#and the hands of michelangelos muscular guys

[fluffytriceratops]

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐨 [𝐛𝐚𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞]

notes: not a request even tho i have loads of those that i need to be working on lmao. this is self indulgent as yesterday was my bday and i love mikey hehe. he's so underrated askifeigvgh- but thats okay, cuz that means i don't have to share him~ ^3^ too tired to edit so pls ignore any and all mistakes. thankies. <33 and that gif-- fjssksjdjgu so hot. O//.//O too tired for spam tonight, but have this imagine to make up for it!

warnings: mature langauge/swearing. tooth rotting fluff.

tags: @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @digitl-art-monstr @leosgirl82 @turtle-babe83 @mysticboombox @drowninghell @squirrelfurs @lec743 @post-apocalyptic-daydream @bibiz82 @raphslovemuffin80 @raphielover @tmntspidergirl

(If you would like to be tagged in my future TMNT realted posts (let me know if you want just reader insert stuff or if you want OC related content included) feel free to lemme know and I'll happily add you!)

Thank you for reading! Have a lovely day/night! Stay safe and make sure to take care of yourselves! I'm sending all the virtual hugs to you~! <3

─

"Happy bir-" Michelangelo sputtered as a pillow was launched in his face, cutting off his singing. He pursed his lips in a pout as he gazed down towards a very grumpy and tired looking Y/n.

"It's 4:30 in the morning." She hissed.

"Told you she'd be pissed." Raph grumbled from behind Mikey, arms crossed over his muscular chest. Leo and Donnie were there too, and didn't seem surprised by this at all. "Technically," Donnie added, pushing up his glasses with a finger. "We all did."

"Awe, c'mon Angelcakes. It's your special day!" Mikey plopped down on her bed, making the mattress squeak and bounce under his weight. Y/n glowered, turning away from him and onto her side.

"It's 4:30 in the fucking morning." she repeated, as if that answered everything.

Mikey huffed, "Y/n," he drawled out her name, poking her side teasingly. "We have the whole day planned. And there'll be cake and presents~"

Y/n sat up, hair a mess and looking like she was about to murder somebody. "Mikey," she grabbed her alarm clock next to her bed and shoved it into his face. He snorted and shoved it away. "Y/n." he mimicked her tone, a smirk practically plastered to his pretty green face.

Y/n's shoulders sagged in annoyance. "Can't this wait till tomorrow?"

"Technically-" Her glare shut Donnie up and he flashed a sheepish and slightly apologetic smile.

"No. It can't. C'mon, don't be a party pooper. It'll be fun." Mikey tucked a few strands of her wild hair behind her ear and Y/n's cheeks warmed at the action.

"You know what will be fun?"

"Hmm?"

Y/n flopped back down and pulled her covers over her head. "Going the fuck to sleep."

Mikey rolled his eyes and let out a comically long sigh. "I guess you leave me no choice." Y/n shrieked as the blanket was pulled off of her, eveloping her in cold and causing a chill to run through her bones. Before she could so much as blink, Mikey grabbed her and hoisted her into his arms. "Leo, grab her something nice to wear. Raph and Donnie, to the batmobile!"

"Mikey I swear to- Leo you better not- put me down! Guys this isn't funny! I'm only wearing a t-shirt and undies!" Y/n slapped Mike's shell a few times but he didn't seem to care.

"Nothing we haven't seen before babes. Well, at least I haven't." Mikey teased, reaching up with his free hand and patting her bum. Y/n's face blossomed in heat and she covered it with her hands in embarrasment.

"I'm disowning all of you." She grumbled and Leo's lips lifted into a tiny smirk. "We're not related so you can't disown us."

"Unfortunetly, Fearless is right. You couldn't get rid of us even if you tried, Tiny." Y/n removed her hands from her face to glare at Raph who was clearly amused by this whole ordeal. She stuck her tongue out towards him and he mocked her by doing the same.

"Assholes. All of you are assholes."

"If it helps, I said we should just wait till 7 at the earliest." Donnie spoke up, "I know how much you like to sleep."

"And that's why you're my favourite."

Mikey slapped her ass causing the h/c haired female to yelp in surprise. "Mikey! What the hell?!"

"As your boyfriend, I should be your favouite." He stated with a huff. Though if she could see his face, she could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. Y/n once again slapped his shell, as it was the only thing she could reach being thrown over his shoulders like she was.

"You dink!"

─

When they finally got back to the lair, Y/n was surpised to see the entire place decked out. There were balloons and streamers. Fairylights, lanterns and candles. A playlist made up of her favourite songs seeping out of some speakers. They even had a disco ball creating soft sparkles of light. And snacks galore.

Y/n's eyes began to water and she reached up to cover her mouth with her hands. "You guys.." Her voiced wavered and she turned to look up at all of them with a happy tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "Thank you. You didn't have to do all of this."

"Don't thank us, it was Mikey's idea." Leo hummed, smiling down towards his friend.

"We did most of the work tho-" Raph was elbowed by the leader and he shot him a look.

Mikey all but beamed down towards his girlfriend. And even though she was in nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear, with her hair a frazzled mess and tear streaks on her face. He swore she had never looked more beautiful. Y/n didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around him, which he gratefully accepted. Scooping her up in his arms and giving her a good squeeze. She cupped his face in her hands and peppered the entire thing with kisses. Earning a happy chortle and a cute churr from the mutant.

"Thank you, Mikey baby. I love you." She mumbled, resting her forehead against his own.

"Not as much as I love you." He cooed and Raph groaned in annoyance. Faking a gag.

Y/n rolled her eyes as Mikey set her down and then she went to hug all three brothers. "Thank you guys."

"You're welcome." Donnie and Leo said in unison. But Raph could only smirk, "What, no kiss?" he teased and this time it was Y/n who elbowed him.

Y/n went to the bathroom to get changed into what Leo grabbed for her as well as get ready for the rest of the day. While she did that, the four brothers went into the kitchen to prepare her birthday breakfast.

Michelangelo made the pancake batter and worked on crisping up some turkey bacon.

Donatello started on making coffee, tea, and pink lemonade for the group.

Leonardo washed and cut up some fresh fruit.

And Raphael set up the table.

It didn't take long for Y/n to come back, wearing a cute sun dress and hair no longer a mess. She even had a bit of makeup on. Her eyes lit with amusement as she watched them all do their own thing. Raph, who had finished with the table a good while ago, was now sneaking fruit from Leo who looked like he was about to murder him. Donnie was munching on a pop tart, holding a cup of coffee in one hand as he watched Leo and Raph bicker. And Mikey was singing along to whatever song was playing, completely distracted with trying not to burn the food.

Y/n walked up to her mutant boyfriend and pecked him on the cheek in greeting, stealing a blueberry from a bowl that was sitting next to him.

"Hey, whatcha making?"

"Blueberry pancakes, your favourite." He mused, bending down to capture her mouth in a saccharine kiss. She hummed against his lips, whisking herself away to make herself a cup of coffee.

"You have good taste, Lee." She mused, leaning against the counter next to Donnie and stealing a nibble of his pop tart. He didn't seem to mind.

Leo smiled, glad she had liked what he picked out for her. "It is your dress, so I didn't do much."

Y/n shrugged, "Still. You picked well."

They chatted for a bit among themselves before Leo left to get Splinter and they all sat down at the table to munch on a very early breakfast. And despite still being tired, Y/n had to admit, she was having a great time and was glad they pulled her out of bed.

After breakfast, they all helped clean up before playing a bunch of board and card games. This included monopoly, uno, the game of life, gin rummy, and poker. Of course, Mikey wanted to play strip poker- but it was clear it was only to see Y/n in her birthday suit.

After playing for a few hours, April, Casey and Vern came down to the lair. Bringing lunch which consisted of burgers and french fries.

They talked and laughed for a while as they ate. Y/n had her legs splayed across Mike's lap and he rest his hands on them. Giving them a soft squeeze every now and then.

Eventually, half way during the conversastion, Y/n grew quiet. Simply staring at Mikey with a small and content smile on her soft pink lips. Mikey, feeling her gaze, turning his baby blues onto her with a grin. "What's up?" He hummed, squeezing her leg again.

"You're beautiful." She mumbled, smile only growing.

Mikey's face heated with a blush and she swore he shone as bright as the sun. "Aren't I supposed to say that to you?"

Y/n shrugged. "I guess I beat you to it."

Mikey let out a small laugh. "I guess you did. C'mere." He reached for her hand and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her from behind and planting a few tender kisses to the exposed skin of her shoulder. Y/n bit her lip to contain her giggles, hardley being able to stop from grinning as he rest his chin on her shoulder and continued talking to the group as if this little interaction had never happened.

After lunch, they piled into the living room to play some video games and watch one of Y/n's favourite tv series with her. She chose Gossip Girl, and she wasn't surprised when they all got into it.

Even Raph who tended to claim he didn't like to watch "girl shows". Everyone always knew he was bullshitting.

"He's so hot." April hummed, leaning back in her seat and missing the offended look on Casey's face.

"I know." Y/n hummed, "Chuck Bass is the best."

"I thought I was the best." Mikey teased from next to her, biting her cheek softly.

"True. But he's.."

"Chuck Bass." April chimed and Y/n giggled at the reference. "Also true."

"I don't get it, why aren't Blair and Chuck together when it's so clear they wanna be with each other?" Raphael grumbled, gesturing towards the two on the television.

"Because he's afraid to feel." Casey piped up, making it sound so obvious.

"Maybe he doesn't want to corrupt her?" Donnie added, sipping a juice box contendedly.

"I think it's because he just wants to have sex with multiple girls. He's not the settling type." Vern said, popping a chip into his mouth. "In other words, a man whore."

April and Y/n shared a look. "I think he's talking about himself here."

"Yes, he must be." They jested and Vern rolled his eyes. His phone beeped and he was quick to pull it out to check the notification.

"That's work. I gotta cut this party short, I'm afraid." He stood up, handing the chip bag to Raph before approaching Y/n and planting a quick kiss to her temple. "Happy birthday, kiddo."

Y/n smiled, accepting the small box he handed to her. She opened it up, revealing a gold necklace with a single gold daisy pendant. "Awe, Vern, it's beautiful. Thank you." She pried Mikey's arm off of her and stood to give him a quick hug. Vern seemed rather pleased with himself that she liked his gift. (He actually called April for tips to make sure he got her something she liked-)

"You're welcome, Y/n. I'll see you later." He said his goodbyes to the rest of the group before leaving.

Mikey helped Y/n put her necklace on and then they continued watching a few more episodes of Gossip Girl before deciding to order dinner, which was chinese. April and Casey decided to pick it up but they had a while before it was ready so they played some COD Black Ops 2 zombies to pass the time.

Y/n lay comfortably against Mikey as he played with Casey, Raph and Leo. Donnie elected to sit on the sidelines and watch. He, April and Y/n were currently betting on who would kill the most zombies.

Casey was in last place, as predicted. But Raph actually won by three more kills than Mikey.

Y/n groaned as she slapped a five dollar bill in Donnie's exposed hand. She had bet on Mikey, of course. While April bet on Leo. Casey seemed mildly offended by that, which she found amusing.

After enjoying a delicious dinner, which Y/n couldn't even finish since there was so much of it. Thankfully, Mikey was more than willing to eat her leftovers. They went back into the living area for Y/n to open her gifts.

Casey was first, he had gotten her a lovely new hoodie in her favourite color. With a pair of socks with turtles on them. Which she found utterly fantastic.

April was next, she got Y/n her favourite body spray, lotion, and a pack of scrunchies. Paired with a bottle of wine and a gift card to one of her favourite shops.

Leo followed, he got her some new teas to try and two adorable mugs for her growing collection.

Raph went next, giving her a massive blanket which he had knit himself. This was paired with a few plushies as he knew she loved them. One of them was even a turtle.

Donnie went after Raph, as Mikey insisted on being last. He got her a gift card to her favourite coffee shop/cafe as well as three new books she had be itching to get her hands on.

Master Splinter followed Donnie. He had gotten Y/n some new potted plants he had picked out just for her. One which included her favourite kind of flowers. He also gave her a scrap book he made with pictures of his sons when they were younger. They all groaned and complained at that, but there was no way in hell she wasn't seeing and keeping those photos.

Finally, it was Mikey's turn.

He had gotten her some fancy pens and a new journal because he knew she was an aspiring writer and loved to write. He also gave her some handmade jewlery he had made specially for her. She adored the turtle charm hanging from one of the bracelets. This followed by an acrylic painting of the city. Yes, he painted it himself. And then a small leather book that looked quite worn.

Y/n's eyebrows furrowed and she glanced up at him in question. But Mikey could only smile down at her, clearly excited, and even a tad nervous, for her to see what was inside.

When she opened the book, Y/n's eyes widened in shock. She was so gobsmacked, she didn't know what to say.

The entire thing was filled with his drawings. And they weren't drawings of just anything, they were all of her.

Tears pooled in those big e/c orbs of hers as she flipped through the sketch book. Pencil, charcol, pen, colored pencil- you name it. He used it all. And that wasn't the only thing. Each drawing had a date scribbled in his writing. And it started long before they had even started dating.

"Oh my god.. Mikey.." Her voice wavered and lip trembled as she continued to look at the drawings.

She remembered some of them, too. As some were drawn during specific moments. Like one where she was reading a book while leaning against her bedroom window as it rained. One where she was flower picking out in the country on a trip they took one time. Another where she was hunched over her desk, writing away in one of her many journals.

Turning to face her beloved boyfriend, Y/n couldn't help but cry as she embraced him. Throwing her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face into him. Mikey could only laugh, shoulders shaking lightly as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her shoulder and taking a large inhale.

The other's sent them looks, clearly confused on why she was crying and what was in the book. Donnie reached over and grabbed it gently, clicking his tongue once he saw what was inside.

"Do you like it?" Mikey mumbled, and Y/n pulled away a bit so she could look at him in astonishment. "Do I like it? Mikey, I love it. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you." He cupped her face with his much larger hands and swiped away her still falling tears.

"Of course, anything for my Angelcakes." He hummed, pressing a kiss to her cute nose. "I love you."

Y/n's heart swelled, she didn't think she could ever feel more happy. "I love you more."

"I love you most." Michel quipped, quoting Tangled and making Y/n roll her eyes playfully. "Impossible." She hummed, pressing a firm but tender kiss to his lips.

"Wow, Mike, you really went all out huh?" Casey mused, after chancing a peak inside the sketchbook.

Mikey beamed, "Like I said, anything for her."

"You just had to out do us, ya little shit." Raph teased, smirking towards his younger brother.

"But of course."

─

After chatting for a while they put in some of Y/n's favourite movies. Eventually, April and Casey had to leave and wished everyone a goodnight and Y/n one final happy birthday before leaving together.

One by one the mutant turtles left, until it was just Michelangelo and Y/n left.

A movie still played in the background and they were laying on the couch, all cuddled up under Y/n's new blanket together.

Mikey's hand rubbed her back, slowly moving up and down while she rest her cheek against his chest. Legs tangled together and hearts beating as one.

"Are you still mad that I woke you up so early?" Michel asked, glancing away from the screen and towards his beloved.

Y/n moved her head so she was looking up at him. She couldn't help but smile. "No. This was quite possibly the best birthday I've ever had. Thank you." She leaned up and brushed her lips against his own and Mikey hummed in delight.

"I'm glad. That's all I wanted... But y'know.. there is one gift I haven't given you yet."

Y/n arched a brow in confusion before she noticed the massive smirk crawling onto his face. "Mikey, we can't do it here-" she was cut off as once again Mikey delivered a swift smack to her ass. Y/n squealed and Mikey took this chance to flip the two of them so she was on the bottom.

Then he peppered her entire body with kisses. ;)

#fluffytriceratops #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #fanfic #writer #imagine #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt mikey x reader #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014/ 2016 #michelangelo hamato #michelangelo hamato x reader #tmnt imagine #tmnt fanfic #tmnt one shot #tmnt x reader #fanfiction #tmnt fanfiction #teenage mutant ninja turtles mikey #teenage mutant ninja turtles michelangelo #teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfic #teenage mutant ninja turtles imagine #teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader #tmnt bayverse mikey #tmnt bayverse michelangelo

[zaceouiswriting]

Undying love - Theo Raeken x Male Reader

Characters: Theo Raeken x Male Reader (Gender is not specified, but was written as a male reader)

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: Heartbreak, sadness, and death

A long drive amid the night. Trees flew by, many so old that they could tell stories about the first people to live there. And yet it was horrifying. The mix of green and brown nauseated me to an awful extent. Still, my eyes were glued to this sickening, beautiful scenario. I didn’t even need to look to my side to see a small hidden smile on my driver's perfectly symmetric, strong face. The first time I saw him again, after so many years, he looked happy again, with someone else. It still hurts my heart, but after all, he deserved to be happy. It didn't matter if is with me or someone else.

„Would you finally tell me why I'm driving you into the forest?“ A teasing undertone could be heard in his silky-like voice. It was heaven just hearing him speak. I could listen to him for years without getting annoyed.

„Just look at the road and drive. I will tell you everything when the time is right“, I told him without looking away from the awful mix of colors. I could hear him huff but didn’t think anything more about it. Both of my hands pressed tighter against my stomach, the pain increasing. There wasn’t much time left. But I couldn’t tell him that. He would try to save me and it wouldn't work for either of us. Not because he had someone new who cared about him deeply, but more because I wouldn’t be able to give him what he needs for much longer.

At some point, I stepped on the break in the truck he drove. He was horrified by my actions, but I could hear the sweet sound of what I was searching for. I didn’t even let the car come to a halt before exiting it. With my body aching, I know the time has come. The moment I started walking again, I pressed my hands even tighter to my stomach, hoping it would dull some of the pain so I could calmly do the rest of what I had to do. But nothing like this happened. It still hurt like a bitch.

Not long after I took off, I could hear heavy footsteps. I knew it was the guy I fell in love with when I saw him. But at that time, he was just a kid. A traumatized kid. I helped and left after everything was taken care of. To wait until he was old enough to hopefully reciprocate my feelings for him. I would’ve never thought he would glow up like this. His muscular torso was sculpted by Michelangelo himself. And his legs seemed more like tree trunks more than anything else. And his short-styled hair let his perfectly chiseled face come out even better. Instead of sadness and misunderstanding in his brown eyes, was now a content and happy glint.

But still, he followed me. Maybe just out of fear I would hurt myself or because he really cared about me. I could only hope for the last and wish it was different. Even at my slow pace, he didn't seem to get a hold of me. I knew it because my destination was calling me and not him. So the forest was different for the both of us. As long as I wanted him to be able to follow me, the forest couldn’t get rid of him that easily.

Just a few minutes later, I saw it through many trees, the old Nerratell tree or what was left of it. The massive trunk that seemed to be standing in a small opening was louder in my head now. His song was alluring and sad at the same time. It knew what would happen and wasn’t happy either. 

The moment my follower saw the trunk, he got panicked. Knowing that nothing good ever happened there at any point. „Don’t go near it!“ He warned me. It was the first time I'd looked into his eyes since I'd found him at this other guy's house.

„Theo, this is the destination,“ I told him with a sad smile. He seemed to understand perfectly without saying anything, he came close to me. His strong muscular arms took me in. I felt at home not only in his arms but also in his deep muscle scent coupled with his natural forest smell. It was the most painful thing I've ever experienced. Finally, being in the arms of that one person you love the most, only to ask them something absolutely awful.

„Listen to me, Theo,“ I began to speak again, „I need you to do something for me, okay?“ My voice broke for a moment. Tears were streaming down my face. He could see how difficult it was for me to ask him this favor, so he cupped my face in his hands.

„I do everything for you.“ It was the first time I saw love in his eyes, a deep admiration. And it broke my heart into a million pieces. Theo must’ve heard it, became his eyes scanned my body. As soon as his hand touched my skin, he felt immeasurable pain running down his veins.

The shock was apparent on his face after this, „What is going on? Do I need you to bring it to a doctor?“ He asked again, full of concern. 

But I just shook my head, „No. It would’ve never helped in any way.“ After that, particularly intense pain shot through my body and took away any control I had before. My wide white wings broke out of my back. Destroying the clothing I wore.

„What?“

„I need you to kill me, Theo.“ My statement seemed to freeze him in time. His eyes widened as soon as the words sunk in. He took a couple of steps back. But I already hold a weapon out to him. A hold sword with engraved runes.

„Please, it needs to be done, Theo. This Nemeton once was a Nerratell tree, brought by my people to bring magic into this world. Without it, this world would’ve died a long time ago. Now that your people have cut down so many, the magic is slowly disappearing, starting to kill everything that needs it to live. Under these are also your friends, the ones that make you happy werewolves are creatures born out of magic. Without it, they die painfully. You saw that most of them can’t transform into complete wolfs anymore. That is sadly just the beginning.“ He let me finish my small monolog. Before he finally seemed to have enough.

„Do you know who made me happy? Who gave me the chance to get the chance, to become it? You! It was you, always were! When I was twelve and killed my sister, you saved me. If it wasn't for the dread doctors, I could have been more contrite and a better person. Because of you, because I love you!“ These three words left me speechless. I looked him in his eyes after he came so much nearer to me again. Nothing in him seemed to lie. It was real. He really loved me. And still, it couldn’t bring me away from my mission.

„If you really love me, you do this for me. I'm dying for a long time now. The pain I'm feeling is eating me up. I can’t anymore.“ A single tear fell from my eyes which I thought would be empty after so many times of crying.

Theo looked lost. Not only in this situation but also in my eyes. If it were a different situation, this would have been the most romantic I have ever experienced. But not, this way, with my weapon outstretched to Theo, to take it.

It took him a long while, but slowly with a trembling hand, he took the sword from me. Slowly I backed up from him, to get to the Nemeton. To lie on him, my abdomen directly in the middle of it, where a little hole was apparent. Theo came slowly after me, a couple of moments later, where his heart began to race.

„Hey, Hey, look at me.“ A big smile plastered upon my face while I asked him to do it, „This will be freeing for me. You would do a great deed. It won't bring back your old dark pattern, I promise.“

But Theo still didn't seem happy about this. Nevertheless, he kneeled beside me on the big tree. The sword trembled together with his hands. I cautiously hold it above my abdomen. Slowly, it pierced me and broke through my skin and the magical center of my being. I felt relieved the second it shattered, and the magic flowed into the tree below me.

No pain was hunting me anymore. „Is everything okay?“ Theo's voice was angry, mostly at himself, but at the same time concerned for my well-being. Which was cute because I wouldn’t live any longer.

„Everything is perfect. I can finally rest while looking at the only love of my endless life,” I told him with no regret. But Theo began to cry. The first time I actually saw it. After he killed his sister, there was nothing in him, then pain. Now he had grown so much. It squeezed my heart in the last moments of my life to make him cry.

„Shh… Shh, everything will be okay.“

„How could anything ever be fine again? If you won’t be here anymore? I waited so long for you to return to me, and now you are dying! How is this fair?“ His anger got the better of him. But I could understand. Softly I put a hand on his cheek. I slowly raised my upper body, the sword still pinning most of me to the tree.

A kiss so much needed finally happened. Theo’s heard glance softened before he closed his eyes to deepen our first and last kiss. Sadly, this moment couldn’t hold up forever. Soon my hand fell across his cheeks, and he was just so able to catch my head before it fell hard onto the tree trunk.

„Theo, I can grant you one of two things. I can make you a real werewolf with everything that comes with it. Or I can give you something that everyone thinks they wish to have but after they got it never really wanted.“

A sad smile came across his face once again, „Just like when I was a kid? Why is the second option every time cryptic with you?“ He laughed softly at my antics. „The only thing I want is you.“

With that, his fate was sealed, and his wish was granted more or less. I took all of my last strength together to form my hands to a bowl, to hold it to my mouth, which was till folded upwards by my love. A lot of blood flowed from it into my hands. But as it stopped, I finally stretched them out to him.

„Drink, and your wish will be granted at another time.“ Without hesitation, he drank my blood. All of it. His mouth's edges were full of its remains. Someone could actually think he was a vampire If someone would’ve looked at him now. But that was silly. Something like this didn’t exist.

„Don’t forget me, Theo. We will see each again when the trees are growing anew, and my kind as does your friend's children can live here again.“ With these as my last words, I finally closed my eyes. I could feel my body disappearing completely. But as my soul left my body, I kissed Theo's head for the last time before heading off to heaven and my own home to wait until I can finally return to him. As I always would.

[Masterlist]

#Theo Raeken x male reader #Teen Wolf #Teen Wolf x male reader #Theo Raeken imagines #Teen Wolf imagines #x male reader #male reader #male reader imagine #x male reader imagine

[aguard1ente]

van gogh to art kids is the harry potter to the bookworms: you both need to find new fucking things to read and look at

#i will never stress this enough #read more fucking books #and there's ages of art history to look through while you're all stuck up in the starry night #monet's lily pads #the melting clocks #and the hands of michelangelos muscular guys #like yeah you're allowed to enjoy things i enjoy those things too #but jesus fucking chrsigt #the art of creation is endless fucking EXPLORE it #if you like these so much #then fucking act like it #mine #that was kind of aggressive #but it's justified as long as i keep seeing the starry night at least once every week

[mefiman]

Hamato Family’s First Visit to the Hidden City

Story request by @rottmntrulesall. Hope you enjoy the story, bud! ^^

"C'mon, everyone! Hurry up!" Michelangelo's impatience was obvious in his excitement. He and his siblings were finally going to show their dad's relatives for the first time to the Hidden City for two reasons; one: to view the many wonders of the other world and two: to have a formal, proper meeting with Draxum's parents. The latter part had instilled some unease into the Hamato siblings, especially Saki who was wary about stepping foot into a mysterious world and was about to see for himself the father and mother of the "monster" who altered his younger brother many years ago.

"Are you sure this place is safe?" Hamato Kenji asked. Raphael glanced at his uncle, understanding his uncle's concerns. "We've been there a lot, Uncle Kenji! We did encounter a few dangers there before but other than that, the people there don't usually attack humans unless provoked." Raph assured his uncle.

"There are a lot of places to visit like the many resorts and spas if you want to have a massage and ooh, Señor Hueso's Run of the Mill Pizza where they make one of the best pizzas! I know the manager of that place, we're amigos~" Leonardo took the chance to quip in.

"I can't wait to see Grandpa Mons again! Wait till you guys meet him yourselves, he's the nicest, sweetest grandpa you'll ever meet! He's still as strong as he's gentle!" Mikey said happily.

"I wonder if Grandma Chemia has some wicked new inventions to show me!" Donatello exclaimed.

"This would be my first time seeing my grandparents, Arachne..." Ariadne whispered to her best friend, Arachne.

