lime, very annoying.

The turtle looked up to glare at Casey only to find black eyes already looking at him and it felt like time had frozen. Donnie wondered if he had ever looked at Casey’s eyes. Donnie thought that he had eyes like the deepest water, black and bottomless pools of onyx trying to pull the turtle in. For a moment he thought he could explore those eyes for hours trying to find their end and never get tired.

Snapped out of his daze by Casey letting go of the lime causing Donnie to stumble back from his own tugging. This earned a chuckle from the group followed by pats on his shell and congratulations. Smiling and laughing with everyone he couldn’t help but feel his heart beat faster and harder in his chest. He glanced over at Casey and saw him putting his shirt back on and laughing with Raph about how he jumped off the table and almost fall.

Everyone was using this time to talk about what had been happening in the game and to grab more snacks and drinks. Also to pet Ice Cream Kitty, like a lot. A few people cried. Petting Ice Cream Kitty is serious business. Donnie was pouring bags of snacks into different bowls when his eye’s drifted to Casey once or twice, looking for something. He was standing in front of the open freezer having just put whipped cream on the sugary cat, he then tipped his head back to fill his mouth with whipped cream. Donnie watched as his long neck stretched back, Donnie remembered how soft his skin felt against the harsh salt taste. A more animalistic part of his brain said something but it was muffled in the back of his mind.

“Don, you ok?” April’s voice pulled him out of his daze and he realized he has spilled quite a few pretzels.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine just lost focus.” He smiled and worked to clean up the spilled pretzels. Why was he so fascinated by Casey?

‘Must be from the alcohol.’ he thought.

Notes:

Hope you liked it! I know nothing happened yet. Bummer. Well, the next chapter will be coming soon! Sometime next week Maybe

#donatello #Donnie #casey jones #jonatello #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #donatello 2012 #B&C tmnt

[pagesofmydiary-blog1]

Chapter 1 - And so it begins...

I'm going to start out my story by doing the most obvious and unoriginal thing, by telling you how I came to be. Now, with this being the internet and all, I'm not going to disclose my exact birth date or names, cause that would be stupid. I will say that I'm an Aquarius, so there.

My mom and dad already had a large family before they got pregnant with me. My mother was 17 when she married to my dad, he was 21. She was 19 when she had her first child, a boy, let's call him Zack. She would go on to birth my other two brothers, Sammy and Jay. After giving birth to three boys, she decided enough was enough and had a tubal ligation. (Side Note: if you don't know what a tubal ligation is, let me save you the gory details. Doctors go into the women's reproductive organs, does some stuff to them and pretty much makes balloon animals out of their Fallopian tubes, all to prevent additional pregnancy)

So let's count it out, my mom and dad, three sons and oh yeah, my paternal grandmother all under one roof, with one bathroom. Yes, you heard that right, ONE friggin' bathroom. Anyways, around the time my youngest brother, Jay, turned one, my mother found out she was pregnant again. Actually, she was sort of in denial, because that was supposed to be taken care of (remember those balloon animals?) but after experiencing morning sickness for several days, my dad busted out the "your eggo is preggo" talk. The both have said to me that it was unexpected, but they were still excited nonetheless.

And so the day came when I was brought into this majestic world, and behold - a baby girl!? Not only was I an accident from the get go, me turning out to have a vajayjay was also pretty unexpected. I mean, my parents already had a male name picked out for me (Shawn Patrick, if you're curious). My dad called my grandma back at home with the bros and told her the good news, of course, it took a few minutes of convincing for her to believe that I was a girl.

(When telling this story, I always think of a scenario where my parents take me to a hospital customer service and request a return, just imagine...

Mom: Mam? I'm sorry but I need to speak with a manager, you see, this baby has... ahem a... a "hoo-haa" and I specifically remember expecting a "wee wee"

Attendant: Ok, ok, let me page the manager, he'll be able to help you...   "Service manager to the front desk! I repeat, We need the service manager to the front desk!" "Code 26: Expected a wee-wee and got a hoo-haa")

It wasn't all peaches and cream though, for example, shortly after I was born my amazing pediatrician (the man literally saved my life...twice) recommended my mom take me to a cardiologist. You see being born after the surgeon made a poodle of my mother's Fallopian tubes didn't fare well for my development in the womb. My mother, took me to see doctors at the hospital not once or twice, but three times. Each time, they said it was only a heart murmur and they'll go away on their own. Eventually, the doctor's did notice something strange about my heart that resulted in needing a heart surgery to repair it. I still have the scars, there's one that starts on the side under my bra line that goes on about six inches across my chest. I'm lucky for them though, I've seen worse scars. Other health issues came later in life that I'm still dealing with and will always deal with, but I'll save those for later.

Now, let me mention that just because I was born a girl did not mean that I ever acted like a little lady. First off, I always would steal my brother's toys (Hey, my barbies needed boyfriends and I didn't think the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles would mind). Secondly, I had to beg my mom to buy me jeans, so I could be just like my brothers. I still remember my first pair of jeans complete with the pink trim and patch pockets, I've lived in denim ever since. I wanted to be like my brothers so much that I paraded around without a shirt on most days. That's right, I was "Freeing the Nipple" before I even knew what the fuck a nipple was (and have the pics to prove it). Also, I didn't mind getting second-hand t-shirts or toys, cause my brothers had some cool stuff. I fondly remember the Christmas when my brothers got a Nintendo 64, that meant their Super Nintendo was all mine.

I actually do feel sorry for my mother a little, I mean here she is having birthed her first daughter and she turns out to be...ME. It's like living in one of those Expectation vs Reality meme's, but hey, I'm only a product of my raise so yeah, Mama tried. She tried teaching me to be "lady-like", while good old me was asking her, "What are those big squishy round things on your chest?" and calling my brother's bastards being completely unaware that bastard is actually a curse word, then having a debate with my grandma about whether bastard IS a curse word. Point being made here, I was a handful and still am, which is probably why I've ended up where I am now, 33 and divorced. I'm jumping to Chapter 6 and I still got chapters 2,3,4 and 5 to go through.

So, the plan is that at the end of each chapter, I'd offer some type of sage wisdom, right? Here's a thing, don't forget to appreciate your parents. If your parents are close-minded, hate-mongering a-holes, then do what you have to do to protect yourself from that. Do remember though that everyone and everybody is a product of their raise, basically meaning, people are not born a-holes they become that way by influence. Secondly, if you need someone to listen to you're problems, please, please, triple please ask me. I have problems of my own and I need all the distractions I can take... But really, ask me anything and I'll give you the best advice I can.

I'll be posting at least one chapter/post each week, but I'll probably share a few other tidbits along the way.

#mylife #pagesofmydiary #chapter1 #accidentbaby #heartsurgery #threebrothers