"You've never seen them before?" Her friend asked.

"Once when I was a baby... I haven't seen them for years." The yokai femme told Arachne.

"Alright, kids, you've shown us all that you're excited to bring us to visit the Hidden City, Mikey, can you open the portal now?" Splinter asked.

"Sure, Dad!" Mikey got to work quickly.

Draxum felt a tinge of anxiety inside himself. He could not recall the last time he visited his creators ever since he moved out of home to pursue his alchemy researching, away from his parents' constant arguments, half of which is about their preferred methods of raising him. It was a surprise how those two still manage to live under the same roof despite their obvious clashing personalities. He guessed that they tolerated each other just for his sake. His parents had never produced any more offspring after him and one of Arachne’s parents...

"Hey, are you okay, Dad?" A female voice asked him. Draxum jolted from his pondering to find that his daughter, Poison Ivy asking him out of concern. He just gave a small smile as he ran his clawed hands over her helmet. "Am fine, just thinking about your grandparents." He assured her. He marveled how Ivy much had grown from the last time he scientifically created her with his and Lou Jitsu's DNAs; she being so tiny as a developed newborn infant growing in a liquid chamber to a young lady around the boys' ages. From what he knew later on, Splinter raised her along with the Turtles. Ivy had lived her life at first as a normal human teenager until her yokai genes started appearing. The initial discovery of her origins did shake her world but over time, she had learnt to accept and use them to assist her brothers in their adventures. She was intelligent like Draxum and his mother with his father's gentle, mature nature as well as Splinter/Lou's sassiness. She loved to study on botany and coincidently, her powers involved using vines and summoning plant like monsters at will. She recently revealed her sexuality preference as a lesbian and had a girlfriend who is a fellow classmate and witch trainee/apprentice in disguise. Both her creators and siblings were happy for her. As of now, she was cradling her younger sister, Venus de Milo was giggling and squealing as April, Ariadne and Arachne cooed and tickled her belly.

The group watched Mikey draw a symbol on the wall at an alley. Once the symbol was drawn, an open portal revealed. The Hamato siblings' mouths went ajar, not believing what they just saw. "if you think that's mind blowing, you haven't seen nothing yet!" Mikey grinned. His three other brothers and the three girls each took hold of one of their Hamato uncles and aunts's hands. The moment they all jumped into that portal, they found themselves staring at a massive part of a what seemed to be a huge city. The sky above was unlike Earth's skies; instead it was orange with some brown. The architecture of the buildings there were monster shaped with some tall, castle like structures far away from the city. There were a lot of people of all shapes, sizes, colors and appearances walking, running, passing by each other, buying their needs or doing their usual business trades. The Turtle family allowed their Hamato relatives to take in their first view around them. Saki's eyes were bulging out of his sockets, he could not believe for his life what he was seeing. Anthropomorphic, mostly consisting of animal, everyday objects, monstrous and supernatural like individuals roamed every part of the streets around him, he felt as if he was having a strange dream that defied logic! Nori on the other hand, looked right and left, taking in interesting sights that captured her attention. Underneath a calm façade, Kenji was freaking out internally at the new, foreign view. Hiroki was squealing in delight similar to a child had just discovered a world made of toys and sweets. Her twin, Hikari was a bit calmer than his sister, feeling a thrill of danger running through his veins. Last but not least, the youngest Hamato sibling, Mei's stance looked poker face yet she looked around to see if there were any Gothic like people that she can interact with. The Turtles and the girls grinned, seeing the reactions of the others.

"What do you think? Surreal, huh?" They ask.

"Amazing.."

"Fascinating..."

"I can't believe what I'm seeing..."

"Someone please tell me that I'm dreaming..." Saki mumbled, still not believing.

"No, you're not," Draxum replied, going straight to the point with an indifferent expression. "May we please hurry to my parents' house, I bet they're waiting for our arrival..."

"Oh yeah!" Mikey clapped both his hands once. "Lead the way, Draxy!"

Draxum sighed as he took the lead of the group. Along the way, there were a few whispers around and behind Draxum coming from the city people but Splinter and Ivy took hold of both his hands and gave a comforting, assuring squeeze, making him feel better. Ariadne gave her uncle a comforting hand on to his shoulder. They were soon out of the main city square to a further distance into the woods. They had to climb up a hill for a while until they reached a big mansion residing there.

"We are here at last. My childhood home..." Draxum said, looking at the grassy, serene valley below, reminiscing the times where he as a little one ran galloping around the field, cartwheeling with glee among the flowers and his sire teaching him the basics on how to defend himself the predator way. Both father and son spend their days in the early years, sparring with each other...

"Draxum, my son!" The former alchemist warrior villain snapped out of his memories to find himself being engulfed into the arms of none other than his dear, loving old father, Monsrage who brought his only son into a crushing bear hug which knocked the wind out of his lungs. "How have you been, my little baby boy? It's rare that you visit us but it's so wonderful to see you bring your family along! How delightful!" the older yokai gushed, his bushy tail wagging with unlimited enthusiasm like an excited puppy. Monsrage was rather huge and muscular with perked up, pointy ears, silky straight black hair unchanged through time and a fairly long beard to match. Like Draxum before, he wore a battle mask. He had a significant dark upperlip. His body had different shades of blue just like his son, Draxum when he was armored. Monsrage's eyes were the same like Draxum's. His feet in particular, was a noticeable difference. Unlike his wife and son, his feet were shaped like a lion's paws, fitting for him coming from a predator species.

"Father, it's great to see you... but can you please let go now? I can't breathe..." Draxum choked out, being smothered by his sire's busty chest. Monsrage immediately loosened his grip, apologizing profusely while checking to see if he had accidently broken any of his son's bones. Draxum shook his head, smiling a little. His sire had never changed all these years, still a concerned worrywart. And he bet his mother had not either...

Chemia on the other hand, was greeting the rest of the visitors with feverish energy. She was a redhead with shades of pink for her skin colour and her ears, long and drooped. Her eyes had a little twinkle in them, a part of her eccentric personality and plump, red lips. Like her husband, she wore a mask. Donnie, April, Arachne and Ivy were given a whirlwind hug the moment they came in front of her. Monsrage went back to the mansion with his son to give the new visitors, the Hamatos, April, and Arachne a warm greeting as well as welcome his beloved grandchildren with his signature bear hug and proceed to pepper their faces with smooches which they were delighted to have especially Mikey, Ariadne, Ivy and Venus. Monsrage and Chemia ushered them all into their humble abode. The Hamatos were initially skeptical about meeting Draxum's family but they were soon warmed up to them. Later on, the mansion was filled with guffaws of laughter as Monsrage showed them all baby pictures of his son which embarrased the poor warrior scientist. Donnie, April and Ivy were treated to Grandma Chemia's latest creations. Monsrage himself had a blast, playing with Venus and sparring with the Turtles and the girls. Arachne was delighted to meet her grandparents as a young adolescent, telling them about her achievements, adventures and that her own parents are doing well. The Hamatos became comfortable talking with Draxum's parents over some snack delicacies. Overall, everyone had a wonderful time at the Hidden City.

I had fun writing this! Was tiring but oh so worth it.

The Hamato siblings (minus Lou/Splinter) and Venus de Milo belong to @rottmntrulesall while Ariadne and Arachne are the OCs of @mikeykawaii/@mikey-ho. Monsrage, Chemia and Poison Ivy along with the mention of the witch girlfriend belong to me, @mefiman. I hope you don’t mind me incorporating your girls into this story, @mikeykawaii but I’ve been dying to add them in, especially Ari meeting her grandparents! ^^ 

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #my art #ocs #baronjitsu #a teeny bit mentioned

[morizoras-cave]

Noise (Request)

Avengers cast x gn!teen!co-star!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Request Description: can you do an avengers cast x teen!reader where the reader is like on set or at an event or something and it gets really loud and the reader get overwhelmed from all the noise? (sorry if this is too specific. also i really love you’re writing it always makes my day

Warnings: anxiety, something panic attack-like (?), language

(A/N): this post includes chris evans, chris hemsworth, anthony mackie, danai gurira, sebastian stan and scarlett johansson. this post is a special shout out to my boys donatello, michelangelo, leonardo and raphael! you rock🤩🤩

Comic-Con. You had been so excited to go there, so excited. You loved meeting fans, and Comic-Con was the place to do that exact thing. You had been put in an interview with about a dozen of your cast mates from the Marvel universe. This was your first appearance in the universe and you couldn’t be happier about it. 

But you forgot about it. You always had trouble with loud noises. The first time you’d experienced it was in public. You wanted to say that you had gotten better, but it was still quite easy to tip you into panic-mode. 

You just hadn’t taken that into account with Comic-Con, as you were blinded by the excitement of meeting fans. Now you were there and it was horrific. 

You and the other people in the cast wore awkward and covering costumes provided by Marvel, so you could walk around unbothered. You walked in a rather large and random group all together.

Everything was so loud. There were multiple songs played at different areas and there were a staggering amount of people. It seemed like everyone was screaming at each other.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest, you were visibly shaking. You couldn’t breathe in the mask, you thought, and then wondered if you would even be able to breathe without it. 

“You okay?” You recognized Chris (Hemsworth)’s voice. He was wearing a ridiculous teenage mutant ninja turtle outfit, baggy as all hell, to hide his rather telling muscular body. 

Behind the mask you were crying, you realized. Tears trickled down your cheeks. Everything hurt so much, your heart felt like it was being squeezed. Anxiety danced on your nerves. 

“I’m- I’m just a little nervous,” you yelled over the loud hall of people, voice cracking. You could pick up so many little conversations:

“It’s gotta be a number that’s special” then, “Eight” and then once more, “Eight? Eight’s not special. It’s the seven magic dwarves, not eight!”

“You’re into guys, right?” then, “yeah, why?”

“Hello guys, welcome to Herman’s Games!” then, “No one cares, Herman!”

Your senses were overflowing with input. Chris was looking at you through the eyes of Donatello (the turtle), and if you could’ve seen his eyes, you would’ve seen disbelief and obvious concern. 

“Hey guys,” Chris (Evans) padded up to you. To match the other Chris, Anthony and Sebastian, he was wearing a Leonardo (again, the turtle) mask and costume. 

You couldn’t focus on them. Or on anything, but your hurting heart and tingling stomach. Your legs felt like nothing. You needed to sit down.

Chris (Evans/Leonardo) took one look at you, and then looked to the other Chris (Hemsworth/Donatello), with concerned eyes. They whispered something to each other, but you didn’t notice. Everything was far too loud. You wiped the tears that had trickled from your eyes to beneath your chin. 

Someone grabbed your hand and started pulling you away, and you followed limply, too bothered and uncomfortable to really do anything but exist. 

A door closed, and suddenly the loudness was gone, or rather muffled. Everything was much, much quieter. The new room was dimmed and colder and quieter. Your legs gave out and you pressed yourself against the nearest wall, sliding down to sit on the floor.

“Y/n, Y/n,” you looked up to see the two Chrisses. Your heartbeat was gradually slowing. “Are you okay? You were crying out there, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?” They crouched down beside you, gently caressing your shaking shoulders. 

“It was- It was just really loud, you know?” you said, taking your mask off to breathe properly. Your eyelashes were wet and clumped together and your eyes were red and puffy. You sniffled.

“Yeah, it was,” Chris (Evans) squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. Just then, the door to the hall was opened, making your heart skip a beat. The door was closed again, and the rest of your group stumbled inside. 

“Why’d you go in here?” Sebastian asked, and you realized you were in the currently unused (only for the next thirty minutes or so) backstage area of a panel. No one was there. Sebastian was confused, but then he saw you and his eyes softened.

“Damn, Y/n, what happened?” Anthony asked, lifting his Raphael mask. The two Chrisses backed off a little.

“Holy shit, yeah, are you okay?” Scarlett’s brows furrowed as she saw you. You nodded. 

“It’s nothing much, I just-..” you trailed off, sure that they were gonna laugh at you, “I’ve just always been very anxious when there’s a lot of noise.” You avoided their eyes.

“That’s okay, honey. That’s totally fine.” This time Danai crouched down beside you, caressing your cheek gently. You nodded again, not sure why.

“Maybe you wanna leave? We’ve already done the panel, it’s totally fine if you’re not up for the rest of it,” Sebastian suggested. You sighed in relief at his suggestion, a small tear escaping your eye. Everyone frowned at the visceral reaction of relief. You must’ve been in a lot of pain, they thought.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d like that.” you whispered. Your voice was small. 

Danai and Scarlett drove you back to the hotel, apparently also fed up with the event. They offered to stay with you for a while, the three of you watching a movie or something. You agreed. 

In the end that day was kind of a shitty day, but the night was awesome, as you had a fun time with Danai and Scarlett, watching movies and exchanging stories, and most importantly eating pizza. 

You felt so comforted, and you made sure to thank both Danai, Scarlett, Chris, Chris, Sebastian and Anthony the next day. They shrugged it off like it was nothing, but you insisted, hoping to express your gratitude. 

At all of the next events of the press tour, they’d check in with you multiple times, and if you weren’t feeling well, they’d always make up an excuse for you to leave. They didn’t want you feeling unhappy or anxious, and if they could stop it they would. You were endlessly thankful for what they did, and you hoped so desperately that they knew. What would you even have done without them?

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun @deephideoutmilkshake @rae-is-typing @sophs-library @herecomesthewriterwitch @alicedanganh @eviemarvel @idk123906​

#chris evans x reader #chris hemsworth x reader #sebastian stan x reader #anthony mackie x reader #danai gurira x reader #scarlett johansson x reader #avengers cast x reader #avengers cast x teen!reader #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader #mcu cast x reader #mcu x reader #marvel cast x reader

[another-tmnt-writer]

You Fell From the Sky

Leonardo x Reader

Author: Admin Mo

Prompt: okay this'll sound real dumb bUT- this universe!reader meets bayverse boys? like maybe reader wakes up in the bayverse and is very aware about the turtles? i dunno it sounds confusing but maybe it's an interesting prompt?

Note: I love this concept. I’ve dipped my toes in the water before, but this time, I’m going all the way. Also, I know you didn’t specify a turtle, but I zoned it in on Leo. I can definitely write another if y’all want more because I’m obsessed with this idea. <3

Warnings: Some language…

Word Count: 1.9k

“Okay, guys, don’t crowd her. I’m sure she’s gonna be disoriented, and-”

“Donnie, is the angel alright? It must have hurt, falling from heaven.”

“Get outta the way, Mikey. Go wash the pizza off your hands.”

“Could we give her some room, please?”

The voices echoed around in your head, which was pounding painfully. You opened your eyes and everything was blurry. You were just about positive you were hallucinating, because when your vision finally started to come into focus, you were surrounded by four very tall, very familiar mutant turtles.

“No fucking way…” you murmured, looking up at each of them. They were even more detailed and lifelike than they were in the movies. Which was to say, very lifelike.

“Not the reaction I expected, but I’ll take it.” Mikey smiled, shifting to present himself to you. “The name’s Michelangelo, but the ladies call me—”

“Mikey, yeah, I know.” You cut him off and he gaped at you, his blue eyes wide.

“Are ya psychic or something?” Raph asked. You stared at him for a long second. His muscles were impossibly large, his eyes just as green as you thought they’d be.

“N-No, not exactly. I…well, I’m pretty sure I’m from an alternate universe. Or something.” You looked at Donnie, who was furiously taking notes and way taller than you expected him to be, and then to Leo, whose arms were crossed, his clear blue eyes analyzing everything you said. “Because where I come from, you guys are fictional.”

“Woah. I did not expect that.” Mikey said, looking at Raph for some sort of reaction from his older brother. “Bro, did you—”

“Shut up for like two seconds.” Raph snapped, his attention turning to you. “Can you say that one more time?”

“You guys are fictional. When I was growing up, I watched your cartoons, collected action figures, read your comics…This is unreal.”

“Comic books?” Donnie inquired.

“Cartoons?!” Mikey’s eyes widened.

You nodded.

“So…you know everything about us?” Leo asked, a twinkle of amusement working its way into his icy gaze. He wasn’t quite convinced yet, but he had to admit you were convincing at the very least.

“I mean, not really. Kind of. Maybe?” You shrugged. “I know you have a bonsai in your room.”

You didn’t think it was possible for them to blush, but after that comment, Leo proved you wrong, chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Just about everything then, yeah.”

“So what happened, Donnie? Why am I here?”

Donnie straightened up when you addressed him by name. “Uh, well, I was trying to figure that out, actually. We were out on patrol and there was a bright flash in the sky and you fell from it.”

“Leo caught you even though I called dibs.” Mikey pouted.

“You saved my life.” You gasped and looked up at Leo. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t just let you fall, ma’am.”

“(Y/N).” You introduced. “My name is (Y/N).”

“Well, (Y/N), I hope ya like the smell of sewer.” Raph chuckled. “If not, you’ll get used to it.”

***

The turtles spent the rest of the day asking you lots of questions about your world and the representations of them that were in it. You told them that the universe they were in was closest to a series of movies by Michael Bay, which, Raph and Mikey found exciting given their love of the Transformers movies.

Leo didn’t say much, but he was always in the room, listening. When night came, Donnie was the first to leave the room, retreating to work in his lab. Then Leo went to his room to sharpen his swords and water his bonsai. Raph went to sleep next, and Mikey stayed up the latest, playing Mariokart with you until pretty close to dawn. You’d almost forgotten that the boys usually slept during the day.

When you were out alone in the living room, Leo came into the room, holding a large knitted blanket and a pillow, a tentative look on his face.

“Hey.” He approached you quietly. “I figured you’d need these. It gets kind of cold down here.”

“Thanks, Leo.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “I really appreciate you guys letting me crash here.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least we could do.” He shook the blanket out and draped it over your legs. “If you need anything, my room is over there.” He pointed back towards where he’d come from.

“Thank you.” You smiled. “I’m sure Donnie will figure this all out soon enough and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay for as long as that takes.” Leo smiled and then added, “Good night.”

“Night!”

Once he was gone, you laid down on the couch and stared up into the darkness for a little while, thinking about the events of the day. You were stranded in the Bayverse. And…well, actually, you weren’t all that upset about it.

***

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you half expected it to all have been a dream. I mean, that was the only logical explanation, right? Well, then you took a look around at your surroundings and realized that it was three in the afternoon and you were in the lair instead of your bedroom.

Once you stretched and got your bearings, you got up and walked to the kitchen, where Splinter was pouring tea from a teapot.

“And you must be the girl who fell from the sky.”

You had to stop and admire him for a second. Master Splinter, the boys’ dad, a wealth of endless support and wisdom. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t looked up to him when you were young. Hell, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t look up to him now when you needed advice.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” You were shaking. “I’m not sure if the boys told you where I’m from…”

“They have, yes.” He nodded. “Donatello told me of the alternate universe you came from.”

“You helped me through so much when I was growing up. You all did. It’s really surreal being here.”

Splinter smiled and stroked his beard, that wise twinkle in his eyes. “I’m glad you found your way to us, child. We’ll make your stay here as easy as possible.”

“Thank you.”

“(Y/N), I made eggs.” Leonardo’s voice from behind you scared the hell out of you.

You jumped and turned around, laughing as your racing heart slowed back down to normal.

“Sorry. Do you like eggs?”

“I do, yeah.” You chuckled. “Thank you, Leo.”

“Of course. They’re on the stove.”

“There’s cheese on the counter!!” Mikey added, already sitting at the table. “I saved you a chair over here, angelcakes.”

You had to admit, hearing him say that in person did make your heart flutter a little bit. You put some eggs and toast (with jam, provided by Donatello) on a plate, sprinkled some shredded cheddar on top and settled into the seat Mikey had saved, conveniently located between the youngest brother and the leader in blue.

“So every day, you guys wake up this late?” You asked, still a little bewildered that breakfast was at three in the afternoon.

“That’s just the downside of living in the shadows.” Raph shrugged. “But it ain’t so bad.”

“Right, of course. It’s just different than what I’m used to is all.”

“So what do you do, normally? Like, in your world, I mean.” Donatello asked. He didn’t have his notebook on hand, but you could tell he was taking mental notes.

“Well, I’m a student. I’m in college. I read comics and watch movies, and sometimes I write in my free time.”

“Comics about us?” Mikey raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.

Your cheeks burned red and you laughed. “Maaaaaaybe.”

Leo let out a little sigh and shook his head. “That’s still so weird to me.”

“Let me tell you, that’s a two way street.” You chuckled. Even thinking about it was still almost too weird to comprehend. You pulled out your phone, which still worked, fortunately, and went through your photos, scrolling all the way back to Halloween. You held it up to show them. “My roommates and I were you guys for Halloween.”

“And you were Leader Boy, huh?” Raph pointed out. “Noted.”

“I mean, yeah.” You didn’t think your face could get any more red.

“Wait, Leo’s your favorite?” Mikey pouted. “Aww…”

“I don’t think it’s fair to pick favorites. I like all of you guys for different reasons.”

“It’s alright if you admit you had a crush on Leo.” Raph whispered, cupping a hand around his mouth.

“Alright, alright, enough of that. She’s our guest. We��re not gonna grill her. She just got here.” Leo stepped in, a faint blush on his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t get the picture of you in a blue mask with little foam katanas out of his head.

“Right, there’s a two week minimum before we get to grill her.” Donnie added, grinning as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Aww, how considerate.” You laughed.

The rest of breakfast was pretty uneventful. You finished eating and then went out to the living room and settled onto the couch. Luckily, your backpack had made the trip over with you, so you had your laptop and some of your homework. Not that you could get online and get in touch with people from your universe, but at least you could get some writing done if you wanted to.

Leo wandered out, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, a soft look in his eyes. He hovered behind you for a few seconds before finally speaking. “Hey.”

Unaware that he had been there, you jumped. “Jesus! You guys are quiet, holy fuck.”

“Sorry about that.” He laughed, carefully sitting on the opposite end of the couch, giving you space, but still sitting close enough to make your heart flutter the teeniest bit. “And, uh, I’m sorry about them earlier. Raph specifically. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable or—”

“No, it’s fine. Really,” you said. “But thank you for checking. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.” He was quiet for a few moments before he asked. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Until yesterday, I’m not sure I did. But there’s gotta be something like that out there for me to end up here of all places.”

“For the record, I’m glad you ended up here, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. His blue, blue eyes met yours. “Is it selfish if I say I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around for a while?”

“Is it selfish if I agree?” You replied, causing him to laugh.

“Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

“Me too.” You smiled and just spent a few long moments admiring him. The movies truly didn’t do him justice. Honestly, it was the truth: you wouldn’t mind sticking around for a while. For a long while…

Part 2

#leonardo #leonardo x reader #leo #leo x reader #leonardo imagine #tmnt #tmnt imagine #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #bayverse

[remmushound]

@brightlotusmoon Part 2 of the Bay/Rise crossover!!

The memory just kept replaying in Donatello’s mind. He tried dismissing it, but it would return and dominate his mind like a storm over the city. Running. Running, and April was in the lead— Splinter was pulling her along. Michelangelo in his shell. He did that when he got scared, it couldn’t help it. It was biological. Leonardo was there with him…

Donatello’s legs ached. His back ached, and his arms, and his stomach. Everything burned from the strain. He kept going.

Everyone was running. Everyone was ahead of him— he couldn’t keep up. He was falling behind and he was—falling! Tripping. Splinter looked back and cried out to his son, and then Leonardo looked back. But Leonardo couldn’t leave Michelangelo…

Donatello noticed the camera in his exhausted stupor. He disabled it just as quickly. His spider arms couldn’t take much more of this. He needed a break. He felt warm dripping down his arms. He kept going.

There was a weight on his back. A comforting weight that covered him like a mutant shield, hugging him from behind and securing a wall between him and the Shredder. Raphael…

Donatello felt one of his metal arms give way. It echoed painfully and the additional weight made him stop. He could feel those eyes staring at him...

Donatello told him to get off, but Raphael held those seconds steadfast. Raphael held him.

Now he held Raphael. Donatello forced himself to backtrack in his desperation for rest.

The shredder was upon them. Claws of titanium slicing through hard keratin like it was butter. The scream. The blood. The portal…

A sword made him stop a moment. A katana, pointed at him. A clear threat. He tried to call out, but found the words stopped at his throat. He tried to step out into the light…

The rift was unstable. Something was pulling them away from their desired destination. Donatello clinging to Raphael. Leonardo clinging to Michelangelo. Splinter clinging to April. Everyone trying to reach out for the others…

Instead, the light came to him in a blinding flash that made him unsteady on his feet.

Then falling. Freefalling through the sky. The hovers on his battle shell the only thing keeping him and Raphael from hitting the ground too hard.

Donatello had to say something, and he tried to make it something distinguished and peaceful. A plea for salvation. All his mind could think to say was,

“Help…”

*****

At first nobody moved. The shock was too great and the confusion strong between them. When someone did move it wasn’t at Leo’s command. Donnie moved forward on his own, grabbing one of the spiked monster’s massive arms and trying to yank him up.

“You gonna help me or what?” Donnie snapped, looking back at his brothers for help.

“Donnie, we don’t know what they are!” Leo finally broke the shock to argue.

“I know I’m not willing to let this one bleed out, so stop standing there trying to catch flies and help me!”

“Raph.” Leo shook his head and motioned for Raph to help, “Help Donnie! Mikey with me.”

Raph hurried forward and grabbed the massive mutants other side, heaving him up together and supporting the hundreds of pounds of muscle between them.

“Shit!” Donnie eyed the damage to the turtle’s carapace, “Looks like he went ten rounds with a semi!”

“He looks kinda like Raph!” Mikey said, voicing the thoughts that filled his brothers minds.

Leo, Raph, and Donnie all exchanged looks. Leo heaved the smaller turtle onto his back, still muscular and a decent weight despite the smaller size, and Mikey was there to help him.

“Let’s get these guys home and have Don patch em up.” He held up a hand when Donnie tried to speak, “We’ll talk later. Let’s go.”

*****

No one said a word on the way back. Mikey tried a few times but when no one, not even Raph, reacted to his attempts at a joke, he eventually went quiet. They hustled at Donnie’s impatient prompting, and the whole way the box turtle was muttering equations and percentages under his breath that none of his brothers could quite make out. When they came through the tunnels, Splinter was there to greet them. His watery eyes went wide and ears back when he smelled the metal of blood clinging to his sons.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s not our blood, sensei.” Leo answered.

Splinter’s eyes searched up and found the sight of the wounded young mutants supported by his sons.

“Oh my…”

“They’re really hurt, dad.” Leo shook his head.

“Here, here— lay them on their stomachs. Be careful!” Donnie guided his brothers to lay the wounded on a table after swiping everything off of it.

“I’m sorry dad, I—“ Leo tried to say.

“Don’t apologize, go!” Splinter urged, and Leo obeyed.

“They gonna be okay, Don?” Leo said as he laid the soft-skinned mutant on the table alongside the giant.

Donnie pulled his goggles down to get a better read on their vitals. “Leo, I need you to go get my mutant aid kit from my lab— the green one with a turtle on it, not the cross.”

“Okay, Don.”

“What can we do?” Raph offered.

“You can give me space.” Donnie growled, “Nothing you can do here, just try to stay quiet so I can focus…”

Donnie pulled himself onto the table, turning his attention to the struggling snapper— for that’s what he recognized the species as almost as once. He lifted the massive head in both hands, taking a quick look at the nostrils in search for blood. Then he came to the mouth and heistated.

“Actually, Raph.” Donnie called back to Raph before the turtle could get far, “Could you give me a hand here? Just— just open his mouth so I can make sure he’s not aspirating?”

“Sure.” Raph hurried over and pried the massive jaws open without a care as to losing a finger or two should the mutant wake.

“Mm. No blood.” Donnie sighed, “Help me take his gear off.”

Raph obliged Donnie’s command and helped him to remove the armor, tossing in a pile to the side. Leo hurried back with the kit Donnie needed and Donnie was quick to take it. Donnie took a flashlight from his belt and shined it into the massive blue eyes of the wounded beast, giving a grin of confidence as the eyes contracted and reacted to the light.

Donnie pulled on his rubber gloves before he started to examine the obvious source of damage.

“What could’ve caused this?” Leo asked, peeking over the bloody carapace.

Donnie hummed and hovered a finger across the cracks. “The cracks don’t follow the suture borders like any normal crack would. This wasn’t an accident, this was very deliberate. Something… some type of three-bladed weapon. Whatever it was, it got him good.”

Donnie opened the turtle care kit and pulled out a drill.

“Can it be fixed?” Leo asked.

Donnie was hesitant to give any answer other than, “We’ll see.”

*****

While he worked, Donnie made sure to keep a close eye on both the snapper and the smaller companion. A softshell, he suspected due to the face shape. His vitals were stable enough and if they did start to drop than Donnie would know. Fixing the shell without the bone sutures to guide him proved difficult, but not impossible. It just involved drilling a lot more screws in than he usually would, and a much slower, tedious process. Drilling the holes parallel to each other and connecting them with tightened wire to pull the cracks together. The more he worked, the more he realized why the slashes were as awkward as they were. Whatever had attacked him had attacked not only the shield of his carapace, but taken off a few of the many spikes that covered his shell. Two of the dorsal ridges had been taken off at their middle, and a third was slashed off completely. Several more were chipped and slashed at the top, but not enough to warrant repair— not deep enough to bleed. After near two hours of intense focus, Donnie finally backed off the snapper and started to remove his bloody gloves.

“How is he?” Leo was on Donnie in an instant, “Is he okay?”

“He’s… stable.” Donnie said, discarding his gloves safely in the bio hazard bin.

“So are we gonna talk about what the fuck is happening here?” Raph appeared just as sudden and quick as Leo.

“He was hurt.” Donnie said calmly, going to his sink and washing up to his forearms before placing fresh gloves. “Something attacked him.”

“Yeah, we understand that, but… why does he look like Raph?”

Donnie didn't have an answer to give, even if he wanted to.

“Mikey, leave him alone.” Donnie pushed past his brothers, holding his gloved hands out in front of him and avoiding contact with everything that might contaminate the rubber. Mikey had taken the opening of Donnie’s absence to jump on the table and start to poke at the subject that Donnie now turned his attention to. Donnie ushered Mikey off of the table and away from his patients. “If you wanna help, see if you can figure out how to take that shell peice off of him.”

Donnie started to give the other mutant the same mouth and nose exam he had given to the snapper. Mikey obliged Donnie’s request, if only to give him more time to be in contact with the new mutant. Mikey picked up the mutants hand and dropped it, laughing as it dropped hard.

“Dude! This guys out cold!” Mikey stood over the mutant and leaned down to stick his face in the softshell’s.

“Out of the way, Mikey.” Donnie huffed and nudged Mikey away with his shoulder.

“What? Come on dude, I’m helping— I’m helping! Hey, what’s this button do?”

“Mikey, do not—“

Mikey pressed the botton on the mutants belt, and the belt snapped undone.

“Oh.” Donnie blinked, “Guess that could’ve been worse. Might’ve helped, actually.”

“See? Told ya I was helpful!” Mikey picked the armor off of the mutants carapace and tossed it haphazardly to the side. “Yoooo! He looks like a burnt pancake!”

“Mikey!” Leo scolded, “That’s not nice!”

“Why’s his back like that?” Mikey gawked.

“Yeah. It’s more like a moldy tortilla than a shell.” Raph commented.

“Cut it out, both of you!” Leo snarled.

“Why’s he look like that?” Mikey laughed and poked the shell, “ewww! It’s all squishy! And flexible!” Mikey bended the bridge of the shell and made the unconscious mutant groan and wince.

“Stop That!” Donnie nudged Mikey away. “He’s a softshell.”

“A what?”

“A softshell. Judging by these ridges, I’d guess Apalone Spinerifa—“

“In non-geek speak, please.”

“Spiny softshell.” Donnie sighed, “Anyway, his vitals seem stable, and there’s no obvious signs of damage. I’m guessing he just exhausted himself trying to carry that snapper for god knows how long— hell, I was breaking a sweat just carrying him home, and that was with Raphael’s help!”

“But he’s gonna be okay?”

“Mm.” Donnie hummed and started to examine the fleshy parts of the mutant. “He has some minor scratching and abrasions— nothing a little rest TLC can’t fix. They’re both cold, though— I’ll need to hook up a heat lamp to try and keep their body heat from dipping too low.”

“When will they wake?” Splinter asked suddenly, the brothers parting as he approached to let him get a better view of the young mutants.

“Hard to tell— the softshell will probably be up before the snapper, so anywhere from a few hours to a day I’d say.”

“And their ages?” Splinter traced a careful paw between the two wounded creatures, his eyes soft with worry.

“Um. Can’t really get specifics, but still in their teens— no older than sixteen I’d say.”

“Just boys… younger than you four.” He took the softshell’s head in his hands to look at his features more closely.

“What should we do, father?” Leo asked, appealing to the old rat.

“Mm. Make them comfortable. They are our guests.”

“But—“ Leo went to argue.

Splinter held up a paw. “They asked for our help, and we will give it to them. For now, all we can do is wait for one or both of them to wake up…”

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt au #rise raphael #rise donnie #bayverse turtles

[happylittledrabbles]

When Tomorrow Starts Without Me

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Koutarou Bokuto x Keiji Akaashi

Rating: M (non-graphic smut, cursing)

Warning(s): Major character death

Genre: Angst

AO3

—

"When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see; if the sun should rise and find your eyes; all filled with tears for me."

He first noticed it when they were on vacation. And there's no changing the diagnosis.

He first noticed it while they were on vacation.

Bokuto’s hands are cold as they slide up his husband’s torso; spending all day out in the frigid, Icelandic air clearly left its footprint on their skin. That is how they ended up in this position in the first place: Bokuto had not-so-subtly suggested they should do this to “warm up,” and Akaashi didn’t have the courage to deny him. Losing his calm demeanor, Akaashi gave into the neediness in his body and the puppy-dog look his husband had mastered whenever he wanted something.

“They’re still cold,” Akaashi mumbles, tilting his neck to the side to give Bokuto’s lips more room to roam. He flinches as they go further and further down into more sensitive territory until the cold is too much to bear. “Ugh—stop, I’ll do it. I’m warmer.”

He pushes the bigger man off him, his eyebrows furrowing as he uses more force than usual. Has Bokuto been putting on weight? He looks the same…

He rolls on top of his husband, seating himself comfortably in his lap. Akaashi’s thighs frame Bokuto’s hips in a way that makes Bokuto shiver, and it brings a satisfied smile onto the dark-haired man’s face.

“Whatever will get those pants off,” Bokuto comments with a smirk, lifting an arm and bringing Akaashi in for a kiss by the back of the neck. Their lips pull away with a smack as Akaashi busies himself with removing both their shirts. Bokuto’s eyelids are heavy, his breath coming out as puffs as he gazes at the beautiful Greek god of a man on top of him. “You’re right, you are warmer.”

They are just beginning to move together when Akaashi’s arms, holding him up as his hands fisted the bedsheets, suddenly give out, his muscles feeling like Jell-O.

“Feels that good?” Bokuto asks with that dastardly grin of his, but Akaashi isn’t having it. He tries to push himself back up, his arms trembling with the immense effort he is putting in until they give out once again, leaving him frustrated. He would roll his eyes affectionately at Bokuto’s insinuations, but he is genuinely perplexed. He isn’t even close to finishing—they had only started two minutes ago, for Pete’s sake. He has yet to start feeling good, so…?

“I’ll take over from here,” Bokuto eventually says after watching Akaashi struggle for a few moments. He finds the sight of his husband huffing and blowing the locks of hair out of his face exasperatingly as he adjusts himself incredibly amusing, but it’s hindering their time together. He rolls Akaashi gently onto his back effortlessly; meanwhile, Akaashi’s arms are still trembling mysteriously. What the hell? Thoughts of frustration overtake the thoughts of lust in Akaashi’s mind, wondering when his husband got so much stronger than him. Had it been because he hasn’t gone to the gym in a while? It must be that.

Bokuto gladly continues their lovemaking session despite Akaashi’s difficulties, and Akaashi finally gets to that ‘eyes rolling from pleasure and not annoyance at his imprudent husband’ point. But that moment of sudden weakness stays in the back of his mind, only resurfacing in that post-sex clarity.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, scratching his lower back as he ambles over to the bathroom to clean himself up and pee. He’s washing his hands when he smells smoke.

“I thought I told you to stop smoking,” Akaashi admonishes as he stomps back into the room. He swipes his boxers from the floor and slips them back on to protect some of his modesty. He’s at Bokuto’s bedside before the other can even open his mouth to retort, grabbing the cigarette and putting it out on the decorative ashtray on the nightstand, tossing the cigarette and tipping the ashes from the tray into the trash. While Akaashi’s constantly worrying about his cholesterol and blood pressure levels, taking vitamins and supplements galore, Bokuto freely does whatever he wants. As long as he’s performing at his best for volleyball, that’s all that matters in his eyes. And it’s working out for him: he’s completely and utterly healthy. Akaashi’s thankful if not envious of such healthy genes.

“Blame it on Coach Ukai,” Bokuto replies, grinning widely at his fussy partner. “It’s his fault for putting me onto cancer sticks.”

“At least try not to do it in an Airbnb, please. We could get fined.” He flicks Bokuto on the forehead as he climbs back into bed and cuddles up to his side. Iceland is gorgeous but damn, is it freezing.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to fuck in an Airbnb, but we did that anyway,” Bokuto teases, causing Akaashi to immediately turn over and give him the cold shoulder—no pun intended. He barks out a laugh and rolls over, rubbing Akaashi’s arm and placing butterfly kisses on the soft skin of his back. He feels that it’s stopped trembling, but he notices how limp it is by his side. He’s never seen this reaction in Akaashi before. Did he do something different this time…? “Aw, c’mon, babe, don’t be like that. You very clearly liked it.”

He pauses, stroking Akaashi’s arm absentmindedly as his mind hops on the train of thought.

“What was that about, anyway? Does fucking in an Airbnb excite you that much? I’ve never seen you like that.” He grins and pulls Akaashi closer to his chest, his breath leaving the shell of Akaashi’s ear pink. “It was sexy as hell.”

However, Bokuto’s horniness is not reciprocated. All Akaashi can think about is the heavy pit that buried itself in his stomach in that moment, and he reaches forward to grab a pillow. He doesn’t exactly need it—he could just turn over and use Bokuto as his body pillow. But it’s almost as if he wants to test his muscles, see if they had come out of their Jell-O state. He hates Jell-O.

Perhaps it really did feel that good. But…his stomach hadn’t been flipping or filled with butterflies then as it usually did when they had sex—it had sunk.

…

Bright and early, the two men are back to their worldly adventures. They tour local villages, eat local food, and chat with the local people until the sky is an ombre of purple and navy blue.

“There’s supposed to be an aurora tonight, according to the locals,” Akaashi says as he figures out a map he got from a gift shop, trying to find their next stop.

“Oh, it was the bakery guy who said that, right?” Bokuto asks, peering over Akaashi’s shoulder to try and help with the navigation. However, he knows he would only make Akaashi more frustrated since Akaashi likes figuring everything out by himself. “He said we have to go to this point.”

He takes a chance at helping and saddles up next to Akaashi, pointing to a particularly tall lookout point. “Think you can climb that?”

“Just because you work out every day doesn’t make me a weakling in comparison,” Akaashi counters. He bites the cap off the marker and circles the lookout point’s name, the paper crinkling underneath his hand. As if to prove how strong and capable he is, his bicep bulges as he marks the lookout point, and Bokuto very obviously stares. He’s always loved Akaashi’s body, how muscular yet lean it is. He has curves in all the right places and strong where it matters. His body is nothing short of beautiful, a marble sculpture made by Michelangelo.

Akaashi places the cap back on and tosses a smug look over his shoulder, saying, “Remember how I constantly had to pick you up whenever you’d get depressed over a missed hit? Carrying a hundred-kilo man isn’t an easy feat.”

“Seventy-eight kilos, thank you very much!” Bokuto corrects instantly, grabbing Akaashi by the wrist and dragging him to their rental car. “Fine, then let’s see your skills. We have to be there in two hours.”

The drive is full of punk and hard rock songs, all at Akaashi’s request. Bokuto tries to compromise with just one pop song in the queue of AC/DC and Green Day, but because of his sly comments throughout the trip, this is his punishment.

“Turn here,” Akaashi says over the blaring of “Readymade” by Ado, pointing to the upcoming sign. The tires squeal as they try to compensate for the horrible Fast and Furious move Bokuto does as he turns, righting as they reach the fairly full parking lot for the lookout point. Akaashi would have cussed Bokuto out if not for a steady mix of yellow and green lights highlighting both their faces and all the cars in the parking lot, the metal reflecting the light and causing everywhere to be flooded in a mock bokeh.

He cannot get out of the car fast enough, slamming the door closed and getting a head start on the hike. He trips a few times since his eyes are transfixed on the lights, his hand reaching out for Bokuto, who had since caught up to him and helps him steady himself. He’s panting by the time they reach the tallest point, revealing a crowd of people and, most beautiful of all, a lake that looked as if it was made out of glass. The sky and the water join into one, doubling the number of lights and showcasing a waterfall of colors.

He jogs over to where everybody is seated, their chins craned up in unison as they watch with awe the lights dancing in the sky. It’s like watching a ballet, each part of the sky following its own storyline and choreography. Akaashi stumbles from the vertigo of looking up too fast, Bokuto hot on his heels and ready to catch him until he rights himself.

“Be careful,” he warns as he unfolds their blanket and sets it on the knee-high grass, wading into it and sitting down. He pats the fabric, trying to get Akaashi’s attention. “Come here.”

Akaashi blinks as if he has snapped out of a trance, stumbling forward and into Bokuto’s arms. His head is foggy, the lights flashing in his vision every time he closes his eyes.

“They’re so beautiful,” he whispers, craning his neck up again now that he is on solid ground.

“Yeah,” Bokuto replies as he leans his head on his husband’s shoulder. “Beautiful.”

But Bokuto isn’t looking at the lights.

Their rings glimmer underneath the aurora, the gold morphing into all different shades thanks to the rippling of the colors above them. It really is like looking at the ocean, the sound of the waves being replaced with soft murmurs in Icelandic and the ambient breeze twisting through the tree branches. Akaashi almost stops breathing since his breaths come out an opaque white, obscuring the lights from his vision.

…

When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me.

…

Bokuto is nearly asleep once the lights finally fade out. They had gotten lucky—this aurora lasted nearly an hour. And Akaashi didn’t break eye contact for that entire hour. He was in love, his lips upturned into the faintest smile.

When the lights melt into the black night, he pats Bokuto on the cheek to wake him up and stands up, beginning to fold the blanket with the other still on it.

“Hey, hey, what’s the rush?” Bokuto exclaims, followed by a deep yawn as he rolls off the blanket and into the grass.

“I want to leave before both of us fall asleep.” One hour of keeping his eyes wide open with barely any blinking leaves Akaashi’s eyelids fatigued, and they are hanging low as he neatly folds the blanket in his lap and starts toward the car.

“Babe, I’m fine,” Bokuto replies, followed yet again by a yawn. They share a look, and he gives in. “Okay, okay, I’m getting in the car.”

They’re driving down the slope, both their eyelids heavy, drunk on sleep.

“Turn here?” Bokuto asks, beginning to slow down as he turns to his husband, who is fast asleep. “Hey, wake up, navigator.” He shakes Akaashi’s thigh before moving up to his shoulder. “Akaashi, hey—”

He’s paralyzed by the red lights that flood his vision, and his foot flies to the brake too slowly.

…

“We see accidents like that all the time on that slope,” the doctor says disapprovingly, shaking her head as she flips through the paperwork on the clipboard. “They should start putting streetlights there.”

“But then the lights wouldn’t be as pretty,” Bokuto protests, his arm shaking in its sling.

The doctor gives him a stern once-over before going back to her paperwork. “Tell that to the claim you’ll have to settle with the rental car agency. I’ll release you both in a couple of hours. For now, please rest.” She turns to Akaashi, who is sitting in the chair next to Bokuto’s bed with a pack of ice to the bump on his forehead. “Can you start filling these out, please?”

Akaashi nods and takes the offered pen, but as he puts it to the paper, his hand begins trembling uncontrollably. It isn’t violent, but it’s noticeable enough to make him stop trying to write and stare at his hand for a second. He looks up at the doctor, who is also staring at his hand.

“Hm.” She meets Akaashi’s puzzled gaze with a sympathetic smile. “Must be an after-effect of the accident. Don’t worry too much.”

She begins to walk out of the room but stops in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at Akaashi. “If that persists, I would check with your physician back home.”

She nods a goodbye before leaving the room, escaping just in time for Bokuto to wail about having to contact the rental car company and pay for the damages. But Akaashi isn’t listening. He usually ignores Bokuto when he gets like this, but now it’s for a different reason. He’s back to staring at his hand, willing the trembling to go away. It eventually does, and he proceeds to sign the papers, but that pit in his stomach never leaves. It only expands.

…

It’s Akaashi’s 36th birthday three days after the accident, and he’s celebrating it by helping Bokuto wrap his arm in plastic wrap in order to go to The Blue Lagoon. It has been thirty minutes, and Bokuto is yet to be satisfied by the amount of wrapping.

“What if it gets wet?” he whines. “I don’t want to interrupt the healing process. I have a game to play in two weeks!”

“Have you told your coach yet?” Akaashi asks pointedly, to which Bokuto grumbles something in response. “That’s what I thought. You’re not going to play for a while. Probably eight weeks.”

“Eight weeks?!” Bokuto shouts, causing everybody within a twenty-foot radius to turn their heads to the Japanese man so clearly in despair.

“You should’ve just stopped the car on the side of the road,” Akaashi replies, immediately regretting his words. This would only start a fight. And it does.

“If you could’ve just woken up,” Bokuto retorts heatedly, snatching his wrist back to do the wrapping job himself. “There wasn’t anywhere to pull over, anyway. We would’ve been the ones rear-ended if I stopped.”

“Okay, well—” Akaashi stops himself, his hands dropping to his lap as he turns his head to gaze out into the picturesque lagoon. He knew this argument would happen eventually. He swings his eyes back to Bokuto, who has put his finishing touches on the wrapping. “Can we not fight on my birthday?”

Bokuto huffs. “We aren’t fighting,” he explains but pauses, realizing he’s only furthering the argument. He purses his lips and nods, standing up from the beach chair and adjusting his swim trunks. They can’t go naked like in the bathhouses at home, so the rough fabric feels strange on his skin, especially when he submerges himself in the warm, milky blue water. He sighs, keeping his wrist elevated as he uses his other hands to splash the water in his face, running his fingers through his hair. He looks over his shoulder, watching as Akaashi busies himself with taking off his shirt, revealing his toned body that still had healing hickeys from a few nights ago. His muscles flex as he spreads sunscreen on his skin, causing Bokuto to roll his eyes and grin affectionately. Akaashi, forever concerned about skin cancer.

“Come on, babe. I’m waiting for you.”

Akaashi’s heart hurt a little from the fight, but it warms at the expectant look on his partner’s face. He nods and puts the sunscreen down, dipping his toes in the water before stepping into the pool and involuntarily letting out a long sigh of relief. All his muscles relax, and not in the strange way they did before, as if they were Jell-O. No, now they relax as if they’re softened butter, melting into his body. He rests his arms up on the edge, letting his head hang back like a ragdoll.

“Better?” Bokuto asks.

“Better.”

…

They stay nearly the entire day at the lagoon, switching between being inside the lagoon and the various spas and restaurants around the pool. Bokuto treats Akaashi to a couple’s massage until he gets kicked out of the room by his husband for groaning too loud and for making too many weird comments. He stays in the bar until Akaashi sits next to him, looking completely refreshed, his skin practically glowing in the soft haze of the sunset provided by the large bay windows.

“You look relaxed,” he comments. He hesitates to touch Akaashi, feeling as if he needs to wash his hands beforehand, but finally rests his hand on his bare shoulder. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were pregnant.”

“Yet again, mood ruined,” Akaashi replies, except it comes out as a joke rather than an admonishment. He leans on the bar and asks for a beer. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“Why not?” Bokuto asks, cocking his head. “We have to get back to Emiko. She’s waiting for us.”

It’s hard to believe that Bokuto isn’t related to their dog, Emiko, because he looks exactly like a dog at that moment, his still-drying hair flopping over like ears and his bushy eyebrows raising up his forehead quizzically.

Akaashi chuckles and sips at the foam, licking it off his top lip. “This place brings me some kind of…peace. I want to live here one day. Or at least come back.”

“We’re definitely coming back,” Bokuto replies with an emphatic nod. “I couldn’t get enough of looking at your face as you watched the aurora. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“The aurora?”

Bokuto turns his head to see Akaashi staring back at him with a thin white foam mustache on his top lip after taking another sip, clearly unaware of how endearing he looks.

He smiles softly. “Yeah. The aurora.”

…

“So, you say you’re having tremors?”

Akaashi never thought he would muster up the courage to go to the doctor. But he finally does after about a month, and as he’s sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his hands gripping the arms, he regrets he ever came.

“Y…es,” he replies haltingly. “It’s probably nothing, but the doctor in Iceland said I should get it checked out, and it’s just been so strange. I have probably just been overworking myself at the gym. I’m not twenty anymore, ha. Actually, I think I should just go—”

“Keiji, please sit down.” Akaashi does as he is told and watches his doctor pull out a forearm exerciser and sets it on the table. “If you can.”

Akaashi raises a brow but shrugs and reaches forward. He grabs the forearm exerciser and uses it as usual before putting it back on the table.

The doctor watches on silently, a finger on his top lip as his eyebrows furrow together. He puts the forearm exerciser back in his desk drawer and clasps his hands together. “You seem fine. I’ll just take some urine and blood samples from you to rule some things out. If you notice anything else, please give me a call.”

After peeing in a cup and giving up some of his blood, he practically glides out of the office. It seems as if there’s nothing wrong with him, which is exactly the diagnosis he was expecting. He had been over-exaggerating, and the doctor back in Iceland was definitely correct: his trembling hand had been a result of the near concussion he received. He drives back home and greets Bokuto with a grand smooch on the lips and musses up Emiko’s floppy ears before going into the kitchen and cooking them a beautiful three-course meal. He’s happily eating, but Bokuto finds it harder to eat. Not because of the cast on his wrist, but because of something else.

Akaashi is being a lot messier than usual. Dropping food back into the bowl, getting sauce on his face. He’s probably still excited, Bokuto thinks, but the ramen going down his esophagus turns into a pit that buries itself in his stomach, and he can’t shake the feeling. No matter how much Akaashi kisses him or hugs him or cuddles up by his side as they watch a movie, he still can’t smile to his full potential.

…

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things We did not get to say.

…

It’s a few days later when Akaashi’s joyous mood crumbles. Doctors only call after tests when something is wrong. And sure enough, while in the middle of working on his computer, Akaashi’s phone rumbles on the desk with his doctor’s name lit up on the screen.

He’s once again sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his hands gripping the arms much tighter than before. He’s doing the breathing technique his therapist taught him for his anxiety, but it only makes him want to pass out.

“Your blood tests came back alright. No HIV, hepatitis, your vitamin B12 levels are good, and no cancer from what I can—.”

“Oh, my God.” Akaashi exhales out all the anxiety in his chest, nearly doubling over from the weight taken off his chest. He looks back up at his doctor and grins. “That means I can go, right? I’ll get going—"

The doctor holds up a hand to get Akaashi to be quiet. “These blood and urine tests are only to rule out diseases. But I wouldn’t have called you into the office if I hadn’t found something.” His doctor takes a sharp breath as he shuffles his papers around as if he got a paper cut. “Your CK levels are abnormally high.”

Something in Akaashi drops. His stomach? His heart? All he knows is that he’s heavy like a bag of rocks, and he feels strapped to the chair.

“What…is that?” he asks, his chest so tight, he’s afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. No better place to have it than in front of a doctor, though.

“Creatine kinase. It’s an enzyme that’s released into the blood when there’s some muscle damage. It’s released when you’re either having or had a heart attack—”

“Dr. Hirose, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“No, you’re not, Keiji,” his doctor says with a look of pity on his face. It makes Akaashi’s panic heighten. Pity? “Or when you do a lot of strenuous exercises—”

“That’s what I said! It’s because I’ve been exercising—”

“Keiji,” his doctor breathes forcefully, giving the dark-haired man a stern look. “Or it’s a sign of a degenerative muscle disease. I’m going to schedule you for an MRI in two weeks. If it really is because of strenuous exercise, then nothing will show up. I just want to make sure there aren’t any tumors or pressure on your spinal cord.” His doctor scribbles something down on the notepad in front of him and crosses something out on his clipboard. “In the meantime, lay off the weights and rest at home.”

“O…kay.” Akaashi leaves, hope still bright in his chest. He goes through all the workouts he’s been doing over the past few months, and he nods his head to himself as he confirms that he has overexerted himself a few times. Now he has permission to just laze around at home instead of pushing himself to go to the gym. Doctor’s orders.

A week passes with nothing of note. Bokuto finally gets his cast taken off, brandishing his newly healed wrist like a trophy. Akaashi claps, unamused, but can’t help the smile that forms when Bokuto kisses him until his breath is taken away, using that wrist to grip the small of his back and press their fronts together.

“You still need to do physical therapy,” Akaashi reminds him, but Bokuto rolls his eyes and thanks the doctor before pulling his husband out of the clinic and into the car.

“That can wait,” Bokuto says, pulling Akaashi in by his tie and almost knocking his glasses off by the sheer force of his kiss. “Now let’s celebrate.”

Ever since that vacation, Akaashi hadn’t tried to go on top. He’s been scared that the same thing would happen, and it’d be on his mind the entire week. He had just gotten cleared by his doctor—the last thing he needs is for his arms to go weak.

After scolding Bokuto for smoking and after cleaning himself up, he walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge. He flinches at a pain in his ass, evidence left behind of Bokuto taking ‘celebrating’ to a whole new level. It isn’t as if he hadn’t enjoyed it, but damn, the aftermath was painful.

He grabs the filter pitcher and lifts it up, and the second he does, his right arm gives out. He watches helplessly as the pitcher cracks on the edge of the fridge and freefalls onto the floor, the top coming off and spilling four liters’ worth of water all over the kitchen. Not to mention the giant crack in the plastic. If they tried to fill the pitcher to full capacity next time, it’d surely split open.

Akaashi doesn’t even notice when Bokuto skids into the kitchen or when he yells at Emiko to stop drinking the water. He doesn’t notice when Bokuto grabs the roll of paper towels and begins to mop up the water or his husband’s arms around him, whispering explanations or jokes or whatever nonsense he says to cheer him up. He only snaps out of it when he feels Bokuto’s finger on his cheek, lifting a tear from his skin.

He turns around in Bokuto’s arms, looking up at him, his bottom lip quivering. “I’m not okay, Koutarou.”

Bokuto wishes he could deny it. He so desperately wishes he could say ‘no, babe, you’re overreacting.’ To see that relieved smile on his face like he had on when he came home from the clinic. But he can’t. Because he knows that Akaashi isn’t okay.

“Let’s go back to bed, babe. I’ll get you some water. Go rest,” he says softly, ushering Akaashi away from the distressing scene and bending back over to dry the rest of the floorboards. But he can’t help it when he wets the hardwood further with his own tears.

…

Bokuto skips physical therapy to go with Akaashi to the hospital despite the latter’s many attempts to go alone. Akaashi had managed to convince Bokuto the previous times that he was just going in for a routine checkup, but now Bokuto’s not falling for it.

“The MRI is painless,” the doctor explains, beginning to help Akaashi sit down, but he waves away any help.

“I can walk, thank you.” Ever since the incident in the kitchen, Akaashi has grown more defensive of everything he does. If Bokuto asks if he needs any help, Akaashi fires back with ‘do I look like I need help?’ or ‘I’m not helpless.’ He has always been snarky, but his current demeanor is callous, uncaring. There’s no love in his sarcastic remarks, just hurt.

He lays down on the bed, shifting around until the doctor tells him to stop. It’s quick, and, like his doctor said, painless, and he’s out in less than five minutes.

“The results will be out in two days,” his doctor warns after coming out of the small glass room adjacent to the machine. “If you get a call from me, that doesn’t automatically mean bad news.”

“Okay.” Akaashi hasn’t mentioned the pitcher incident to his doctor. He knows it’s the stupidest thing he can do. But if he doesn’t mention it, treats it as yet another injury sustained from overworking himself, then maybe it doesn’t exist. And it doesn’t, not on paper.

The next few days pass by like molasses. Akaashi doesn’t get any work done, and each time his phone rings, he nearly passes out. When he finally does get the call, he actually does pass out, and Bokuto has to pick up the phone for him while trying to wake him up.

“Doc? Hey, it’s Koutarou.”

“Oh, Koutarou. If you could pass along to Akaashi that the MRI is all clear, that would be great.”

As if on cue, Akaashi wakes up and snatches the phone out of Bokuto’s hand, holding it up to his ear. “What, Dr. Hirose?”

“I said that your MRI is all clear. No tumor, nothing messing up your discs. There’s nothing wrong with your brain or spinal cord.”

Akaashi is out again like a light.

When he comes to, he’s in bed, the covers up to his chin. He sits up groggily and wipes his eyes, turning to see a bowl of mochi on the nightstand, nearly melted.

“Bokuto?” he calls, his voice hoarse. He reaches over and brings the bowl into his lap, nibbling on a mochi. Despite the mochi being cold, he’s warm. He can only picture Bokuto picking him up and tucking him in before making his famous mochi. It’s one of the only things he knows how to make, and he knows exactly when to make it.

Bokuto pads into the room, followed closely behind by Emiko. The two are twins, Akaashi swears. Emiko hops up onto the bed and nuzzles Akaashi’s arm before collapsing onto his thighs, laying her head down with a grunt.

"Hey, you feeling better?” Bokuto asks, walking over and sitting down cautiously at the foot of the bed as if Akaashi’s made out of glass. “I made you mochi to celebrate the clean bill of health.”

Akaashi smiles and nods, scarfing down another piece of mochi. “Thank you,” he says, his voice muffled by the sticky rice dough. The sight is enough to make Bokuto laugh and scoot closer, wiping a bit of ice cream from the corner of Akaashi’s lips and lick it off his finger.

“I’m going back to practice tomorrow,” he continues. “My physical therapist says I’m good to go. So we’re both doing awesome.”

Akaashi grins and leans forward, pulling Bokuto in for a kiss, burying his fingers in the white-gray hair. They continue to eat mochi together, making small talk and eventually watching a movie together, but Akaashi still isn’t fully happy. When Bokuto falls asleep, he gets up to put the bowl in the sink. Before he can finish the trip, he drops the bowl onto the carpet. The thud is muffled, Bokuto too deep in sleep to wake up. But Akaashi, who was drowsy before, is now fully awake. He looks to his right arm, his hand trembling and his forearm cramping up. He simply bends down and picks up the bowl with his left arm, puts it in the sink, and silently slips underneath the covers. He snuggles up next to Bokuto, much closer than usual, resting his head on his chest.

“Mm, Keiji,” Bokuto mumbles, more asleep than awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies a little too quickly. He grips Bokuto’s tank top in a fist, savoring the warmth of his husband’s skin against his cheek. “Just want to be close to you.”

“Mm,” is all that Bokuto replies before draping an arm lazily over Akaashi’s waist, burying his nose in the other’s dark hair.

Akaashi closes his eyes, but he doesn’t think he sleeps at all.

…

It’s a pretty normal month, but Akaashi’s knees are roughed up with all the tripping and tumbles he’s taken. He doesn’t tell Bokuto or his doctor, and he thanks God it’s nearing autumn so that he has an excuse to wear long pants. They bought a new pitcher, but Bokuto can’t help but notice Akaashi never gets near it. It’s particularly difficult to keep a straight face and not notice when Akaashi’s spoon trembles as he spoons sugar into his coffee or when food has made its home on his face whenever they eat. He needs to receive an Oscar for his acting abilities because every time he’s left alone, he can’t help but bury his face in his hands and pray.

It’s another month before Bokuto sits Akaashi down and stares hardheartedly at him.

“You need to go to the doctor.”

Akaashi, who already knew what the conversation would be about due to Bokuto’s seriousness when he sat him down, crosses his arms and shakes his head. “No. Why? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Really, Keiji?” Bokuto using his actual name means serious business. “You think I don’t realize you dropping everything? All the stains on your shirt? How you can’t even fucking talk sometimes?”

“Hey. Don’t…curse,” Akaashi says, and, as if his body wants to prove a point, his words slur together.

Bokuto slams the table, sending both Akaashi and Emiko’s heads snapping upwards at the loud bang.

“It hurts me, too. You think you’re the only one suffering, but you’re being so goddamn selfish. Because it hurts seeing you like this and not do anything about it. Listen, I’ve been trying to ignore it, too, hoping it’ll just go away. But it’s getting worse, Keiji, whatever this is. And I’m not going to stand by while you kill yourself.”

Bokuto’s eyes well with tears, and it only takes his husband getting emotional—which only happens in a sports-related context—to get Akaashi to pick up the phone and call his doctor.

“Muscle weakness and slurring speech?” his doctor asks, pausing to ponder something. “Come in tomorrow. I’ll get an EMG appointment set up for you.”

The two men look at each other, and Akaashi stands up and walks to the bedroom with Emiko, slamming the door closed. Bokuto takes that as a sign that he’s sleeping on the couch.

…

“This will cause a bit of discomfort,” the neurologist says gently before conducting the test. Akaashi shifts in his chair each time the instrument sends small electrical shocks in his wrist and frowns when the needle is inserted in his arm.

“Move this way…and that way…perfect.” The neurologist is studying the screen, and Akaashi is studying the neurologist. He’s studying her facial expressions, the way she moves, anything that will give him an indication of the meaning behind the squiggles onscreen. Bokuto squeezes his shoulder even though the neurologist told him not to touch him, planting a butterfly kiss on the shell of his ear. Finally, after over half of an hour of uncomfortable tests, Akaashi is instructed to go to his doctor’s office.

“I’ll send the results over to your doctor now,” the neurologist says. Yet again, there’s that look of pity. The pit in Akaashi’s stomach expands until he feels bloated and barely able to walk to his doctor’s office. He uses Bokuto’s hand for balance, but he finds that his right arm can barely sustain his weight anymore.

“Your EMG test is abnormal,” his doctor says lightly, but just the word ‘abnormal’ is a shot to the face.

“What does that mean, doc?” Bokuto asks, seeing that all of Akaashi’s mental strength was zapped out from the tests.

“It means that the EMG showed electrical activity even when your muscles were in a resting position,” the doctor replies, setting down the paperwork on the desk and resting his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes flicking between the two men. “You have a degenerative muscle disease. This is consistent with your CK levels, which show muscle damage. I want to do a few more tests, but from what I can see, you might have amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.”

“What the fuck is that?” Bokuto shouts, practically jumping out of the chair and snapping his fingers in front of the doctor’s face. “Japanese, please!”

“Koutarou, stop,” Akaashi pleads, tugging on Bokuto’s sleeve, and even if he didn’t have degenerating muscles, he wouldn’t have been able to stop Bokuto in the state he’s in now.

“ALS,” the doctor clarifies, and both men freeze into place like statues. “Motor neuron disease, Lou Gehrig’s disease—there are many names. I’m not saying you have it for certain, but all the evidence points to it. Your accident back in Iceland certainly didn’t help. Now, I want to discuss treatment—”

Akaashi grabs the nearest trashcan and vomits into it, and no matter how much he throws up, the pit in his stomach stays, growing ever bigger.

…

I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me, too.

…

It seems coincidental, but the second Akaashi receives the diagnosis from both his primary doctor and a second opinion from a neurologist, his symptoms worsen tenfold. He can’t drink coffee anymore, having burned himself too many times from spilling hot coffee all over himself. He’s going to physical therapy every day, taking a handful of pills every day, going to an ALS clinic every day. He works whenever he can. He tries to go to every one of Bokuto’s games. Climbing up the bleachers is rough, and he tries to arrive before the teams come out of the locker rooms so Bokuto doesn’t see him like this. He attempts to write posters—keyword: attempts. His handwriting comes out more like a scrawl, his fingers failing him and letting the pen slip through multiple times. They said this would happen back at the clinic. Loss of fine motor control. It’s one thing to hear it, it’s another thing to experience it.

If somebody didn’t know better, they’d think a child wrote the poster board. But instead of a child holding the poster and cheering on their father, it’s Akaashi, pointing at Bokuto when he jogs onto the court with as much of a fist as he can hold. Bokuto grins when he sees his husband, but his face visibly falls when his eyes drop to the poster. He misses the first shot, saved just in time by their outside hitter. He turns back to the game, but his mind is elsewhere. His mind is on his husband, who had just been given a death sentence, and he’s watching it all unfold.

Because that’s what it is: a death sentence. Stephen Hawking gave hope to everybody with ALS, as they say every day at the clinic and physical therapy, but he knows the statistics. He studied them until he fell asleep at the kitchen table: only about 20% of people live five or ten years after diagnosis, a far cry from Hawking’s 55 years. Hawking’s survival rate is as much of an enigma as the black holes he studied.

Akaashi knows all the statistics by heart. Memorization and Stephen Hawking won’t change the fact that he will die far too young.

He cries and laughs all the time. It’s not even because he’s sad or seeing something particularly funny; it just happens. In the rare moments where he’s particularly entrenched in his work or watching a titillating movie with Bokuto and can forget about his life, he’s interrupted by a bout of laughter or gobs of tears, and he has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, dragging his now-limp foot along with him.

Bokuto accused Akaashi of being selfish for not seeking out a diagnosis, but now the guilt has fallen onto him. He’s more selfish than Akaashi is, pitying himself for having a sick spouse. He feels guilt every single time he cries because he needs to be strong for Akaashi. He needs to be the one supporting his husband. He needs to try and get his mind off the stress. He needs put on a brave smile when he’s faced with Akaashi’s worsening symptoms. But he can’t help but suffer for Akaashi, absorb all the pain he’s feeling every time he can’t speak or struggles to lift a fork. Sure, it doesn’t hurt physically, but it tortures the mind. It must be torture to count down the days until your muscles lose all functionality and you’re left limp in a wheelchair, on oxygen until your diaphragm or heart give out because they, too, are muscles. Bokuto has a list of all of Akaashi’s symptoms, and his Internet history is full of experimental treatments, made up of both Western and Eastern medicine. They try acupuncture, chiropractic, essential oils, anything.

“Hey, I found this tea that might boost your CK levels—”

“Koutarou,” Akaashi breathes. His chest must be acting up again. “Enough. No more of that.”

When Akaashi doesn’t feel the symptoms as intensely, he tries to initiate sex with Bokuto every chance he gets. If I don’t do it now, when’s the next time I’ll have the strength to? he reasons to himself every time. Bokuto accepts, of course—not necessarily because he’s constantly horny (he used to be, not so much now), but because he has the same reasoning as Akaashi. He doesn’t mind being ravished at nearly every moment of the day if it means he’ll still have the hickeys to remind him of their intimacy together on the days Akaashi is too weak.

“I want to try being on top again,” Akaashi purrs in Bokuto ear one day, feeling particularly invigorated after a good physical therapy session. Perhaps all those pills he’s been taking are kicking in. Perhaps he’s getting better.

“Are you sure?” Bokuto asks, breathless. He’s never had to work this hard during sex before, and even though missing practice may have something to do with his lost endurance, he doubts it.

Akaashi nods, watching Bokuto flop onto his back before sitting up and tossing a leg over and beside Bokuto’s hip. Even though he had just been laying there and having Bokuto do all the work, he’s already breathless from that one move, his arms cramping up as he leans them on Bokuto’s chest. Flashbacks of their time in Iceland spot his vision. If only he had known back then that he had this disgusting disease…

He shakes that out of his head. He needs to focus on the now. And now, Bokuto was staring up at him with worry, his hands lifting up to Akaashi’s hips to provide him stability. He needs to wipe that worry off his face, and the only way to do that—

“Shit.” And he’s crying uncontrollably again. His arms give out, and he face-plants onto Bokuto’s chest, his left leg useless by Bokuto’s side while the other cramps up. “I can’t—”

He tries to push himself up, shifting his hips backward to try and continue, but the mood was gone. “Just give me a second—”

“Keiji.”

“Hold on, let me just—”

“Keiji.”

“One second! God, y-you act like I can’t do—ugh, did you go soft?”

“KEIJI.”

Akaashi’s head snaps up, his hand stopping its stroking to see Bokuto sitting upright, staring him down. “…What?”

“Stop.” Bokuto’s crying. “Just stop.”

“What, why? If you had just given me a second—”

“It’s not exactly sexy watching you struggle to hold yourself up because your muscles are degenerating.” Bokuto gasps at what he just said, his hand flying up to his mouth much too late. Akaashi just stares at him, his mouth in a small ‘o’. All Akaashi does is slowly sit up straight—as straight as he can—and stare directly into Bokuto’s eyes.

“If you hadn’t gotten into that fucking accident,” Akaashi grumbles, wrestling one of the sheets and wrapping it around himself as he uses all the spite in his body to get off Bokuto without falling over. Luckily, his muscles participate, and he’s off the bed, stumbling to the bathroom.

“Oh, you’re bringing that shit up again?” Bokuto exclaims, lifting his hand up in a show of exasperation. “Don’t tell me you’re blaming your stupid disease on me because I couldn’t wake you up.”

Akaashi whips around and stares daggers into his husband, his lips pulled into a scowl. “You heard Dr. Hirose. It certainly didn’t help.”

“I didn’t help? You know what isn’t helpful? Seeing my husband slowly die in front of me, knowing that the person I love more than anything in this goddamned unfair world is leaving me alone, and there’s nothing I can do about it except watch. To think that I contributed—to have you tell me I made this worse as if I’m the one who’s killing you—to know that no matter what fucking home remedy we try or expert we see, we can’t change anything!” He sniffs. “So it doesn’t matter how it fucking happened, it happened.”

SLAM!

The sound of the bathroom door echoes throughout the apartment, and Emiko scuttles out of the room in fear. Bokuto follows not long after because he knows he’s not welcome there, but also because he can’t stand the sound of Akaashi crying anymore. His sobs are quiet and muffled, no doubt trying to hide them, but he’s doing a terrible job. Bokuto doesn’t do that good of a job either.

He’s sleeping on the couch again. This time, Emiko sleeps with him, snoring away on the loveseat next to the couch.

He tries to sleep, but it’s as if something is blocking his ability to. He sits up with a prophetic realization.

This is so fucking stupid. We don’t have time for this.

They don’t have time for arguments. They don’t have time for pettiness. They don’t have time for anything, really, least of all this.

He tosses the thin blanket off his body, standing up and striding over to the door. His hand is almost on the knob before it turns and the door opens, revealing a disheveled Akaashi with a bright red nose and bloodshot eyes.

“I’m—”

“I’m—”

“Sorry.”

Akaashi moves first, diving into Bokuto’s arms and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Bokuto moves cautiously before giving in and wrapping his arms tightly around Akaashi’s frail form. He really does feel like porcelain compared to the built and fit man he was before. He loved Akaashi’s muscles. He’d have to learn to love his bones eventually as well.

…

I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the exact same way There is no longing for the past.

…

Akaashi’s parents come to stay with their dying son, and it’s morbidly silent. Usually, it’d be a joyous time, full of large meals, traveling, and laughing. But Akaashi’s mother can’t stop fussing over her son’s crutches, telling him he should get a walker, and Akaashi says he’d rather die earlier than he already is than use a walker that’s made for old people.

Finally, Akaashi’s father suggests they all take a walk in the park to brighten their spirits. Bokuto, who has taken the season off to stay with Akaashi—against his wishes, but a dead man’s wishes don’t mean much—agrees wholeheartedly. He puts on a wide smile, and even though it’s mostly false, it gets the rest of the family smiling and hopeful as well.

The cobblestones are a little rough to walk with crutches, but Akaashi manages. His forearms are still relatively strong compared to his legs, which degenerated far faster than his arms, even though the latter started to go first. The forearm holders in the crutches are uncomfortable, but Bokuto ordered padding, which should be coming in a few days.

Something to look forward to.

He doesn’t notice Bokuto giving the evil eye to anybody whose eyes linger on the strange man with crutches for too long, puffing up his chest intimidatingly until nobody has the courage to look in Akaashi’s direction.

“It’s a nice day,” Akaashi remarks as he stops in front of the pond. He smiles and giggles softly at the ducks waddling along the bank, hopping into the green water and fluffing up their feathers. A duck followed by an orderly line of yellow ducklings waddles past, stopping by to pick at the grass. “Hey, look, Mom, a mama duck.”

He lifts his arm to point, but the crutch goes along with his arm, leaving him destabilized. Luckily, his father is on his other side, and he holds him up without making too much of a big deal, keeping his face front.

“Oh, will you look at that,” Akaashi’s mother coos, getting out a bag of seeds from her purse along with her phone. “Koutarou, be a dear and take a picture of us with the mama duck, please.”

Akaashi’s smile fades. He knows his mother only used the mother duck as an excuse to take as many pictures as she can with her dying son before he’s six feet under or ashes. He’s yet to figure out which route to take. She had been taking pictures the entire trip. He has to remember to go through her phone and delete all the ugly pictures of himself before she prints them out to use at his funeral.

“For sure, Mama Akaashi,” Bokuto says, taking the offered phone and holding up the phone, waiting for Akaashi to turn around. “C’mon, Keiji, lemme see that pretty smile.”

Akaashi smiles, tries to think of the mama duck to get his smile to look halfway real, but when Bokuto shows them the photo, it looks horribly forced. He looks awful, anyway. A smile can’t save the way his body’s contorted with the crutches, how skinny he’s gotten, how sunken his face has grown. Eating has become more and more difficult. The movement of eating used to be the only problem, but now it’s swallowing. He’s mainly eating soups now, and he didn’t even have to tell Bokuto because Bokuto always knows before he does what he’s feeling. The perks of being together for nineteen years.

He turns back to the pond in search of the mama duck, but she had disappeared in the time they took the photo. Akaashi’s face falls, his hand clutching the plastic bag of seeds. A bit of pollen tickles his nose, and he sneezes into his elbow.

“Oh, Keiji!”

His head snaps to his mother, whose hand had flown up to her mouth to suppress her gasp. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

He follows her line of sight down to the crotch of his pants, which had darkened and become wet.

He had peed himself. Slightly, but enough to make him never want to step outside ever again.

The warmth on his legs hadn’t been the sun after all—it had been his bladder leaking from the force of the sneeze, with its host none the wiser.

He had read about the loss of bladder control as a symptom since the bladder is surrounded by muscles, and the bitch of the disease targets those. But he never expected that to happen to him. Bladder incontinence only happens to older victims. Urge incontinence, however, doesn’t have as small of an age range when it comes to ALS.

Only now, standing in wet underwear, does he realize how these diseases are sanitized. The movies he watched of HIV, ALS, cancer…none of them show how disgusting they actually are.

“Get me home,” Akaashi whispers, his eyes welling with hot tears of humiliation. Sweat prickles on his hairline and the back of his neck, a panic attack in the works. Every single pair of eyes is on him. Everybody’s staring, laughing, pointing. Everybody’s full of pity. Oh, poor thing, he can’t help it. He’s never been more embarrassed.

Humiliated, humiliated, humiliated…

“Come, Keiji,” his mother murmurs, leading him to the public bathroom. “Let’s go to the bathroom while your father and Koutarou pull up the car.”

Nobody questions the old woman as she enters the men’s bathroom, mostly because of the man in crutches who reeks of urine next to her. She takes him into the biggest stall and sits him on the toilet, beginning to undo his belt until he stops her weakly.

“Please,” he says, his breathing heavy. “Let me have a little dignity left.”

He has a few months left until he needs a 24/7 nurse to transfer him to the toilet and wipe his ass. He will postpone that until the last minute.

She waits outside while Akaashi cleans himself up. She listens for any sign of struggle and nearly jumps with surprise when the door opens, revealing her son, who smells a little better. The pee is already beginning to dry down.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” she says when they get home. Bokuto places a hand on her forearm, signaling for him to take over, and attempts to wrap an arm around Akaashi’s waist, only to be rejected when Akaashi dodges and nearly trips over his crutches.

Bokuto frowns but proposes, “Come on, let’s take a shower together.”

“Don’t get near me,” Akaashi says as he ambles over to the bathroom. “I’m disgusting.”

Bokuto laughs and shakes his head. “Akaashi, babe, I’ve had to clean up your vomit three days in a row before, both from food poisoning and booze. You literally brush your teeth while I’m shitting in the same bathroom. A little pee doesn’t hurt. Don’t act like a princess—”

“Please, leave me alone,” Akaashi begs, throwing his crutches on the floor of their bedroom and using the doorknob as support as he steps inside and closes the door. Bokuto knocks on the door and tries the doorknob, but it’s locked.

“Keiji,” he mumbles, hoping his quiet voice carries through the door. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“Keiji,” he repeats.

“I’m not letting you bathe me or wipe my ass. I’d rather slip and crack my head open in the shower before letting you do that.”

“Keiji,” he repeats for the third and last time. “You remember what Kuroo said? He was a terrible officiant, but he said some good things.”

The other side is silent.

“In sickness and in health. ‘Til death do us part. I’m here for the long game. I’m not leaving you.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Remember what I said in my vows?”

Again, silence.

He clears his throat. “Keiji Akaashi, I will love you until we’re two wrinkly old and ugly grandpas. I will love you, even if we both lose our hair and all our teeth. I will love you, even if we forget each other. Because I will remember you the next day, and I’ll fall in love with you all over again.”

Bokuto feels the light spring breeze on his face, almost as if he’s back at their wedding venue. He feels the ancient cobblestones underneath his feet, smells the cherry blossoms surrounding them, tastes the red velvet cake on his tongue when Akaashi smashed it in his face. Nothing has changed. Except they’re not going to be wrinkly old men.

“Really puts everything into perspective, huh? A little piss and shit won’t ever change my vows,” he ends, rapping the door yet again with the back of his knuckles. “Come on, Keiji. Open up and lemme see you naked. That always makes me feel better, at least.”

The lock tumbles and the door slowly creaks open to reveal Akaashi in his boxers. He clearly wasted no time taking off the soiled clothing.

“I needed to take a shower anyway,” Bokuto says with a shrug, stepping inside and closing the door. He strips down to his boxers before walking over and turning on the shower, but as he’s walking back, he feels just how healthy his muscles are. He used to never think about his muscles, except maybe when they were sore from the gym or how to make them bigger to impress Akaashi. Now he feels horrible every time he exists next to Akaashi, almost as if he was mocking his disease or bragging about how healthy he is.

“You know what will cheer you up?” Bokuto asks, ignoring the guilt blooming in his chest. He drops his hand to pinch Akaashi’s rear, causing the man to explode into a red blush.

“Koutarou! My parents are here!” Akaashi whispers harshly, swatting Bokuto’s hand away. “Besides…I won’t be able to…s-support myself.”

“I’ll do all that, baby,” Bokuto drawls flirtatiously, wrapping his arm around Akaashi’s lower back for support and using his other hand to push down both their boxers.

“Koutarou, stop,” Akaashi pleads, the corners of his eyes leaking tears. “I’m…I feel so ugly. I smell.”

“That’s what the shower is for.” Bokuto grins before leading his husband over to the shower, carefully helping him in, shielding Akaashi from the water with his back as he checks to see if the temperature’s good. Once he approves, he moves to let the water drizzle over Akaashi’s pale frame. Akaashi uses the support bar Bokuto installed a couple of days ago for balance as he steps forward into the water, closing his eyes as he feels the stickiness between his legs wash away. He lets out a sigh at Bokuto’s hands on his skin, the smell of fresh cucumber drifting from the lather on his shoulders.

“Turn around,” Bokuto commands, and Akaashi obeys, his eyes still closed. However, they fly open when he feels his body lifting up and the cold wall of the shower pressed against his back. His hand shoots out to grip the support bar, glaring at Bokuto.

“Could’ve warned me,” he grumbles, letting out a gasp when Bokuto ignores his complaint and dives straight into his neck to leave marks. “Not there! My parents will see them!”

“It’s turtleneck weather,” Bokuto replies easily.

Akaashi nearly succumbs to Bokuto’s seducing until he remembers something. “What if I shit on your dick?”

Bokuto tosses his head back and laughs, causing Akaashi to laugh along nervously.

“That’s what the shower is for,” he repeats without a second thought, going back to his seducing. His hand overlaps Akaashi’s on the support bar, squeezing it as both of them forget the trauma of today and melt into each other’s bodies. The sex is a form of amnesia because as Bokuto sets down a thoroughly fatigued Akaashi on the counter to get them both towels, Akaashi can’t for the life of him place why he was sad earlier that day.

He, thankfully, didn’t shit on Bokuto’s dick. And—Bokuto’s right—it’s chilly that night. It gives Akaashi the perfect excuse to cuddle up on the couch in a turtleneck, concealing the evidence of their spontaneous lust in the shower. The night is full of hot chocolate with marshmallows and caramel drizzle, just like Akaashi likes it, cheesy rom-coms he and his mother adore, and playing around with Emiko that he forgets that he’ll die in a few months or years. He talks and talks and talks until his vocal cords are sore the next day. Tonight, he isn’t Keiji Akaashi with ALS. He isn’t Keiji Akaashi who can barely form a sentence anymore. He isn’t Keiji Akaashi who will die before he reaches middle age. He’s just Keiji Akaashi.

…

The sense of normalcy continues for the rest of the year. His symptoms seem to have plateaued, and thankfully, he doesn’t have any more run-ins with urge incontinence. Bokuto attributes the slowing progression to his daily physical therapy sessions, and he finally feels comfortable enough to go to practices again and leave Akaashi to his work. Typing is difficult, and it takes him three times as long to edit a page of a manga, but it feels nice to be of use. To not be completely inept and earn his own keep. He always hated being doted on, but he’d have to get used to the idea soon enough.

Akaashi’s parents go home a month after their arrival once they see their son’s condition stabilizing, making him promise to call them every day and tell them updates. He struggles to muster up the courage to call their closest friends to break the news because he knows that the second he says the words ‘I have ALS,’ they’d be knocking down the door. And that’s exactly what happens.

“Why the actual hell didn’t you tell us the second you got the diagnosis?!” Kuroo shouts, causing Kenma to smack the back of his head and apologize for his partner.

“The man’s sick, Tetsurou. Don’t scream.”

Akaashi appreciates the gesture since Kuroo’s voice is much too loud for their little apartment, but he also doesn’t want to be labeled as ‘sick.’ He’s already had enough of being treated like porcelain from Bokuto; he doesn’t want his friends to do the same.

“Kuroo, calm down,” Bokuto warns, but he was in the same position Kuroo not too long ago. When Akaashi refused to go to the doctor and admit he had a problem. He can’t blame the frustration. “He’s doing fine. The crutches are working out well, and his motor skills are good enough to type and write. He’s improving.”

The initial shock of the diagnosis undoubtedly made every single symptom seem worse and did nothing to slow the progression. It racked Akaashi’s body like cancer, and he wishes he did have cancer because then he might have a shot of surviving and living a normal life. Cancer seems like a blessing compared to the curse his body harbors.

“Well,” Kenma starts with a sympathetic smile. He picks up a controller from the coffee table and sits down next to Akaashi, handing it to him and picking up a controller for himself. “Ready for me to kick your ass in Mario Kart?”

Akaashi laughs. Genuinely. Not caused by those random bursts of laughter or crying he gets. He was so worried about getting treated as if he’s breakable that the comment caught him off-guard—of course Kenma would beat him. Not only because he’s a savant at anything video game-related, but because Akaashi literally has almost zero motor skills left. And Kenma knows this very well. They ate together. Kenma watched Bokuto help wipe Akaashi’s mouth and cut up a bit of the tougher side of the steak. He winced every time Akaashi dropped his fork, the clatter causing the conversation to come to an abrupt stop. And yet, he still proposes to beat him in a game that is all about motor control. Because Keiji is still Keiji. And he deserves to play a game of Mario Kart.

Kenma, of course, wins. Bokuto promises to avenge Akaashi’s honor, but he, too, loses his honor when he’s defeated horribly by the video game developer. Kuroo is the only one who puts up a good fight before ultimately losing as well from all the practice the two do on a daily basis. Kuroo and Bokuto busy themselves playing another round while Kenma helps Akaashi stand up, and the two walk over to the small patio in the kitchen.

“Have you been smoking?” Kenma asks, motioning to the ashtray populated by a few cigarettes as he sits down. Akaashi sits down across from him, his hand absentmindedly stroking Emiko.

“No, that’s Bokuto’s,” he replies with a disappointed shake of the head. “I’m trying to get him to stop. But even if they…were mine, it wouldn’t matter. I’m going to die anyway.”

Kenma stiffens. He can sense the distaste dripping from Akaashi’s tone like acid. He knows Akaashi would never wish sickness on Bokuto, least of all lung cancer. But Kenma can tell how frustratingly ironic it is that Bokuto, whose diet consisted of the most sugary and fatty foods before Akaashi stepped in, who smokes nearly every day, is the perfectly healthy one. He’s healthy, not the one who meditates and does yoga and cooks homemade, healthy meals every day. Even Kenma has a frown of consternation, irritated at how unfair the world can be.

He needs to ask. He needs to be able to brace himself for when the time comes. “How long do you think you have?”

Something Akaashi always appreciated from Kenma is that he never beats around the bush.

“The way I’m going, Dr. Hirose says three years. I’ll hopefully make it to my 40th birthday,” he explains, staring down at his hands. “I’ll probably n-need…a wheelchair in a year. And a 24/7 nurse a few months after that.”

He’s planned out the whole timeline in his head. He finds that expecting changes in his body is a lot less shock-inducing than just waiting for them to happen.

“I won’t be able to talk soon. Sometimes I d…on’t want to talk anymore. My vo…voice is starting to sound so ugly.” He thought he didn’t have any more tears to shed, but he finds himself choking back tears, his eyes red-rimmed.

He was trying to speak as much as possible before his voice eventually gives out, but he was never talkative to begin with, so it all comes off as fake. As a desperate attempt to redeem himself, say all the things he never got to say his entire life. He compliments Bokuto every day. Tells him how amazing of a job he’s doing. Bokuto is, of course, pleased to receive the compliments, but they’re soured when he realizes why he’s receiving them in the first place.

He baby talks Emiko, even though he only ever spoke to her like an adult human. Baby talking allows him to showcase more of his vocal range, which is getting smaller and smaller each month. But after a while, he goes days without uttering more than ten sentences. What’s the point if he’s going to lose his voice anyway?

Kenma reaches forward and grips Akaashi’s hand in his before letting go, gazing into the sunset splashing rays across the horizon. “You should make a bucket list.”

Akaashi lets out a sigh. Finally, somebody who doesn’t bring up Stephen fucking Hawking. Somebody who’s realistic, who offers solutions instead of false hope. He’s going to die whether he likes it or not—he needs to stop pitying himself.

“A bucket list isn’t a half-bad idea,” Akaashi says, stroking his chin pensively. He needs to shave, but last time he tried, he nicked himself so many times that he looked like he had a beard of toilet paper. “I don’t even know where I’d go. It’d be so expensive, too.”

“Are you going to use that money when you’re dead?” Kenma asks. “You have a savings account, right?”

Akaashi nods.

“Problem solved.” Kenma smiles and gets out a small leather-bound notebook, handing it to his friend. “I brought this for you. For your bucket list.”

Akaashi’s looking down at the notebook, but when he looks back up, Kenma’s crying. He’s never seen Kenma cry before.

“Go live life, Akaashi. Live the life people who live eighty years will never have.”

…

First, it’s the Alps in Switzerland for New Year’s. Akaashi’s strapped to Bokuto’s chest as they ski down a hill made for children, but Akaashi can’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tries. He’s laughing, begging Bokuto to go again. Bokuto agrees, but he’s wary of anything and everything now with Akaashi’s declining health. His bones have started to rise underneath his skin, and the dark circles under his eyes are growing ever darker. The common flu could have him bedridden for a week.

Bokuto still has hope that Akaashi will live for years and years. His stabilizing condition only further cements that hope, and if he doesn’t pay too much close attention, he completely forgets about Akaashi’s condition. They say that people who get it early in life live longer…

Akaashi can’t drink with his medications—and even though his motto is now “I’ll die anyway,” he’d much rather complete his Switzerland trip before offing himself. So he’s left to take care of Bokuto, who gets much too drunk off eggnog, and Akaashi loves it. He loves being the one fussing over somebody else. He loves being the stronger one, the caretaker. And now, he finally has a reason to take care of Bokuto and drag him to the bed.

“Keiiijii!” Bokuto sings at the top of his lungs, reaching his arms up as the bedroom spins around him. “Keiji Akaashi, I loooove youuu!”

“I love you, too,” Akaashi murmurs with a chuckle, balancing his crutches against the wall and flopping onto the bed.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Well, that’s quite a change in mood. Akaashi laughs and quirks a brow at Bokuto, whose arms had since dropped to his chest and his eyes closed.

“I’m not leaving—”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Bokuto slurs. His hands fly up to cover his eyes. “Why…why couldn’t it have been me? God, it’s all my fault. If we hadn’t gotten into…that crash. Of all people…why you? Live forever and forever for me. Please don’t leave me, Keiji, please…”

He continues blabbering until snores overtake his sobs, but Akaashi stays silent. Bokuto says it hurts him to see his husband’s decline, but it also hurts him to see Bokuto suffering so much. Perhaps if he died earlier rather than later, Bokuto wouldn’t be hurting as much. He’d have more time to get over him and fall in love again, preferably with somebody without a terminal disease.

He crosses off “go skiing” and “go to Switzerland” in his notebook and smiles as he goes to sleep.

…

Second, it’s Brazil. They coincidentally run into Hinata playing volleyball with his Brazilian friends on Copacabana Beach, but his expression doesn’t change when his eyes drop to Akaashi’s crutches. He just grins even wider and holds up the volleyball in his arms for Akaashi.

“Wanna play a set?”

He gets on Bokuto’s shoulders and misses nearly all the blocks and hits. It’s less about his condition and more so the fact that he was a setter and hadn’t played professionally in nearly fifteen years, but that doesn’t discourage him. He accepts Hinata’s ‘another game?’ proposition until Bokuto puts a stop to it, afraid he’s overworking himself.

Bokuto gets drunk, yet again, off too many caipirinhas, and Akaashi, yet again, has to take care of him. But he doesn’t complain once. As Bokuto sleeps, he gets out his leather-bound notebook as crosses both “meet up with Hinata one more time” and “go to Brazil” off his list. Slowly and surely, his list is being whittled down. It’s bittersweet: he feels accomplished whenever he crosses something off the list, but that just means he’s growing ever closer to his expiration date.

…

Third, it’s Italy. It’s been nearly a year since he was first diagnosed and add on two months for when he first started noticing symptoms. They’re celebrating Akaashi’s 37th birthday in a fancy seaside restaurant, the salty breeze making both their faces glow. They’re in their own little world, ignoring the other customers who either stare at them or ask to be moved to another table.

Bokuto now has to feed him nearly everything, spooning minestrone soup and twirling pasta onto a fork before putting it into his husband’s mouth. He fixes Akaashi’s bib, which has “what’s cookin,’ good lookin’” embellished across it, per Bokuto’s suggestion.

“This…is goo…d-d,” Akaashi says with a giggle, accidentally spitting out a bit of soup that dribbles down his chin.

“I know, right?” Bokuto’s heart aches at the sight, but he forces his acting skills to their maximum as he lifts a napkin up to clean Akaashi up. “We’re coming to Italy every…er, we should come back.”

He keeps catching himself saying presumptuous things that only make Akaashi draw back inside himself. Things like “I can’t wait to do this every day with you,” or “we need to come back here in three years” because, frankly, three years is a stretch.

“I wan…t the c-calamari,” Akaashi continues, seemingly not noticing Bokuto’s slip-up.

“Okay, we’ll have the calamari next. But save me some, okay? Your eye is bigger than your stomach,” Bokuto recites in a motherly voice, making Akaashi laugh again.

“Okay,” Akaashi replies, his eyes sparkling.

Bokuto hesitates to leave to go to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner, but Akaashi practically pushes him out the door with the little strength he still had. They’d have to switch to a wheelchair soon.

“I’ll be fine,” Akaashi promises in his now-unnaturally low voice. “I’ll be…on the couch.”

Bokuto bites the inside of his cheek before relenting, bidding goodbye and practically sprinting to the grocery store. When he comes back, his arms carrying a bag full of fruit and pasta, he shouts Akaashi’s name. No response.

“Akaashi?”

He hears a groan, and he can’t drop the groceries fast enough before running in the direction of the sound, coming across Akaashi on the floor in the bathroom, his pants halfway hiked up his legs.

“I h-had to p…ee,” Akaashi sobs into the terracotta tile, and Bokuto bunches him up in his arms, and he finds that his husband’s body feels much too similar to the bag of groceries. Dead weight. He weeps in Bokuto’s arms for a few more moments, and Bokuto’s about to get up before Akaashi lets out a choked wail.

“I don’t want to die!” he shrieks, almost intelligibly with how fast he gets it out in order to not slur his words together. He hits Bokuto’s forearms as hard as he can, which Bokuto barely notices with how light the taps are. He shakes his head, gobs of ugly fat tears and snot trailing down his face. He’s unraveling; all the fear and dread in his body bubbling to the surface like boiling water. The water runs down the sides of the pot, stoking the fire even more until everything eventually burns down into embers. That’s what’s left of Akaashi now. Embers.

“I d…on’t want to die. I’m s-sca…red. I don’t wan…t-t to die…I don’t…”

Akaashi thought dying was what he wanted. But the second he was alone in the dark bathroom, hopelessly and utterly alone and lying on the cold floor, he realizes that death is the furthest thing he wants. He’s scared. He’s been putting off his true emotions for too long. He’s always been terrified.

He dissolves back into quiet tears, hanging his head low over Bokuto’s forearm. For a while, all Bokuto can do is stare, biting his bottom lip until it bleeds in order to keep a stoic face for his husband. But he’s crumbling, too.

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto coaxes into Akaashi’s hair, stroking the locks and cradling him like a newborn baby. For every smile Akaashi gives, he weeps five times. The ratio used to be backwards. He wonders how much bigger the disparity in the ratio will grow.

Bokuto doesn’t leave him alone for longer than five minutes after that.

…

They can only do one more trip before Akaashi needs to be transferred to a wheelchair, according to Dr. Hirose.

“There are many comfortable and intelligent varieties,” he says, but nothing makes Akaashi want to die more than the thought of no longer being able to move on his own.

They end up in England, where they meet up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Yikes, you look horrible, Akaashi,” Oikawa says with a grimace, motioning to Akaashi’s outfit and bib. “Just because Bokuto has to dress you now doesn’t mean he should get to pick out your outfits. Cargo shorts, really?”

Akaashi laughs and turns to Bokuto, shaking his head. “You h-hear…d the man. I…ge-t-t to choose.”

Bokuto rolls his eyes and glares daggers into Oikawa’s soul as he takes out a tissue to clean up the drool in the corner of Akaashi’s mouth. “I picked out this outfit with a lot of love. I think it shows off his model legs. Doesn’t it, Iwa?”

But Iwaizumi isn’t taking the news as easily as Oikawa. He’s still visibly processing how quickly his friend’s health went downhill, and his hands are fisting the sides of his jeans.

“Um, yeah,” Iwaizumi replies after nearly choking on the lump in his throat. “Maybe a vest would be tasteful.”

Akaashi taps Bokuto on the chest, which would have been a slap back in the old days. He raises his eyebrows in a ‘you hear that?’ motion, finding body language is a lot easier and less awkward for the other person in the conversation than attempting to speak. He ignores Iwaizumi’s reaction—he understands it. He’s gotten enough of those reactions to just laugh it off. But the lingering stares and pitiful glances still hurt.

When they get back to their hotel, Akaashi crosses off “go to England” and “see Oikawa and Iwa one last time” in his journal. Bokuto helps him brush his teeth, holding up a cup of water for him to rinse and spit into and wipes the toothpaste foam off his face.

“Look at those pearly whites,” Bokuto says, grinning in a way that bares all his teeth, and Akaashi copies as much as he can with his limited range of facial muscles. They dissolve into laughter, and Bokuto sits his husband on the foot of the bed and places a pajama set on the bed. “Alright, now because of stupid Oikawa, I have to get your approval on everything you wear because I have ‘horrible fashion taste’ or whatever. So, what do you think?”

Akaashi is silent, and Bokuto meets his gaze and sees his cheeks are dusted with pink.

“Koutarou…” Even with his slurred and irregular voice, his name still sounds like pure gold on his tongue. Akaashi blinks slowly, tipping his chin back and lifting his arms up haltingly until his hands find support by clinging to Bokuto’s face. “Ma…ke love to…to me.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen, and he fights the urge to step back in surprise and tear Akaashi’s hands off his face. He closes his eyes and covers Akaashi’s hands with his own, detaching them from his cheeks and bringing them back down to his lap.

“I can’t do that, Keiji,” Bokuto whispers.

“Why not?” Akaashi asks, his lips pulling into a frown. “Am I…too ugly?”

His face is so skinny. His eyes bulge out of their sockets, his eyelashes even longer than they were before. His lips are chapped, and there’s a growing sore in the corner of his mouth. Bokuto can see the blue-green veins running underneath his skin, feel the spots he missed when he helped him shave this morning.

But he couldn’t be more beautiful.

“Never,” Bokuto breathes, squatting down to be eye-level with his Greek god. “I’m just scared I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Akaashi continues. “I can take it.” When he still sees hesitation in Bokuto’s eyes, he practically begs, “One last time…pl…ease. Hawking still…fu-ucked while in…h-his wheel…wheelchair.”

Bokuto laughs, and Akaashi can see the last glint of reluctance turn into amusement.

“You’re not even in a wheelchair yet,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi nods eagerly. He sighs, the phrase ‘one last time’ echoing in his head. It really will be the last time they make love. Because even though Stephen Hawking was still a womanizer in his wheelchair, Bokuto doesn’t think he’ll have it in him.

He undresses Akaashi slowly, unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt, letting Akaashi fumble with the last few buttons. He tries to take back as much of his autonomy whenever he can, and Bokuto gladly allows him.

Akaashi watches as Bokuto stands back up and pulls his shirt over his head, letting it drop onto the floor, and leans over to press kisses onto his abs. He runs his fingertips over the muscles, both in admiration and in jealousy. He remembers when he used to have ab muscles like these, how much Bokuto loved touching them. He looks down at his own torso, wincing at the sight of his ribs slicing his skin.

He smiles as Bokuto carries him up the bed, laying him down delicately like a baby. He whimpers at the warmth on the crook of his neck, his shoulders hiking up and his body racking with pleasure. He hasn’t felt so beautiful, so worthy of love, in so long, and it’s all thanks to Bokuto’s soft caresses.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi has a feeling that question will be recurring throughout this session.

He gazes down at his husband, who has reached his happy trail, and nods. He gathers up all his energy to say, “I’ve never felt…better.”

It’s slow and tender, both because Bokuto is afraid he’ll break Akaashi and because it’s their last time together. He wants it to last forever. He wants to imprint every touch, every sound, every taste into his brain. He wants Akaashi tattooed on his body, wants any evidence that he was here, that he was loved, that he was strong until the very end.

He guides Akaashi’s arms to cling onto his back, holding up his bony legs as he locks lips with a particularly noisy Akaashi.

“The whole hotel can probably hear you,” he jokes, and Akaashi needs to catch his breath before responding.

“Good,” he finally replies, using the last of his strength to push Bokuto down into a deep kiss.

Akaashi’s tattooed on his body alright. After Akaashi falls sound asleep directly after finishing, Bokuto cleans him up and dresses him in the pajamas in case it gets chilly during the night. He pulls the covers up to his chin and kisses his forehead, brushing a few locks of sweaty hair out of his face. He smiles and heads to the bathroom, immediately spotting the hickeys Akaashi must have left on him while he was fumbling around with the pillows to make sure he was completely comfortable. He turns around to see scratch marks all over his upper back. He needs to stifle his laughter in fear of waking Akaashi, but it’s more than endearing to see how his husband marked him up. He needs to stop himself from going to the nearest tattoo artist and getting the scratches tattooed immediately.

He slips back into bed, and Akaashi responds by turning over and flopping his limbs over Bokuto’s torso. He smiles and wraps his arms around the love of his life and dreams of him with gray hair, wrinkles, and sunspots. All of which are considered to be the worst things to happen while aging, but what he wouldn’t give to see all three on Akaashi. That would mean he lived long enough to gain them.

…

Akaashi hates the wheelchair. It gets him places faster, yeah, and it’s very high-tech, but at what cost? He can barely move around the apartment without bumping into something and knocking it onto the floor. Bokuto rarely ever leaves the apartment anymore, so he’s always there to help, but Akaashi is still stubborn about doing everything himself. He asks Bokuto to buy him a grabber tool, but when his forearm strength eventually dies out, he has to swallow his pride and call Bokuto into the room to pick up the fallen bowl of cereal.

He celebrates his 38th birthday in their apartment, Emiko on his lap and in the process of trying to steal a slice of cake. She, unlike her owner, loves the wheelchair. It means a seat plus access to human food when he’s in a good mood.

“Mom, Mom, you’re…miss…ssing it,” Akaashi drawls, waving sloppily at the phone Bokuto’s holding up to FaceTime his parents. “I’m gon…na blow it-t out.”

“Go and blow it out, honey!” his mother encourages over the speaker. “Koutarou, did you use sparklers? You better not have, or so help me I’m flying over there—”

“You wound me, mother-in-law,” Bokuto exclaims dramatically, his hand flying up to his chest as if he has just been shot. “Hath you no trust in me?”

“Not after you did that on my birthday,” Akaashi’s mother retorts, giving him the evil eye. “Now flip the camera back to my baby boy!”

“He’s always had a pair of lungs on him, haven’t you, my boy?” his father shouts, and Akaashi laughs weakly.

Almost as if to disprove his father’s words, his lungs fail him in the middle of blowing out the candles. The flames pop right back up mockingly, stronger than ever. Akaashi attempts again but only manages to blow out a few.

“I bought the strong kind, I think,” Bokuto mumbles, trying desperately to make the situation better and to cover up the sound of Akaashi’s painful wheezing. He leans over to prepare to blow the rest out. “Let me just—”

“I want to do it!” It’s rare when Akaashi gets out a full sentence nowadays, which makes his faint shout even more potent. “I want…to do-o it.”

Bokuto steps back slowly, nodding encouragingly and lifting his hand up. “Okay. Go ahead, Keiji.”

Akaashi straightens himself as much as he can in his chair, leaning close to the cake and inhaling for a good few seconds before exhaling it all, leaving himself lightheaded, and with one candle still dancing tauntingly in his face. He slumps back in his chair, thoroughly exhausted, and feebly lifts a hand up to signal Bokuto to go ahead and blow the last one out. Bokuto obeys, and they both say quick goodbyes to his parents before cutting the cake silently.

“I’m…sorry,” Akaashi speaks up after a while, his mouth full of red velvet cake.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Bokuto instructs, wiping up the creamy mess around Akaashi’s mouth. He pauses, letting out a sigh. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re frustrated.”

Akaashi stays silent, slowly and methodically chewing his food ever since he had a choking scare a week ago. He swallows, but he doesn’t open his mouth for more. Bokuto raises a forkful of cake, but when he sees Akaashi’s mouth closed, he sets it down and slips his hands into his husband’s, his thumb running over the bony joints.

“Have you thought about joining a support group?” he asks. Akaashi scoffs, and he can see that he’s thinking all sorts of nasty things that he’d yell at Bokuto, but he doesn’t have the energy to bicker anymore. Fighting with each other is now a privilege since by the time Akaashi gets out a comeback, they’ve both had enough time to cool down and think about their actions.

“I know you don’t like the idea,” Bokuto says, speaking Akaashi’s thoughts to life. “I know you think it’s stupid, that it’s only for pussies.”

“I…would…n’t put it-t li…ke that.”

Bokuto chuckles and shrugs. “Something like that, then. But maybe if you vent to them, you’ll feel better. You won’t have to bottle everything up inside.”

Akaashi ponders it for a moment before opening his mouth again for more cake, and he thinks about it for the better part of the night while he watches Bokuto perform magic card tricks that he learned on YouTube in lieu of going to volleyball. In the morning, he gives Bokuto the go-ahead to find a group. He doesn’t really have any other reason to get out of the house. He can’t travel, and their small neighborhood barely has any wheelchair accessibility. When Bokuto finds one and signs him up for the following afternoon, he can’t deny that he’s excited to go.

“Hello, Mr. Akaashi, I’m Fumi Sugita,” the woman greets, and he lets out a sigh of relief that she doesn’t put her hands on her knees to talk to him like a child. But he supposes it’s because she’s literally the leader of an ALS group—she most likely knows how to talk to people in wheelchairs.

“Call him Keiji,” Bokuto says for him, and Akaashi confirms with a nod. He’d have to switch to communicating with the computer installed on his wheelchair, and even though the voice isn’t as robotic as the older models have it, it still isn’t his voice. Who is he kidding, his own voice isn’t even his own voice anymore. But he still hasn’t set it up yet.

“Alright, Keiji, let’s get started. Mr. Bokuto—”

“Koutarou.”

“Koutarou, please wait in the living room or come back by 3:15.”

Bokuto nods and places a kiss on the corner of Akaashi’s lips. Kisses are rare now since Bokuto’s so busy keeping house and taking care of Akaashi’s needs. Plus, there’s always something smeared across his lips or a painful sore from too much accumulating drool that it’s flat-out unpleasant to kiss him. But Bokuto got him pristine for the group session, and he didn’t even nick him while shaving. He’s getting better at it.

“Be nice,” Bokuto whispers, and Akaashi rolls his eyes and waves him off.

“Everybody, this is Keiji,” Fumi introduces to a room filled with people in varying stages of ALS. A chorus of slurred and robotic greetings follow her introduction, and Akaashi awkwardly waves as he maneuvers his chair with the joystick into the circle.

“We were just talking about fun things you can do in a wheelchair,” Fumi continues, motioning to a woman in a similar model wheelchair to him. “Do you want to show your trick off, Haruko?”

The woman nods eagerly and sticks her tongue out for concentration as she fiddles with her joystick, the chair moving backward, then forwards, then spins in the blink of an eye. Another woman shows off her trick: typing 80085 into her computer, which proceeds to read it out as “boobies.”

That earns a chuckle from Akaashi. Perhaps this isn’t too bad.

After the third session, Akaashi has grown quite close to Haruko, especially after she gladly showed him how to do her spinning wheelchair trick.

“My…hus…band thought-t it wa…s cool,” he says, and Haruko laughs. Akaashi had to tell Bokuto to stop making him do the trick over and over, but it was reluctant since he hadn’t seen that look of pride and excitement on the man’s face in a long while. Bokuto makes him promise to learn more tricks to show him, and he goes so far as to take videos to send to their friends and family. Kuroo replies with That’s dope, Akaashi! Parkour! and that makes both men crack up laughing.

Kuroko looks at her computer, waiting for the eye-tracking technology to start up, and flicks her eyes around the screen.

“I’m glad he liked it,” the robotic female voice replies. “How long do you have left?”

It’s a common question among the group. It’s never a sure answer since everybody still prays they have Hawking’s luck, but there’s usually an empty space when it gets near the time a person says they have left.

“A…year,” Akaashi says, and he suddenly has the urge to just use the computer to have a semi-normal conversation again. He’ll ask Bokuto to set it up tonight. “But…I wan…t to m-make it to-o my 40th…birthd-day.”

“That’s a short time,” Haruko says, her previous smile down turning into a frown. “I mean, I have shorter, but it’s more real hearing it out loud. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Akaashi nods, and that’s the end of the conversation until he can get the computer booted up and figures out how to use it.

After the fourth session, Akaashi approaches Haruko with a brand-new set of communication, and he proves it by picking up on their conversation left from yesterday. “I have decided what I’m going to do.” The voice is, of course, robotic, and Bokuto tried to call Kenma for help on how to fix it, but Kenma’s advice only made it sound creepier. But it���s worth it to carry a conversation and not hear how awful his voice sounds. He tried to use his voice until it gave out, but it became impossible. He had to swallow his pride, and it worked out. He can now hold a regular-ish conversation.

“And what’s that?” she asks, a look of intrigue on her face.

“I want to be cremated and buried under a cherry blossom tree I loved as a kid,” Akaashi replies, a sense of tranquility washing over him. The thought of dying always used to scare him before he was diagnosed, as it does to everybody. But now, he can’t think of anything more peaceful. “I used to read books underneath it, and I fell in love under it for the first time.”

His mind wanders to that one picnic in the humid spring weather. How reluctant their touches were because they were both in love but were too scared to admit it. How the sun lit up Bokuto’s face just in time for him to confess, highlighting the deep blush on his face as he picked up a cherry blossom from the blanket, tucking it behind Akaashi’s ear. How Bokuto smiled and laughed out of pure relief once Akaashi confirmed his feelings as well. How they cuddled, savoring each other’s touches before they had to leave for university. How the light filtered in between the branches of the cherry blossom tree until the horizon swallowed it. How he wishes he could go back to that memory one last time.

“I want to be cremated, too,” Haruko says, breaking Akaashi out of his thoughts. “But tossed in the ocean to be fish food.”

They both laugh, but Haruko interrupts the moment by asking, “Have you told your husband yet?”

Akaashi shakes his head, letting it droop forward in a show of embarrassment. “He still thinks I’m going to be the next Stephen Hawking. Sometimes I get mad at him because he gave us all false hope.”

“I wouldn’t want to live that long like this anyway,” Haruko retorts. “I’m tired. I’ve made my peace. My family has made their peace. I just want to close my eyes and open them in Heaven. Or Hell. I’m not jinxing anything.”

Akaashi stays silent, and the two cease their conversation when Fumi comes by to feed them a few pieces of fruit while both their caretakers come to pick them up. When she leaves to tend to the other people, Haruko turns back to Akaashi.

“’When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see; if the sun should rise and find your eyes; all filled with tears for me’,” she recites, and Akaashi cocks his head in confusion. “It’s my favorite poem now. I’ve always loved poetry, but this one resonates with me. You should look the rest up.” A man walks into their peripheral vision, a grand smile on his face when he spots Haruko.

“Come on, babe, I made soba! Let’s go before it gets cold,” he says, and Haruko grins and starts her wheelchair toward him. She spins around and lifts her eyebrows in a sign of goodbye, and Akaashi tips his chin in acknowledgment.

Bokuto isn’t too far behind Haruko’s boyfriend, nearly doubling over with how out-of-breath he is. “Sorry, honey, there was a ragin’ line at the grocery store. I had to elbow a middle-aged woman out of the way for a box of crackers.”

Akaashi laughs, and Bokuto laughs with him. He tells him all about his day at the grocery store, the never-ending tale lasting all the way back home. And while Akaashi usually loves listening to Bokuto’s intriguing tales, he finds his mind wandering to the poem Haruko quoted. When Bokuto is washing the dishes, he tries to look up the first lines of the poem as quickly as he can, and when he finds it, he reads it over and over until he can recite it by heart.

When Bokuto lifts him out of his wheelchair and into bed, draping the blanket over him, Akaashi clears his throat. Bokuto slips into bed and listens attentively, brushing the hair out of Akaashi’s eyes.

“I w-want…to be crem…cremated,” Akaashi says. He pushes on, even though he feels Bokuto stiffen next to him, the mattress sagging under the added weight. “Un…der the cher…ry bloss…som tree.”

Bokuto wants to argue. He wants to scream and yell and repeat over and over that Akaashi’s not dying, he’s not going to die anytime soon until it becomes true. But he knows better. He’s been to group sessions of his own—partners of those with ALS—and knows that denial is the first stage of the grieving process. But all this knowledge doesn’t make the air in the room any less heavy whenever the morbid subject is brought up.

He’s about to reply to Akaashi when he continues. “’When…tomo-rrow start…s…without me…’” He recites the lines Haruko told him today, slowly but surely, until he’s panting with exertion. Usually, he’d be crying whenever the subject of dying is brought up, but just like Haruko, he’s made his peace with the idea. He used to be terrified of the idea of death, but now, he’s expecting it like a visit from an old friend. It’s comforting to know that their suffering will be over soon. He wants Bokuto to be happy. He can see how stressed he is, how he’s been losing weight alongside the actually diseased person. He’s grown paler, and his smile carries the weight of an eighty-year-old man’s. He’s tired. They’re both tired.

Bokuto, however, doesn’t take it as well. He hates seeing how accepting Akaashi has grown over the idea of death. Fight a little harder, he wants to shout. Fight like you mean it. Fight like you want to live.

But Akaashi has no more fight in him left to give. He can no longer make fists with his hands. He can’t move his legs at all. He’s lost almost all his facial muscles. ALS is the grand champion of this fight, and Akaashi isn’t getting up from the floor.

“What’s the rest?” Bokuto asks, but by the time he’s finished wiping away his own tears, Akaashi is asleep.

…

Sleeping next to Akaashi is nearly impossible now. His wheezing is loud and sharp, the sound a constant sheer whistle in Bokuto’s ear. When they get him an oxygen machine, it isn’t much different. The tank makes clicking noises every time he inhales like a clock, ticking down the time until it goes silent, meaning Akaashi took his last breath.

Akaashi snores up a storm, which he supposes is payback for all the times he complained about Bokuto’s snoring. But Bokuto can’t risk moving to the couch and missing Akaashi’s last breath. Akaashi had chosen to have Do Not Attempt Resuscitation status, even though every single bone in Bokuto’s body screamed at him to stop the notary from signing off on the papers. He wanted to claim that Akaashi wasn’t mentally fit enough to have given permission, but he knew that Akaashi would never forgive him if he did that. The official paper framed above Akaashi’s nightstand mocks him every day, jeering at him, saying, “The love of your life will die, and you legally can’t do anything about it.”

Dr. Hirose tells Akaashi he should finish putting all his final touches on his will, but Akaashi hasn’t even started it. Yes, he’s accepted that he’s going to die—it’s another thing to put it on paper.

Akaashi spends his 39th birthday in a musty office, trying to think of everything he owns that will eventually go to Bokuto. Bokuto waits outside the office as he speaks with the drafter about his will. He covers his ears since he can still hear the muffled robotic voice from Akaashi’s wheelchair. If he hums a song loud enough and squeezes his eyes tight, he almost forgets where he is.

Each week, Akaashi recites one more stanza from the poem. Bokuto has to suppress the urge to just look it up and read until the end, wanting to hear it from Akaashi’s mouth. Each week, Akaashi gets sicker and sicker, his mouth nearly freezing up multiple times through his recitations. He chokes on a noodle during lunch one day, and the near-death experience knocks him out for a few weeks, having to skip multiple group sessions. When he shows up again, people nearly drop their food out of pure shock. Akaashi had left an empty space in the group, and nobody questions an empty space. They just move closer together, as if covering up that the space was ever there.

But Akaashi notices Haruko isn’t at the group session. When he asks Fumi, she just purses her lips and shakes her head: the universal sign of ‘they passed away.’ He wonders if she’s in Heaven or Hell. He wonders if he’ll meet her wherever she is and hear her real voice.

Akaashi isn’t too far away from dying either. He’s filled out the paperwork. He’s made funeral arrangements. He’s contacted the cremation place. He’s said all that he needs to all his friends and family. All there is to do now…is wait.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi says one day as Bokuto’s giving him a sponge bath. He remembers a time where he said he’d rather slip and die in the shower than let Bokuto bathe him, hire a nurse, fight tooth and nail to the very end. He never expected he’d be so tired by the end. He thought he’d go out with a bang. But it’s quicksand instead: slow, inescapable, and exhausting.

“Yes, Keiji?” Bokuto asks, his breath hitching in his throat. He tries not to cry around Akaashi anymore. When Akaashi’s absentmindedly watching a game show on TV, he feigns needing to go to the bathroom and instead locks himself inside and sobs into the sleeve of his shirt. He wishes he could one day wake up and be the one with ALS, for Akaashi is the last person on Earth deserving of such hell. He feels so helpless—none of his kisses or hugs or feeble attempts at jokes are enough to save Akaashi. He’s going to die, and there’s nothing Bokuto can do about it except watch his soulmate slip through his fingers like watching Akaashi lobbing a perfect set his way, and no matter what he does, Bokuto’s hand goes straight through the ball. The ball falls pitifully on their side of the net—match set point. The point is irreversible. There’s no way to get it back. There’s no way to win the game. They can reflect on the things they did wrong in hindsight all they want—“we should’ve done this,” “we could’ve done this better”—but there’s nothing they can do to change the game. They lost. Both of them.

“I want to go to Iceland again,” Akaashi says. “That’s my final wish.”

The words ‘final wish’ is a gut punch, and Bokuto has to take a few seconds to reel from nausea swirling in his stomach. He squeezes the sponge in his hands until all moisture dissipates from it, his nails digging into the foam. He tries not to splash the computer as he wets the sponge again.

“Dr. Hirose won’t let that happen,” Bokuto replies, returning to lightly wiping Akaashi’s skin.

“He can’t deny a dying man a final wish,” Akaashi defends. “You can’t deny me my final wish.”

Bam. Straight to the heart. Akaashi always knew exactly what would get Bokuto’s blood pressure through the roof. Because that’s exactly what Bokuto is trying to do. If they do go to Iceland, Akaashi will either die onboard the plane, in Iceland, or on the plane back. He’s not surviving the trip. He will die there. And Bokuto will be left cold and alone.

“Okay,” Bokuto relents, bowing his head so Akaashi can’t see the tears pricking his eyes. “I’ll book it tomorrow.”

…

The arrangements with the airline take longer than Bokuto ever thought since the subject matter is a dying man. He shouts one too many times into the receiver that Akaashi doesn’t have that many days left, and even after repeating and emphasizing that point, it’s as if his brain blocks that fact. It substitutes it instead for the idea that they’re simply going on another vacation, and the two of them are coming back together, not with one in a body bag.

He doesn’t let any of the flight attendants touch Akaashi or his wheelchair. He’s the one who folds up the wheelchair. He’s the one who lifts Akaashi into the first-class seat. He’s the one who touches him because any touch could be his last before his husband turns cold.

“Comfortable?” Bokuto asks, buckling both their seatbelts. “I’ve never been in first class before.”

Akaashi nods, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest. However, his eyes flutter open when Bokuto snaps his fingers in front of him, shaking his head.

“No, we’re watching Despicable Me 2. No sleeping on my watch.” Partly because he wants to watch their comfort movie together one last time, and partly because the mere sight of Akaashi’s eyes being closed gives him indescribable amounts of anxiety.

Akaashi rolls his eyes, which is one of the few things from his past he can still do now, and leans his head against Bokuto’s shoulders as they start the movie. Akaashi wheezes for a laugh since they couldn’t bring his oxygen tanks on board (it isn’t as if he’s going to need them for much longer, anyhow), and Bokuto senses the other passengers shifting uncomfortably in their seats. He couldn’t care less. He’s embarrassed for the other passengers, shifting away from a dying man. Pathetic.

He’s evidently fallen into the anger stage of the grieving process.

When they get to the hotel, the first thing Bokuto asks is when the northern lights will appear. The woman says possibly in two days. He bites his lip and looks down at Akaashi, who blinks slowly to reassure him that everything is alright. He’ll hang on for a little while longer.

They lay in bed those two days, Bokuto listening to Akaashi’s breaths and Akaashi savoring the warmth and fullness of Bokuto’s torso in his arms.

“Are you scared?” Bokuto asks, his voice cracking in the middle.

Akaashi holds up two fingers, meaning ‘no.’

“Will you miss me?”

He holds up one finger, meaning ‘yes.’

“Are you happy?”

One finger.

“Do you regret anything?”

One finger.

Bokuto reaches for his phone and opens the notes app for Akaashi to type. He does it so slowly, Bokuto nearly forgets what question he asked.

“Making you sad. Making you worry.”

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto whispers, setting down his phone and hugging Akaashi close, resting his chin on his oily hair. “You’ve only ever made me happy. And annoyed when you’d steal my secret stash of Oreos.”

A sharp breath comes from Akaashi, signaling a laugh.

“It’s the thought of you being gone that makes me sad. You never made me sad. I’m just worried about myself.” Bokuto chokes back a sob. “I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone.”

They fall into silence again, until Bokuto asks one last question.

“What’s the end to the poem?”

He looks down, and Akaashi’s sound asleep on his chest. He slowly and steadily picks up his phone and takes a picture. Akaashi looks…normal in the photo. He looks peaceful. He doesn’t look tired at all. He looks ready.

They arrive at the same lookout point where they had that transformative crash. It seems only natural to end where everything started. Bokuto sets out a blanket and sits down on it and next to Akaashi’s wheelchair, leaning his head against Akaashi’s forearm.

“Are you excited?”

One finger.

“Me, too.”

Before long, the light show starts. Akaashi gasps, but it isn’t one of those ‘searching for breath’ gasps. It’s one of amazement, his eyes widening as the colors dance across the sky, resuming the previous ballet dance they saw three years ago. His eyes, which had since gone dull many years ago, shine like he’s a child. They shine like mirrors, reflecting the aurora in their blue irises. He wants to tell Bokuto to look.

But Bokuto, once again, isn’t looking at the lights.

“Keiji,” he starts, the lights illuminating the wet film over his eyes. “What’s the end of the poem?”

Akaashi’s head lolls to the side to meet Bokuto’s gaze, the corner of his lip twitching into a smile.

Flashes of their life together, all culminating to this moment, streak across the sky in the form of the aurora. White for Fukuroudani’s volleyball uniform, where they first met and became the closest of friends. Green for the pistachio mochi Bokuto always made when Akaashi was sick. Purple for the color of the petunias at their wedding reception. Yellow for Emiko’s collar. Pink for the cherry blossom tree where they confessed their feelings for each other, where he realized his setter was the love of his life. Blue for Akaashi’s eyes. Black for the ink used to sign Akaashi’s will.

Instead of saying the end, the computer recites the poem from the beginning.

When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me.

Akaashi wheezes painfully.

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things We did not get to say.

Akaashi’s eyes close. I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me, too.

Akaashi’s hand on the joystick goes limp.

I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the exact same way There is no longing for the past.

Akaashi’s head drops.

So when tomorrow starts without me Do not think we’re apart For every time you think of me Remember I’m right here in your heart.

Akaashi dies before the computer finishes the poem.

He dies 301 days before his 40th birthday. He dies under the northern lights that he first fell in love with more than three years ago. And a part of Bokuto dies with him.

…

Akaashi’s father digs the hole underneath the tree and watches as his mother tips her son into the earth. The ashes land in a neat pile. Fitting. Everything Akaashi ever did was neat and tidy.

His mother breaks down before she can fill the hole. Emiko rushes to her side, their whimpers resonating together.

His father helps his wife out of the way, and Bokuto takes over. He takes one last look at what remains of Akaashi before scooping the earth into his hands and tipping it over, scooping and patting until the hole is filled. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the dirt underneath him darkens. He nearly collapses on top of the hole before Kuroo catches him by the shoulders. But even Kuroo can’t stop the tears. The two men sob into each other’s shoulders until they have no more tears left to cry.

“Petunias were his favorite,” his mother says. She hands Bokuto a bouquet to lay down. He complies, his body on autopilot.

He sits next to the pile of dirt, even when everybody else has left. They all bid him goodbye, kissing him on the cheek, giving him hugs. But he doesn’t register any of it. He just keeps his hand on top of the pile of dirt, hoping that Akaashi is sitting right next to him, his hand on top of his.

Akaashi gives him everything he owns, minus his money. His money is reserved for his parents—to provide them medical care for when they get old because they’re afforded that luxury—for his favorite nonprofits, and the biggest sum is split among various ALS foundations. Bokuto is left with his wheelchair, his crutches, his medications, his too-smart computer, his photos, and most bittersweetly of all, his memory. His body shape etched into their mattress. His scent—eucalyptus and black tea—that bursts out whenever he opens his closet. He’s everywhere and anywhere Bokuto goes. But he can’t bring himself to leave the apartment.

He buries Emiko next to Akaashi underneath the old cherry blossom tree. It’s bare-bones by now, having shed all its leaves and flowers in the autumn. They say Emiko’s death was from grief, but she was growing old as well. It seems as if everybody’s leaving him. What did he do to deserve this? To see all his loved ones turn into ash?

He enters the depressed state of his grieving process. He’s often too tired to eat the food his neighbors and friends bring him. He stopped smoking, which is what Akaashi would’ve wanted, but it’s less so about making Akaashi happy as it is he can’t even lift an arm up to grab the carton and put a cigarette up to his mouth. He just stares at the other side of the bed, his hand resting on the indent left by Akaashi’s body, wishing for his love to fill it once more.

When he finally gains the courage to get up and clean out Akaashi’s closet, a note falls out of one of his jackets when Bokuto tosses them into a pile on the bed. He picks it up and opens it. Inside is a horrible scrawl, barely decipherable. But Bokuto knows the poem all too well to need to decipher it.

When tomorrow starts without me…

The poem has haunted his every waking moment. He never really listened to Akaashi tell the poem. Mostly because it was too difficult to follow along with how little he could speak by the end, but also because he was too focused on savoring every little moment with him, ingraining it into his head. But as he sits down on the floor and stares at the poem, he now has the time—all the time in the world; wretched, wretched time—to read it in its entirety.

Each day is difficult. But with each day, he gets out of bed quicker and quicker. He eats bigger portions and more frequently. He brushes his teeth. He goes to the volleyball courts to say hello to his former teammates. When he spikes a ball, he instinctively turns his head next to him to seek out his setter. But with each day, he eventually stops looking. But Akaashi isn’t gone. He’s in his husband’s heart, just like the poem says. Akaashi’s body is no more, the ashes gone to feed the nature around him. But his spirit is more than alive. It thrives.

Every time he passes by the tree, he swears the tree grows a few more flowers. And every time he visits the aurora on his annual trip to Iceland, he swears there’s one more flash of light than usual in the sky.

#haikyū!! #haikyuu!! #angst #heavy angst #chronic illness #bokuaka #haikyuu bokuaka #akaashi #keiji akaashi #haikyuu koutarou #koutarou bokuto #bokuto #haikyu #haikyu fanfiction #fanfiction #haikyuu #hq angst #hq

[cockasinthebird]

okay!!!! so!!! i guess it’s kind of a prompt, but like steve goes to an art college thing. and he’s suuuper talented, one of the best in his class. and the prof. says that they have a guest to come in for some modelling. and steve is super excite ‘cause he loves doing projects like this. and then the model comes in, covered in a bathrobe, it’s billy. he goes to sit on the stool at the front. drops the robe, he’s completely nude. looks steve directly in the eye and winks! just an idea i had! -🎨

Dear anon, !!!!!!! This took SO LONG, but then again I was flagged and unavailable for like two weeks, and I did not write at all in that time, but as I woke up today to find myself back to normal, I quickly finished what was left, and now 11 pages long, I will post some of it here, then link the rest on my AO3!

My mind went off on this, and I hope it’s as good as I believe, especially what with all the teasing I’ve been doing!

Now, enjoy~

-

An arts scholarship is not something everyone can brag about, well, almost everyone, or so Steve thought when he got approved for one after his high school teacher encouraged him to apply.

He’s not dumb, or unintelligent, as most people around him will say - the words on the pages just don’t connect right, as if he can’t see what any other person might perceive, and it is reflected on his grades. Math is… fine, the only issue there is a general unwillingness to learn, because rather than doing algebra and figuring out trigonometry, Steve’s talents lie in the stroke of a brush, in the graphite of a pencil, in the black of charcoal.

His mother always encouraged him with a loving hand and a wondrous appreciation for every single little drawing Steve came up with as a child, fueling this intense fire inside of him that only felt relief against paper or canvas. She showered him in materials; endless chalk, a rainbow of watercolors, acrylics, oil pastels, pencils in all shapes and hues, stacks of papers, piles of canvas, even let him paint the walls of his bedroom as far as he could reach.

His father… simply stood and scowled in the doorway. He’s old fashioned, wanted an heir to the Harrington Construction Empire his own father built, not some… artistic little fairy. Steve stopped counting how many of his parents' fights were about him years ago.

And now he’s here, in California, attending college of all things, surrounded by students who, just like him, have devoted their entire lives to the arts. He feels less special, less talented, amongst his peers, where it seems that a third of them have arrived on scholarships, too.

But his teacher, Mr Reynolds, an old man with a long goatee and suspenders, always assures Steve that he is, without a doubt, the star of the class. That he will go far in his life, become world renowned, famous for his works, that in the future art classes will teach about his techniques and colors and soul.

Steve likes to believe it; spends his spare time thinking about what painting of his would be displayed in museums, what the critics will say, what he will wear to the reveal party, what his speech will sound like.

All those thoughts course through his overactive mind whenever he looks at a blank surface, just waiting, begging to be filled with his inspired soul. Perhaps he’s a bit too immodest and vain and arrogant, but he doesn’t really put up a fight against those ideals; never bothered trying to be humble about what is so obvious to any eye, and when every teacher has never offered up anything besides praise, is he to believe they’re all liars?

He looks around at his classmates as they set up in the arranged circle surrounding a single stool in the middle. They all smile at him, greetings exchanged as always, the friendliness of people who you’ve had a few beers with, attended some parties and gatherings together, but never really gotten to know past the surface.

Steve’s just not as social as he used to be, and moving halfway across the country didn’t really help that either. Something changed in him during the last year of high school, but honestly he can’t complain. He goes whenever invited, otherwise he keeps to himself, focuses on his studies, does his homework, a scholarship can only get you so far, and if his grades dip too low, it’s bye bye future.

“All on time for once! Impressive!” Reynolds says with a cheery tone, clasping his hands together with a wide smile as he moves to the center of the classroom. “For today’s live figure drawing practice, we’ll continue working with models and volunteers from all parts of life, and today I’ve managed to convince a hard working, blue collar of a man! William Hargrove, you may take the stage!”

Everyone turns to the stained room divider over in a solitude corner, the usual spot where their models change in and out of clothes and robes, and from behind steps a man dressed in a dark gray bathrobe, adorned with the most gorgeous crown of golden curls, his stubble is scruffy with a more accentuated mustache, and his eyes are of the clearest blue waters Steve has ever seen before.

His breathing pauses for just a moment as he stares at the broad shouldered stranger, caught in a trance - a willing subject to be ensnared by this man’s confidence, walking like he owns the room. Steve doesn’t even realise that he’s staring till he’s met with those heavenly eyes.

Who then winks at him, grin mischievous and aware of what thoughts surge forth in his presence.

Steve’s heart beats like a drum, ramming against his ribs, a heated flush rushing up to tint his ears red, spilling into his cheeks. He can’t help but whip his head back towards his easel with a stare that could burn a hole in the pages before him, restraining himself from gawking further, trying to calm down some.

It’s not that he hasn’t paid attention to other guys in the past, it’s just that he hasn’t cared for that kind of stuff before. Even when he was dating Nancy back in high school he didn’t care enough. But now? This guy? This man? 

Nothing more than one simple, flirty look, and Steve’s interest tiptoes over the line of professional into personal, dipping in, testing the waters there.

And when he reaches the middle of the circle, everyone here far too interested in seeing what he’s hiding beneath the robe, he slowly slips it off, clearly revelling in all the attention if the smile he carries is any indication.

Unfortunately, much to Steve’s inconvenience, this William Hargrove is ripped. Jaw strong like a cliffside, biceps akin to perfectly carved marble, formidable pecs covered in chest hair lush like a forest that spreads down abs like rolling hills, Steve’s eyes travels smooth like a stream across the landscape of William’s body, down to his-

He refocuses on the easel in front of him, invitingly barren and pleading for him to ruin the stillness with his own inappropriate curiosity.

“Thank you once again for agreeing to this, Mister Hargrove. You may use this stool here to pose with, or without, it is entirely up to whatever you’re most comfortable with,” Reynolds explains, unhooking a thumb from where he fiddles with his suspenders to accept the robe that William has removed.

“Yes sir,” sounds the response, his voice husky and charming, throaty from years of use.

It tugs further at Steve’s intrigue, oh to hear him laugh, read a book aloud, sing along to whatever reckless music he listens to, probably rock or something abrasive. Steve’s wild imagination goes through it all in the matter of seconds, just to be pulled back when his teacher speaks again,

“We’ll be taking things a bit slow today, six poses with 10 minutes each, let you all get a good feel for Mr Hargrove’s body, really focus and pay attention to how the shadows fall.”

Steve’s convinced the way he swallows hard must be audible, the lump in his throat making a loud splash in the pool of boiling nerves gathered in his stomach, breaking surface tension and stirring up thoughts he hasn’t really bothered with for months, if not a year by now.

Yet here’s this stranger with such undeniable magnetism, taking a seat, naked on a stool, aiming straight at Steve, staring at Steve, smirking at Steve.

Who nervously rakes fingers through his hair, pushing it back and away as to more clearly see his model, noticing how the muscles flex and tense as Hargrove decides on his first pose. The human body is phenomenal to look at, nothing in the world deserves grander appreciation than it, and it’s easy for Steve to convince himself that that’s what this is, an accentuated form of gratitude for the very same shape that Michelangelo used for his David.

Finally William gets settled, on the edge of his seat, one foot on the ground, the other up on the bar between the legs of the stool, elbow raised and bent to bring a hand behind his head, the other relaxed on his thigh. Exposed and raw and muscular and brilliant.

Steve could truly go on and on and on about this Adonis posed all nude before him, face turned slightly to the side, but it is unquestionably clear that the rest of him is aimed directly at where Steve sits, and he doesn’t realise he’s staring again till Reynolds says,

“Ten minutes, everyone! You may begin!”

Keep reading on AO3

#Harringrove #My Writing #Art Student AU #Only Mature for now ;))) #God I went OFF on this one #Anonymous

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

Lividity

Mob boss! Donatello x fem! reader

Summary: After a long night drinking you get approached by a shifty stranger who asks you if you want any work doing things below the law. It’s only after you agree that you realise exactly what you signed up for. You are captured by the turtles and tortured by Donatello himself for information.

Warnings: torture (graphic), NSFW, Stockholm syndrome, alcohol mention, mentions of murder, blood, gore

((A/N I’ve never written anything like this before so it’s a first for me. Just another warning, if you don’t like blood and gore, don’t read this))

It was a Friday night in up town New York and you were sat drinking and bitching to the bar tender at your local place- The Crown and Thistle. It was a smoking bar so a heavy fog hung above the heads of those who were reveling and dancing, simply celebrating life in that dimly lit bar. You couldn’t, however. Your last 30 bucks had been spent on the 5 beers sitting before you and you had to admit that you were beginning to feel it, your head felt like it was doing somersaults without your body’s permission and you could tell you were swaying side to side.

“It’s not fucking easy to keep a job, you know what I mean, Jack?”

“It’s Josh” the bartender curtly replied  

“Whatever. I just mean, if I wanted some 9-to-5 bullshit that just further stuffs me into this capitalist system that only values me for my labour and doesn’t even want to give me a fair wage, I would go and work for my father but, that’s no life!”

Your conversation had picked up the attention of the man sitting next to you, he leaned in a little to catch what you were saying better.

“And I’m not a 9-to-5 kinda gal’, you feel me?” you slur to Josh who had long since stopped listening

The man at your side places a tequila shot in front of you, he had messy black hair and was wearing an expensive looking leather jacket with studs on the shoulders. He looked like he meant business.

“So, you’re looking for work I hear”

“What’s it to you?” you hiccup

He smiles at you making eye contact and gestured for you to take the shot sat before you.

“Let’s just say I know something that pays well and shouldn’t be too hard for a pretty girl like yourself. I get the feeling that a girl like you must be good at getting into places she’s not supposed to be”

With that, he explained his proposal; you were to seduce the Turtle boys who were a infamous mob family in upper New York, considered some of the most suave and dangerous men in the city, and retrieve whatever information you could back to him. He never gave you a name, only a time and location to meet as well as your first half of 3 grand. ‘Easy money’ you thought

Their house was disgustingly exquisite, they had a courtyard, rose thickets lining the driveway, as many cars as you could count, 3 swimming pools, hand crafted Venetian statues who’s eyes seemed to follow you around. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to go renegade and decide to break in instead of following the creepy guy at the bar’s advice, but you were no whore and you weren’t going to let him pimp you out to 4 turtles just for some information. You would find it your own way. Besides, you resented them. Crime only ever got you a night in a cell or flirting with a cop to get out of it, for them it was a lavish lifestyle. Of course, the turtles weren’t criminals in the eyes of the law, no, to the cops these boys just ran a luxurious hotel empire which supplied them with riches beyond anyone’s imagination. What was going on behind the scenes was another story, however. Guns, drugs, women... You name it and they sold it to every gang member in New York.

You got down on all fours and crawled along the side of the house when you saw a light on in one of the rooms and kept crawling until you found and open window.

“Idiots” you muttered to yourself

shimmying your hips and climbing through the window you land surprisingly delicately for someone as drunk as you are on the other side in what appears to be an office. There were filing cabinets and a desk with 3 computer screens and a monitor on it. You began your work, rifling through the drawers and files to find anything that looked like it could be useful. The room smelt of cigar smoke and Gucci men’s cologne which was a shockingly manly and desirable scent. With no luck finding a paper trail you decided to try your luck at the computer. You weren’t a stranger to hacking and so you figured this couldn’t be too difficult if they were dumb enough to leave a window open it’s hardly like they would encrypt their technology, right?

That’s when you heard it, footsteps coming down the hall quietly but fast. Someone obviously didn’t want you to catch on that they knew you were there. You hid behind the desk and covered your mouth with your hand to steady your breathing, maybe if you just stayed still they would walk in and go away. The door flung open and you could hear footsteps walk slowly over to the desk where you were hidden. ‘Shit’ you thought. A dry laugh echoed through the room before, in a flash, you were pulled off your feet by your hair and were hanging in mid air, face to face with Michelangelo. He was grinning at you, the sick bastard.

“Found ya’“ he mocked.

He dragged you out of the room by your hair, kicking and screaming the entire time he pulled you through the halls of their vast mansion until he reached the living room where his brothers sat around drinking and smoking.

“I found a new toy, Donnie!” he practically trilled.

The one in purple didn’t look too impressed, he just kind of stared through you with a blank expression that was hard to pinpoint what was going on behind those eyes.

“It’s a shame, she’s pretty” he finally said

“For now” Mikey corrected.

And that was how you ended up here, tied to a wooden x that was nailed up to the wall, half naked and bleeding at the mercy of the one and only Donatello mutant turtle.

You try and thrash your arms as he ties you down, there’s no way he’s getting you without a fight but it’s no use, the bonds are fixed around each of your limbs and you are well and truly stuck.

“There’s no use struggling” He states blankly “these are Tautline Hitch knots, the more you pull, the tighter they get.”

Great, so now you were getting a lesson from a boy scout as well, who the fuck knows about knots? You pull at them anyway but he’s right, they simply get tighter and the rope stings your delicate flesh turning it a burning red colour from its roughness. You make a sound of discomfort and Donatello simply looks right through you.

He turns his back, for a moment, to sort out some things on a table that’s in the corner of the room. You take this time to get a good look around. The floor and walls are all lined with plastic white tarps and certain chains dangle miscellaneously from the ceiling. ‘You’re fucked. This is a torture room and Dexter over there is going to fuck you up 5 ways from Sunday’ you think to yourself.  Some more clanging comes from the corner as he pulls a meat cleaver out of the bag and places it on the plastic wrapped table. You gulp. 

You watch the muscles on his back as he lifts heavy chains from another bag and places them on the floor next to him, he’s quite the specimen. Tall, around 6′7 and he’s lean but muscular as all hell. His shirt can barely contain his biceps and his thighs are just to die for. ‘You can’t can’t be thinking about this now’ you snap yourself out of it but still watch him because you can’t help it. 

Eventually he turns back around and is holding a pair of pliers in his left hand and a large hunting knife in his right.

“Now, I think I know what you’re going to pick, but I figured I would ask anyway. Do you want to tell me who you’re working for and what they sent you here to do? Or do you want to get hurt?” there’s a chilling coolness to his tone. Not a single sign of stress or anxiety that he was going to have to hurt you, if anything, he seemed almost bored.

You owed nothing to the foot clan but that wasn’t why you kept your mouth shut. This was obviously a trick, everyone knew what happened to traitors when the Turtle boys got their hands on them and you had a chance of making it out of here alive if you could work a little charm on him.

“Where would be the fun in that?” you reply

He tilts his head to one side as if in thought and then continues towards you, knife in hand. He drops the pliers at your feet and brandishes the knife, making a slit along the seems of your black skinny jeans and t shirt in order to remove them. Now, just in your bra and underwear, you felt deeply exposed but, in a very strange way that you were almost ashamed to admit to yourself, you liked the power play here.

“If you wanted me naked all you had to do was ask nicely. I would’ve done it for a handsome guy like you”

Donatello gives you  a wry smile before taking one step back and then lunging forwards fist first to punch you in the face. His fist connects with your jaw and you can hear your teeth scrape against each other in your mouth from the force of it. He has a solid right hook, you’ll give him that. It takes a moment for you to come back to reality but once you do, you look him dead in the eyes and spit blood into his face. This produces a genuine smile from him, one that screams “I love it when they put up a fight”.

He wipes the bloody spit from his cheek and takes a few more steps closer to you until you’re almost nose to nose and he places the blade of the knife of the knife at the base of your neck. He drags it down slowly and you can feel it scrape into your collar bone as he pulls it closer to your sternum, you mewl in pain. This wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever experienced but it certainly hurt. Thick droplets of blood begin to roll down your chest and soak into the material of your bra, turning it from a beige to a muddy red colour in patches. Donnie retreats to he table and picks up a container of something white. He picks it up with his hand and rubs it into the cut on your chest. ‘Salt’ you quickly realise and it stings like hell you make a “Gah” sound of pain and he doesn’t flinch, he simply returns the container to the table and picks up the pliers he left at your feet.

Donatello takes one moment to remove his blazer and roll up the sleeves of his shirt, he commands a lot of authority with this action and you watch intently.

“Why not just take it off completely, I wouldn’t any to get blood on that lovely shirt of yours” you tease.

He looks up at you with no expression but you think you can see a hint of amusement in his eyes. He sets upon you again and pins your nose shut forcing you to open your mouth to breathe, that’s when you feel him slide the pliers in and get them gripped around one of your lower back molars. You scream out in pain as he shakes the pliers side to side to leverage out your tooth, your mouth filling with a coppery taste you know all too well was blood. You try to bite down to stop him but the metal of the pliers won’t allow you to close your mouth at all and before you know it the tooth has some loose and he’s ripping it from between your lips.

He stands back and looks at the tooth with a sense of accomplishment.

“Tell me who sent you” he commands once again

“Look” you begin “As much as I’m enjoying our time together....” a thin bead of blood slips from your mouth and drips down past your chin “you know I can’t tell ya’ that. No matter how handsome you are or how much you hurt me”

“Hmmm” he replies simply.

Donatello walks forwards and places one hand under your chin to lift your head up to look at him

“You’ll tell me eventually, sweetheart” He places a chaste kiss on your lips and when he pulls away you can see you’ve left a small drop of blood on his mouth which he just licks away without another thought.

He continues his work for what feels like forever but the clock in the corner of the room tells you was only 3 hours. Pulling off your fingernails, cutting you, taking a few more teeth and all the while rubbing salt into the wounds. You were in agony and hung your head down with exhaustion. 

Lifting you by the hair, Donnie holds your head up to look at him once again and with his other hand caresses the tear stained skin of your cheek with so much tenderness you almost feel like he’s going soft on you but know that’s not possible. He looks into your eyes and the corner of his mouth lifts up into a half smile.

“We’ll continue this tomorrow” he says

“Bored of me already? Amateur” you stutter out through heavy lips. He had really fucked you up in your short time together.

He places a lingering kiss on your lips which you return before pulling away abruptly and leaving the room. ‘How the fuck am I gonna live through this?’

_____________

It’s early the next morning, at least, you assume it’s early as Donatello walks in yawning and stretching with that just showered smell to him. You had barely slept, being tied to a giant wooden x that was upright on a wall didn’t make for comfortable sleeping but you still smile brightly as he walks in the room.

“Morin’ handsome” you chirp. He may have broken your body but you were never going to let him defeat your spirit. That was your one form of rebellion against him, your positive attitude.

He approaches you and begins to stroke your hair, his head tilted to the side a little to get a better look at you. You know you look like shit, your face must be puffy and swollen from the teeth he took out, your eyes are bloodshot and you’re caked in blood and sweat; there’s no way you look cute right now. None the less, he smiles at you and gives you a gentle kiss on your temple before turning away. Still with his back to you he says

“You know, we can end all of this now if you just tell me who sent you”

You snort in response, “And miss out on this horror film experience? Never”

“As you wish, I do like it when my toys have a sense of humour. It’s usually the first thing to go when when I start cutting” 

You wince when he says this but he doesn’t see, luckily. You know you’re in for a world of pain but his company is... Strangely comforting. You don’t like that you enjoy having him around.

He turns back to you holding a knife and you huff. He approaches and places the knife in your mouth with the blade touching the skin of your cheek.

“Tell me who you work for and why they sent you” He demands again

You say nothing and he rips the blade from your mouth, splitting open your cheek in the process. It’s agony and you would clutch your face if your hands weren’t tied down. You didn’t understand how all this blood couldn’t make him queezy, You aren’t a pussy but the metallic smell alone was overwhelming. Blood pours down your face and chest and you begin to cry in pain. Donnie leaves the room for a moment and comes back with a bucket full of water and a plastic bag.

He places the bag over your head and you struggle to breathe a little, that is, until he begins to pour the water over the bag and you can’t breathe at all. It feels like your drowning and you begin to panic, shaking your head from side to side in order to get away from it but it’s not use. He takes off the bag and sticks your head down into the cold water where you splutter and gurgle. He lifts your head and out and looks at you.

“Tell me who sent you and what they wanted”

“You know, waterboarding has been illegal since 2009. You’re a very bad boy” you say breathlessly. 

He responds by shoving your head back into the water where it overflows and turns a red colour from the blood pouring from your face.His grip on you is too strong and you can’t get your head out for air. That’s when everything goes dark.

When you wake again, Donnie is stitching up your face with expert precision.

“Why” you manage to get out

“Can’t have you dying of blood loss before you tell us what we need to know” he states in a matter of fact way.

The stitches don’t hurt as much as the actual wound but it’s still not pleasant. He places a hand on your opposite cheek and looks deeply into your eyes. His eyes are beautiful, golden coloured with thin black rings around the pupil. You get lost in them for a moment before returning to reality. Using his thumb, he rubs it up and down your cheek like a lover comforting you would and you sigh at his affection.

He leans in and kisses your wet lips so gently that your heart almost melts. These mixed signals he’s sending you are messing with your head. You start to get that feeling that maybe he does like you, but this is something that he just has to do to protect him and his family. ‘That makes sense, right? I mean, what wouldn’t you do for family?’ He takes a step back

“We could end this all right now if you just talk”

“But then I wouldn’t get to see that gorgeous face anymore” you splutter

Reaching out, he runs his hand down your chest between your breasts and over the cuts on your stomach until he reaches the hem of your panties.

“This what you want?” he asks

“Yes” you reply

He turns around and walks out.

_____________

Donatello wakes you up by walking in and the door slams shut behind him, you can already tell he’s not in a good mood. He wastes no time picking up a pair of pliers and coming over to you with them.

Normally he would say something to you, maybe kiss you but today he simply goes straight to your hand and rips off one of your few remaining fingernails. You scream in pain as he drops the nail to the floor and goes back in to get another

“No no no please” you beg

But your cries fall on deaf ears, he takes the nail of your ring finger on your left hand and rips it off in one pull. You cry out again. 

He returns to the table in the corner, throwing the pliers down and placing his hands at either end on the surface of the desk. He bows his head.

“Rough morning?” you inquire still trying to calm yourself down from what just happened.

“Nothing that concerns you, just family shit”

He turns back around abruptly and walks towards you, his lips crashing into your and he kisses you passionately, his hand tangles in your hair as he does. When he pulls away you’re breathless.

“Let’s get started” He says.

He goes back into kiss you, taking a knife out of his pocket as he does and he slices along the bottom of your belly, you call out against his lips but he doesn’t retreat, he just keeps kissing you and cutting at will.

Finally, he pulls away again and looks you up and down, admiring his work.You can feel the blood dripping down your stomach and seeping into your panties and you stare at him with wide eyes full of fear.

Without missing a beat he throws a punch that hits you in the cheekbone, splitting the skin open and a trickle of blood runs down your face, you can already feel the swelling beginning to set in and he grabs your chin in his hands and looks at the cut

“That’s going to need stitches” He says as he places a kiss over it and begins to trail them down your face and onto your neck. 

“I think I love you” you mutter but he says nothing.

You continue like this for another hour, cutting and biting and stitching you up and kissing all the places that hurt. He was like a demon from hell but you wanted him to like you so badly. Occasionally he would say something interesting to you or tell you how pretty you looked bleeding and crying but never much else.

You were falling for him and you knew it, but you couldn’t help yourself. Today was especially rough because of whatever was going on behind the scenes and he was desperate to take it out on you.

“I think we’ll call it a day” he finally says

You sign with relief, there wasn’t much more you could take but somehow he never ran out of ways to hurt you. He slaps you in the face and then places a chaste kiss on your lips before walking out.

_____________

It’s been 4 more days to your count  of endless torture and gentle kisses. You’re going loopy in the head. You would do just about anything for this man aside from talk. You had had a few conversations. He always asked questions about your family and hobbies, even seemed interested when you brought up taking classes for veterinary school but, you never gave him what he wanted so the pain never ceased.

Today he walks in with his brothers. They all stand around you in their suits admiring his handy work.

“Is she dead?” Raphael asks

Your head is too heavy to look up at them but you are most certainly alive....You think. You have to be.

“This is your last chance” the one in the blue suit begins “last chance to tell us what you were doing here”

“Make this easy, pet” Donnie chimes in

“Or we start taking fingers instead of just the nails” Michelangelo cracks his knuckles

You can’t do it anymore. Your entire body burns with pain and you think the cut on your chest is beginning to get infected. They want you to talk so have it their way, at least when they kill you for it you’ll be free of this torture.

“I don’t know his name” you whisper.

They all come a little closer to hear you better and Donatello lifts up your chin to help you see them.

“I don’t know his name” you repeat “But he wanted me to meet him at 9:30pm at the bar The Crown And Thistle to tell him what I had found out about you. He’ll be there tonight. Dyed black hair, leather jacket with spikes. You can’t miss him” you barely manage to speak those final words you’re so weak.

“Take her down, boys” Leo commands

Raphael unties your legs while Donnie sets to work on your arms. Once free you collapse down onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“That’s it, pet. It’s all over now” 

You sink your head into the crook of his neck and pass out. __________

When you awake, you’re all bandaged up in a beautiful bedroom. There are fitted wardrobes along the wall facing you and a desk in the corner with a laptop on it. You can’t sit up but you know you must be in Donnie’s room. As if on cue, Donatello walks in, the sleeves of his light purple shirt are rolled up and he’s carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and cup of water on it.

He doesn’t speak to you, only sits down next to you and takes a spoonful of the soup and brings it towards your mouth. You haven’t eaten in a week so you gratefully take every bite he gives you before polishing it off with the water. It was nice, to be taken care of, especially by him. He leans in and kisses you so gently but you place your hand on the back of his head and hold him there to deepen it. You had been wanting to do this since day 2.

His hands trail down your body, missing all the gauze and bandages as to not hurt you and settle on your hips before he puts his tongue in your mouth and you accept it with a small moan.

“Just treat me like I’m made of glass” you beg

He responds by lying you back down and getting on top of you, his hand between your thighs slips under the material of your panties and begins to rub circles over your clit. This sensation is more than welcome after the days of nothing but pain from his hands.

He pulls away and removes your underwear with ease, tossing them across the room and onto his desk in the corner. You reach out for him again and he comes back down to continue your kiss, undoing his flies and stroking his dick as he does. He places himself at your entrance and looks into your eyes as if you ask for permission and you nod in response. Then he’s inside you thrusting slowly but deep into you at a gentle pace.

He brushes the hair out of your face, lightly tugging at one strand and rolling it between his fingers as to admire it before his attention turns to your chest. He leans down and takes on of your nipples in his mouth and begins to suck at it and nip gently with his teeth. You moan out and he doesn’t stop but goes from breast to breast to further the sensation. He’s so tender with you it’s a contrast from the last week but you don’t mind it. You have him now and are getting exactly what you want.

His pace quickens a little and you bite down on his shoulder to stifle your moans which he seems to enjoy as he kisses the top of your head. Your head falls back to the pillow and he wraps one hand around your throat while looking into your eyes and begins to squeeze a little- cutting off the blood supply to your brain.

“you’re doing so well” he praises in a low, raspy voice.

He pulls out and turns you over so your belly is down on the bed, it stings a little but you ignore it. You’re entire body aches in a different way now, now you’re aching for his touch rather than to be rid of it.

He gets between your legs and places himself back inside you, kissing the back of your shoulder as he does and you cry out as he fucks you harder.

You begin to claw at the pillows and sheets at the pleasure he’s causing you. You’ve never had anyone like him before and you never will again. He fills you so well that you want to cry and almost do, there’s such a mix of emotions going on inside you right now. Pleasure, pain, despair, hope.... But he keeps pumping into you and you’re beginning to get close.

You turn your head to face him and he kisses you with passion, expertly pushing his tongue in and out of your mouth and he tastes like whisky and cigarettes. 

“Tell me what you need” He says as he ends the kiss

“I need you to make me cum, please please just do it”

He picks up the pace at that and you can feel the ball of tightness in your stomach release as your orgasm crashes over you and you nearly see stars. His thrusts get sloppy and faster as he nears his own release. A few moments later he cums inside of you and rolls over. You get close to him and rest your head on his chest and place your arm over his torso.

Donnie carefully pushed the hair out of your face and rests his hand on your cheek.

“I love you, Donnie” you say

“I know” he replies.

Fin.

#mob! au #mob au #mob boss donnie #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #stokholm syndrome tw #blood tw #gore tw #violence tw #lividity #my fic

[sakurasangcl]

Come Back

Pairing: werewolf!Jaehyun x reader

Word Count: 2.3k 

Warning: sexual harassment, possible rape (didn’t happen: Y/N wakes up in Jaehyun’s shirt in his bed)

Moonlight Symphony Masterlist

On the Friday after your 21st birthday, you and your friends went out to celebrate. You went to a dancing club to drink and have fun. Unfortunately for you, hindsight is 20/20. You should have eaten more and better food, as well as made sure to keep a (sober) friend with you at all times. Regretting things can't change the past, and you know this well. 

After one drink, you were a little tipsy. After two, you were drunk. Your vision wasn't too blurry, but everything was hilarious. A few drinks later and you couldn't quite walk straight and your words were a little slurred. 

"Hey," you tell your nearest friend. "I'm gonna go outside for some fresh air." 

And you do just that. Your heels click on the scuffed up wooden floor as you opened the door and took in the night breeze. 

You didn't notice the men who followed you outside until the spoke up. 

"Hey girl, what's your name?" One of them asked. 

"Y/n," you absentmindedly say.

"That's a sexy name. Did you come here by yourself?" A different one spoke. 

"Nope." You respond, popping the ‘p.’ 

If you weren't so drunk, you would have noticed the anxious looks they tossed around. 

"Do you want to come home with me?" One of them boldly asked, resting his hand on your hip. "I doubt who you came with would mind. I'll treat you well." 

"Any of us-" the second guy started.

"Or all of us," someone else interrupted. 

"Would treat you well," He finished.

You weakly shake your head no and turn to head inside. However, the one gripping your waist held you still. 

"Come on baby, why so prude, hmm? I'll make you feel real good, promise." He says, rubbing circles with his thumbs. 

Suddenly a rather muscular, attractive man appears. He growls and pulls you into him, and you swear he calls you his girlfriend. But before you can figure anything out, you pass out. 

When you wake up in the morning, the night before is a blur. You immediately notice that you're not in your own room, nor in that if a friend's. You look around and see the most attractive man in bed next to you. He's deeply asleep, and has the body of Michelangelo's statue of David, but better. 

A thrill of fear runs through you as you sit up to get out of bed and you're wearing just a shirt that definitely wasn't yours, considering that it was too big on you. 

Did we have sex last night? You cant… you cant properly consent when you're drunk… Did we at least use a condom? Shouldn't I be a little sore?

You had many unanswered questions as you quietly gather your things, hoping not to disturb the sleeping man. You quickly change back into your clothes, leaving his shirt on the floor. 

When you leave his room, you find yourself in a house full of boys. You turn red and keep your head down, feeling horrid. They look at you, surprised. One of them tries to say something to you, but you quickly leave before the chance is given. 

It makes sense why they're called the walk of shame…

You make it outside and find out that you really aren't in the city anymore. So, you call an uber and make it home. 

You don't talk to any of your friends about what happened… nor does it really seem like they know or remember themselves. Of course, most of them drank a lot, thought someone else took you home, or thought you went home with someone. One of your friends saw you leave with a hot, muscular guy. 

You didn't say much to anyone after that, and the same friend that saw you leave with the guy you woke up with, Yeri, was afraid that you were falling into a depressive episode. Because of who she was, you couldn't avoid her forever.

Yeri ended up showing up at your work right when you were leaving. She grabbed your arm with her surprisingly strong grip, and starts guiding you to a nearby coffee shop.

"I know you're stressed and going through a lot, so we are getting coffee and talking. And I know you have some extra spending cash because you house sat the other week." Yeri began, guiding you to the line. 

The intoxicating smell of coffee calms you for the time being, letting you relax a little. 

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" She softly asks you, moving up in line. 

"I know," you murmur, looking up at the menu. "But I just don't always know the words for what I need to say." It was then that you notice one of the baristas is extremely familiar. Your eyes widen in surprise and you look away blushing. It was the hot guy you woke up next to. 

"Earth to y/n, earth to y/n. Is everything okay?" Yeri asks, concerned. 

You gulp and nod as you realize your next in line, and he is the one taking orders. 

You shyly step up and order a green tea latte, not meeting his eyes. "What's your name?" He asks, and it sounds more like him being genuine than just needing to write it down on the cup.

"Y/n," you tell him, glancing up at his handsome face. 

He then asks you to spell your name and you do, glancing at his nametag that said 'Jaehyun.' He smiles brightly, dimples showing. "Alright. Thank you y/n. I can help who is next in line."

You stay rooted in your spot, your eyebrows knitting together. You hadn't paid for your drinks. You were about to say something when he adds, "Don't worry about it. It's my treat, okay?" 

You mutely nod and go wait for your drink and Yeri, dazed. 

A younger man calls your name, and he smiles at you as you take your drink. On it is numbers  you make it out to be a phone number. You look quizzically at the guy who gave you your drink, and he grins and points to the mysterious hottie, Jaehyun. You nod slightly and head to Yeri's side, going and sitting at a table. 

You two start conversing, and she pries you and gets you talking some. Eventually, she brought up the inevitable.

"So the barista. The one who wrote their number on your cup. He's the one you went home with." Yeri says, looking at him suspiciously. 

"Yeah, apparently…" you admit, not denying what must have happened.

"Do you not remember?" She asks, suddenly worried. "If he drugged you I don't care how big he is. I will fight him."

You shake your head no. "I was just drunk. Besides, I'm sure plenty of girls are head over heels for him and he's super hot. He could easily get laid if he wanted to."

"You're not wrong. But still, you did end up with him. That's suspicious." 

"I suppose he must have just changed me… that's why I thought we did something. My period came and went, so everything is fine that way. But I really don't know…"

"Wait, like he changed your clothes?" 

"Well, yeah…" 

"What the fuck?! No. So not okay," she says, standing up and about to march over to yell at him. 

"Please don't, Yeri. I'm as confused as you," You softly beg. 

"Fine, but I'm asking Joohyun if she knows him. But judging by his age.. I'll ask Sooyoung instead. If anyone knows anything, its her," Yeri derisively responds. She then sends a quick text before giving you her full attention. "Do you want to go over what you remember? I'm pretty sure Soyeon said she saw you leave with a guy… that's why I wasn't worried. But honestly, knowing you, I should have been. I feel bad I wasn't more cautious over you. I was too busy being the mom friend for everyone else. I hate being the mom friend," Yeri grumbles. 

You can't help but laugh at her rant, as it was true. No one liked taking the role of the mom friend when everyone was drinking. Yeri was just stuck with it as the designated driver. 

"I just… the last thing I remember was going outside for air. My head got clouded and there were some guys… then one guy, probably…" you gesture to Jaehyun, "since I woke up in his bed… called me his girlfriend. That's all I remember besides waking up. I made the walk of shame! I hated it!" You admit, glancing around to make sure no one heard you. 

When Yeri's phone buzzes, she reads the notification. "Sooyoung says he's a good guy, and really not interested in most girls... Maybe you're his perfect type? Okay, she said he isn't a player and is both overly confident and awkward as hell around girls. It varies. She also says he's not the kind to do the deed when drunk." 

"Did you tell her what I said?" You demand of your best friend, upset and turning red.

"Kind of? I asked about him and if he was a player especially around drunk people. She's not that thick headed to not know what happened at the party," Yeri explains.

Your shoulders slump in defeat and you nod, knowing Yeri was right. However, Sooyoung's response left you with more questions than before. 

"I can't- I don't know-" you try to let Yeri understand your frustration. You want to know the answers as to what happened, but at the same time, you're afraid of what they could be. You let out a heavy sigh as you formulate a proper sentence. "I want to know but I'm also afraid to find the truth," you tell her, fear clawing at your stomach. 

"I totally understand that. But wouldn't it be nice if nothing happened and it's just a misunderstanding?" Yeri suggests gently. "I mean, there's no harm in at least texting him. He obviously remembers you. Maybe he just wants to clear the air." 

You know Yeri doesn't mean to pressure you in a negative way, and she always seems to have your best interest in mind. This time… well, it feels different. You're torn between giving this man a bit of trust or doing your best to never see him again. You can't differentiate what your stomach is telling you or your head. You were completely conflicted. 

You start to feel overwhelmed, and your brain goes to autopilot. You listen to what Yeri said and type out a message to Jaehyun, that read: 

Hi. This is Y/N.

You know he wont reply right away since he is working, but you try to ignore the impulsivity of what you did and do your best not to regret it. 

"Well there's that…" you mumble, setting your phone on the table.

Less than a minute later, your phone buzzes anyways. 

Hey Y/N! Sorry, my coworker put my number on your cup… My name is Jaehyun, by the way. I’m sorry things ended up like this.

Would you maybe like to meet sometime so I can try to explain?

“What do you think I should do, Yeri?” you ask, showing her your phone and trying not to cry. 

“Give it to me. I’ll have Seulgi go with you. Does that sound good? You know how intimidating she can be when she wants, you know?” Yeri gently says, typing a response. “I have your back. We all do.” 

You nod and help Yeri figure out the logistics. Jaehyun isn’t even bothered by you asking to bring a friend. 

When you finally did agree to meet Jaehyun in person, you wore simple clothes. You had Yeri with you, and she was being very protective and careful with you. 

Jaehyun felt a pang in his heart, because he knew he messed up. He should have left you in his bed without him, but he couldn’t leave you. Not when you smelt like them. Looking at you with Yeri by your side, he could scent your fear and unease. He smiled sweetly at the two of you, and greeted you both. You were outside on campus, sitting at one of the tables outside. 

“Y/N, there’s a lot I need to explain to you,” he gently begins, glancing at Yeri. 

She smiled slightly, because she knew something you didn’t. 

“Okay?” you respond, looking to Yeri. She nods, so you look back at Jaehyun.

He smiles once more, and it’s contagious. You stop yourself from smiling, only because you were too anxious. 

“So,” Jaehyung begins. “First and foremost. You passed out drunk and I didn’t know what to do. So I took you home because I didn’t want those pervs touching you. My friend’s mate-uh, girlfriend, changed you into my shirt when she saw you, as she figured it wouldn’t have been comfortable. I stayed with you because I didn’t want you getting sick and throwing up and choking. I slept shirtless, but I was wearing pants. I swear. And you were the one who cuddled up to me in your sleep, so that just kind of happened on its own.” 

You stare at him blankly, taking in his words and judging the honesty behind them. 

“So you didn’t rape her?” Yeri asks for you, gently giving your hand a squeeze. 

If it weren’t crazy, you would have sworn his eyes flashed red. 

“I didn’t lay a finger on her like that. I would never harm her.” Jaehyun says, and you feel the sincerity in his words. “I’d rather hurt myself.” 

You give him a sideways glance, confused as to why he felt so strongly for you. He was being extremely altruistic, and it surprises you.

“Do you say that to every girl?” you ask. 

He shakes his head, looking away bashfully. “No,” he admits. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to start over with you. You’re… well, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. And you must be a wonderful person since you willingly met with me after that misunderstanding.” 

Before Yeri can stop you, or before you can even fully process what you say, you respond. “Yes, I’d like that.” 

#ncitynetwork #jaehyun fic #jaehyun fanfic #nct fanfic #werewolf nct #nct 127 fanfic #nct u fanfic #nct #nct 127 #nct u #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyung fanfic #moonlight symphony #come back #jaehyun angst #nct angst #werewolf!jaehyun #werewolf!nct

[janna-the-breaker]

I was thinking with myself, why not open more place for the disabled ones?? So, here's "How the turtles would react if their girlfriend got disabled"

Enjoy!^^

It has been a month since the accident. It was a silly thing, you were at your apartment trying to change a lamp. You stood up on a chair trying to reach the lamp, and the next thing you knew you were at the hospital, laid in a bed totaly confused. The moment you woke up, a doctor rushed to bring somebody. April runned towards your bed with tears in her eyes, she reached down to give you a hug. Only then you noiticed all the strings on your wrists connecting you to a lot o machines. Once you managed to speak you asked what have happened to you. They explained that you fell on your apartment and bumped your head really hard. You have stayed on a coma for two weeks.

After your awakening the doctors played a lot of exams on you. One of them gave you the news that would change your life forever.

You've lost your leg movement. That broke you down. You would never be able to walk again, dance or even go to accessible places. With this thought on your head, you remembered about your mutant boyfriend. You asked the doctor a moment alone with April, you nedded answers to your questions.

"April, what about T/N?? How've he been during my abscence??"

The brunette sat next to your bed. She was dull for a few seconds, until she started talking.

"It wasn't easy. After your fall at your apartment he tried to call you but you did not answer. So, he came by and found you there." You felt your heart break apart when you imagined your loved one seeing you laid in there. He did not deserve that. "He called me and i called an ambulance. You've been here since then."

"How will he react when he knows about my contidion??" You were clearly worried. What if he can't cope with it and decide to leave you?

"Don't worry, sweetie. T/N loves you. I bet he won't mind about it." She tries to calm you down. It kinda worked.

After the nurse have brought you dinner, you heard a tap on the window. You and April crossed your eyes together. She nods and go to the door, watching if someone walks in as you and the turtle talked.

Leo💙:

"Hey, Dove." He was clearly happy to see you well. You were too, even though you did not felt like soo much time have passed. But damn, you can really loose the notion of time when you're on a coma.

"Hey, fearless. How have you been??"

"I've missed you soo much, love!" He hold your hand tight and give it a dozens of kisses.

"I know! I am so sorry!"

"Don't apolagize for being hurt. Things like this happen all the time. The only thing that matters is that you are okay." He smiled, you smiled back. But then, you remembered that you wasn't so well like he thought.

"Well, not so much."

"What do you mean??" He asks worried.

"The doctor told me that because of the cussion that i suffered in my head, i won't be able to move my legs anymore." You watched his face change miltiple times. At first he was serious, on next he was scared and then lost.

"W-what?! Does it hurt??" He toutched your legs gently like he was trying to fix them. But it didn't work like this.

"No, Leo. I can't feel my legs anymore."

"Oh, dear. This is..." He lowered his head like he was holding his tears really hard. You placed your hand on his muscular arm, you've never seen him so broken like this before. He would always keep his compusure.

"Leo? I know, this is awfull. But, look, i will understand if you don't want to have to deal with the burden that i have become."

"What?! Y/N, don't you ever call yourself that again! You're beautiful, it doesn't matter that you won't be able to walk no longer, i am your boyfriend, and a real boyfriend wouldn't ever leave his girl."

You started crying, crying from the hapiness that his words gave to you. How could you have so much bad and good luck at the same time?! He tried to dry your tears away from your face as you started to calm down. You look into his ocean blue eyes and feel lost on them. Until his lips bring you back to reality.

"I love you, my beautiful and most precious Y/N."💙

Raph❤️:

"Baby! You're alive!" He screamed in total hapiness once he got into the room.

"Hush, Raph! The doctors will hear you." You warned him, but you were also soo happy to see him again. He gave you a kiss on your forehead. He was looking at you like you were the most precious and rare thing he have ever seen. Who could blame him?? He thought he would never see you again.

"Oh boy, i know yer tired but i wish you could stand up so could hug you entirely." He said as his enourmous hands traveled along your body.

Your smile have dissapeared. Now, you had to explain to him that you will never be able to do that again. "Raphie, sweetie... There's something important that i need to tell you."

He leaned down to you. "You can tell me anything, Doll."

"I've suffered a serious cussion in my brain. It have affected my motor cortex, so, the doctor said that i can't walk anymore."

He stayed in silent. His golden eyes starting to show absolute fear. "What?! So, how's it gonna be with us?? You'll have to be laid in a bed the whole time?!"

"No, Raph! I'll be able to go around places with you, but i'll need a wheelchair now. But, except for this i am fine!" You tried to reasure him that you were okay. But, he did not seem to get it.

"How can you be fine with not walking anymore??"

"What else can i do, Raph?? It just happened. I have to learn to live with this."

"I know! It's not yer fault. But, i'm... I don't know how ta behave right now."

"You don't have to do anything. I'm still me! My love for you haven't changed at all. I just hope that this doesn't change your love for me."

"Course not, darling! Ya look stunning even in a hospital robe. I promise that i'll be here with ya through this new phase of yer life."❤️

"Oh, Raphie! I love you!" You said as tears of joy rolled from your eyes. He hugged you and the two of you stayed like that for a few good minutes.

Donnie💜:

"How are you feeling?? Does your head hurt?? What the doctors said?? Please, tell me you're okay!!!" He was clearly anxious and worried about you. So much that he don't even say 'hi' when he saw you after soo much time apart.

"Donnie! Calm down, soldier! I am fine." You tried to calm him down. He seemed to cool down a little as he sit next to you and you look in each other's eyes. Soon, a lustful smirk emerge on his face.

"You gave me a big scare, you naughty girl. You've been gone for a long time." He sneaks his and under the cover and begin to caress your skin. You laughed as you could see what he was up to.

"Don! This is no place for make love! You know people die in here?!" You gave him the warning thinking this could stop him. But, damn, no one can stop a turtle who have been soo long time without sex.

"Well, they'll sure have something interesting to watch from the afterlife." He said as he smelled on your neck. Of course you haven't bathed for a month, however, Donnie loves your natural musk.

"I just woke up from a coma and you're already flirting with me?! Incredible!" You joked as you pushed him away from you.

"I sure am, sweetheart." He blinks to you. Of course he did not love you just for the sex, but, what would he say if you couldn't walk anymore??

"Hey, Don. You're the most thechnical guy that i know, and i think that you might take this a little more easy. You started.

"What's wrong??"

"Something that have happened and you need to know."

"Please, just split that out before i get nervous, sweetie."

"Okay. I am paraplegic." You finaly said it.

"You're what?! How??" He was all worried again.

"I've hit my head very hard that day and..." You tried to explain but he cut you.

"I got it. It has damaged your primary motor cortex. It must've been more serious than i thought." He seemed so sad about it. He took off his glasses to brush his face with his hand.

"Donnie? Are you okay?"

"As long as you are, i am, honey." He forced a smile.

"But, doesn't it bother you that i can't walk??" You asked hoping that he'll say otherwise.

"Why would it? Yes, i feel sad about what have happened to you, but i will always love you." He holds your hand tight and place a soft kiss on your cheek. "Don't worry, my lovely kitten. For now on, i'll be your very own doctor. I'll learn about disabled care and i will take care of all your needs."💜

"That's wonderful, Donnie! Oh, God, thank you for this amazing turtle in my life!" You said in total hapiness. He hugs you from your chest as you cried on his shoulder. You knew he would take good care of you.

Mikey🧡:

"Angelcakes! Please don't do this to me ever again!!! It's been so sad without you!" There were clear tears in his eyes. He kneeled next to the hospital bed and burried his face on your lap.

"Oh, my sweet angel! Please, don't cry. I am here now! Come on." You lift his face by his chin, his eyes red from the tears a little sobby. "Oh, my poor baby. It's all over now. I've came back to you."

"Okay, babycakes. I am fine now." He cleaned his tears and smiled to you. Oh, you have missed that beautiful smile. "Jeez, there's soo many things that i wanna do with you. When you're full recovered, of course. We can play video games, watch movies and play basketball!"

"Mikey, there is something i need to tell you."

"Yes, angel??"

"I'm afraid i won't be able to play basketball with you anymore."

"Oh, that's not a problem. We can also play soccer, tennis, volleyball and do parkour!"

"No, Michelangelo! I will never be able to do these things again! The doctor said i can't move my legs. I'll have to use a wheelchair to do everything for now on." You tried to hold down your tears as the reality shock hit you hard as you told him about your condition.

"Y/N" Whenever he called you by your name instead of some of the cute nicknames you knew he was serious. "Please, stop crying. If i have knowm about this i wouldn't have brought all that things that you can't do up. I'm sorry, babycakes."

"It's okay, Mikey. I don't blame you for it. Look, we can still do a lot of things together. I can play video games and watch movies, i could even play basketball on the wheelchair but i'll have to learn how to first.

"Yeah, true! I've seen a lot of basketball players on wheelchairs, they rule!"

"And also, i don't have to walk for us to snuggle together, or kiss."

"That's true, baby."

"Everything can still be like it was before. As long as our love it's still the same."

"It's unbreakable!" He gently brought you to a lovely and needly kiss. You were so happy that he'll always love you, needless if you could walk or not.🧡

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #april o'neil

[forasecondtherewedwon]

On the Subject of Your Subject Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E/NSFW Word count: 5717

Spideychelle Week Day 6: College AU

Summary: MJ's spending her summer taking yet another art class, but it's not about the college credit, it's about the practice. She's considering how to fix a sketch when she overhears some classmates discussing their work. While the work might be their own, MJ hears enough to know that the subject most certainly is not. It's time for this art studio wallflower to stake a claim on Spider-Man.

MJ was very observant. It was one of the two things that had remained constant as time went by (faster all the time, she swore)―the other being the boyfriend she’d had since her junior year of high school. Right now, she was hoping it was the observing thing that was going to eventually get her a job. Oh, she was sure that the boyfriend could get her a job if she asked, but it would almost definitely require crippling overtime, a wardrobe full of metal, and a readiness to go starry-eyed with hero-worship at the mention of the name ‘Tony Stark.’ Or at least that was the cue she was getting from him. The boyfriend. Peter.

But the job, yeah. So, what she was doing didn’t exactly look like laying the foundation for steady employment right now, like, per say, but between the three years of college still ahead of her, bursaries, and some additional bankrolling from her mother the doctor, MJ was going to use art school to turn her detention caricatures into a career.

Something she’d observed since starting college was that not everybody wanted to be there. MJ found it totally disturbing (if not occasionally warranting a pity laugh) that so many people either barely showed up for classes or only showed up; in her opinion, the former were fledgling adults still acting like children and the latter were today’s youth already clocking in and out like weary middle-aged suits.

Meanwhile, she couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get enough studio time. Couldn’t get enough of her ideas on paper. Enough charcoal under her fingernails. Enough standing behind a canvas until her feet ached, or curved with feral possessiveness around a drawing pad on her lap. Enough lines drawn and redrawn and redrawn and redrawn and redrawn.

So MJ had completed year one (her mom bought a very fancy cake that they ate with their feet up on the coffee table at home, using forks which neither of them could absolutely confirm were clean, since between an on-call doctor’s schedule and a student’s, nobody had exactly been on top of loading and emptying the dishwasher) and enrolled in a summer class. It was figure drawing, which, yes, she’d already taken as it was a mandatory class―arguably the class upon which all other art classes depended―but while figure drawing had finished with MJ, MJ had not finished with figure drawing. She felt that it was impossible to overlearn the basics, plus the professor she’d had the first time around had been a dick. In fact, MJ believed that there had not been a bigger dick known to humankind since Michelangelo got up close and personal with David.

The summer prof was a marked improvement. Less ego, more encouragement. More understanding, less likely to make MJ want to flip her easel and ram one of its legs up their… Warhol. And with fewer students enrolled during the warmer months, there were fewer classes running, and therefore more studio time, which she took gleeful advantage of, with a territorial staking-out of the best spot in the room and the nasty glare she sent towards people who were too friendly. She was gleeful on the inside.

Was that boyfriend mopey about her choosing the art life instead of spending her summer with him? Absolutely not. Peter had his own thing going on (this was how MJ downplayed the daily saving of lives). Besides, they found ways to see each other. Like how she bought the famous Spider-Man a hot dog in Central Park after he turned one end of the skipping ropes for a couple of kids playing Double Dutch. Or how he scared the bejesus out of her while she was painting alone in the studio and glanced around to see what was throwing a shadow on her canvas (just a dork waving at her through the window―a window on the fourth floor).

They had to be careful when Peter was in the suit; it wasn’t really safe for any of those freaks (‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,’ or whatever) to make potentially skulking bad guys aware that they had less-than-super friends, kids, girlfriends, etc. Lucky for Peter, MJ was incredibly good at careful. It was worth it for the rest of the time that they got to be together without the suit.

The suit wasn’t her problem at the moment though. There was no article of clothing (pioneered by Tony Stark or otherwise) that was her problem. Actually, the lack of clothes was the problem, because she was hesitating, hand hovering over a nude sketch that she wanted to fix. MJ squinted. She just couldn’t see how. A trio of bohemians across the room sent up giggles like scattered pigeons and MJ closed her eyes in irritation. She opened them and stared at the sketch. Yeah, maybe she could stand to watch something else for a while.

With a little subtle angling, she created a line of sight to the other girls. Looked like two of them were clustered around the easel of the third. They were teasing her. Ah, but this particular student―MJ had observed―liked to be teased. It wasn’t the common mocking of the scholarship kid or the uninventive, elementary school, lunch money shakedown. It was that sunny, sticky teasing that left extroverts flushed from all the attention. Yuck.

MJ watched the three friends, studied their postures and dynamic. Everything was food for art. Reading their body language might help her sort out her difficulties with this sketch. She assessed them with her ears as well as her eyes; art might have been a largely visual experience for the viewer, but for her, shaping a piece in ways that could never be understood in the passing sweep of a gaze, it was multisensory. Peter might have taught her a little something about that. He claimed that she had her own enhancements, even without the super-biology.

From their words and the giddy pitch, it was obvious that they were tackling the same type of project that MJ was: a nude. She directed her face downward, towards her page, as she rolled her eyes. Art models were just people, not porn stars. Students at this level should really understand that, MJ felt. Giggling over a bared breast or the muscular indent of a man’s ass was amateurish.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to shrug off the judgement. Ok, maybe these three were inelegant twerps, but who said twerps couldn’t be art? If Dalí could find inspiration in a loaf of bread, then MJ could see how she progressed with a vapid, unoriginal muse. As long as her own work didn’t turn out derivative, the girls could present as clichéd a scene of immaturity as they pleased. MJ listened harder and let her grip loosen on her pencil. The lines would come when she was ready.

“You didn’t,” Girl One insisted.

“Of course she didn’t.” Ooh, bit more of a petty tone from Girl Two. “She just wants the attention. She can’t get the grades, so she’s hoping to cause enough of a scandal that her work is noticed and somebody pays big bucks for it. Who gives a fuck about a degree when some dude drops a million and puts you on the map?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal,” said The Artist Herself. MJ blinked a few times in case any of that false modesty was airborne, keeping her eyes free of the irritants her ears couldn’t help but admit.

“Everyone’s going to freak,” Girl One squealed effervescently.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay quiet instead? Just keep this piece for myself or… maybe give it to him?”

“You can’t! This would be, like, a cultural phenomenon.”

Don’t get ahead of yourselves, MJ thought wryly.

Girl Two snorted, earning her a moment of approval from the observer.

“But no one’s even going to know it’s him,” the skeptic argued.

MJ frowned. All of their models this term had been female. Sure, it was reasonable that the artist could’ve had someone else pose for her―either professionally or casually (though MJ didn’t have that kind of relationship with any of her friends)―but it sounded like the girl’s plan A was to submit her piece as part of her coursework. That didn’t add up. Their instructor preferred that the students work from the same subject, one that the professor themselves was familiar with so that they could properly assess the fidelity of the rendering.

“They’ll know by the title,” The Artist Herself asserted.

“You’ll still have to give him a face, Mel.”

“It’s kind of avant-garde this way though, right?” Girl One’s comment was plenty chipper.

“It’s a copout,” Girl Two stated. “If you really slept with him and you’re prepared to tell the tale, you can’t just call the thing ‘Spider-Man in Repose’ and leave it at that.”

They carried on with their playful chatter, but MJ’s hearing had fuzzed out. What they were saying―that this art bitch had nailed her dork of a boyfriend―was impossible. She didn’t need to endorse the ridiculous claim by actually asking Peter if it was true. No, MJ wasn’t heartbroken or confused, she was angry. Didn’t they, any one of them, consider Spider-Man’s privacy? The respect he had earned as a public figure? He wasn’t just a mask, or a picture of that mask on a souvenir t-shirt. This would be libel if Spider-Man’s real identity was known to the general public. Little kids needed to see their hero on the morning news helping old ladies across the street and rescuing animals from burning buildings, not as the subject in some horny coed’s mediocrity.

“―it seriously. This is probably the only case where people are more interested in seeing a celebrity’s face than his dick.”

The pencil fell from MJ’s fingers and she didn’t pick it up, more focused on controlling her expression so she’d look unaffected if any of them glanced over.

“Sandra, stop,” Girl One twittered.

MJ supported the sentiment, if not the tone of voice. She lifted her foot and deliberately stomped on the end of her pencil, snapping the point. Uh oh, it looked like she’d have to go to the supply room to find a sharpener. It was located through a door half a dozen feet behind the other girls. Convenient for sneaking a look at whatever was on that canvas, which would enable her to come up with a tailored plan to fix this.

She began with a loud sigh and a forlorn look at her broken pencil. Again, not trying to be quiet, she pushed her sketch aside and crossed the room. The girls were still talking. Maybe they hadn’t forgotten MJ was there. Maybe they were crossing their fingers that she was a shit-stirrer. A patient zero for the gossip they were hoping to benefit from spreading. She circled around them and darted into the supply room, swinging the door only partially shut while she rattled a box of pencils before coaxing as much noise as possible out of the most ancient-looking sharpener she could find.

“Would you do him again?” Girl One asked.

“If she says no,” Girl Two cut in, “then she’s definitely making it up. Who the hell would hit-it-and-quit-it with Spider-Man? Especially if he’s that ripped under the suit.”

MJ crept to the threshold and looked in their direction. The Artist Herself shifted from one foot to the other, contemplating her own work, and MJ finally got a look at the unfinished painting. In its technical aspects, it was fine. Not accomplished, not garbage. So, better than she’d been expecting. It just wasn’t Peter. Even without a face, it wasn’t Peter. Peter was ripped―not that these people knew that, or ever would―but this wasn’t his body as she’d come to know it. Which was extremely well.

Grinning, MJ hurried back to her sketchbook and flipped it shut. Watching the girls from a different angle had made her consider a new approach to her block with her work in progress, but that wasn’t what propelled her out of the studio. She had an amazing idea.

\\\

“I don’t see how this solves the problem,” Peter said. “It still generates Spider-Man gossip.”

“But if it involves me, no one will believe it,” MJ emphasized, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m background noise in that studio. I’m furniture, Peter. I’ve never tried to be the center of attention and we can use that.”

He narrowed his eyes, but she could see the trust in them, like always.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’re just confused because this is a plan and those are foreign to you.” She gave him a sad smile and released his shoulder with a consoling squeeze.

“Hey―what? I-I plan,” he said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. Yep, this was the body of her Spider-Man, not that generic canvas Adonis.

“You’re impulsive and adaptable. You can think on your feet in the middle of a fight, but, babe, you don’t plan.”

“But what about―”

“Peter.”

“There was that time I―”

“Peter.”

He sighed.

“Ok, when are we gonna do this?”

\\\

The research was really only two steps: showing up on campus at different times to learn when The Artist Herself (and co.) normally arrived, and figuring out how to unlatch one of the large studio windows. Both of these elements fit extremely easily into MJ’s schedule.

The friends’ interest in the Spider-Man portrait seemed to rise and fall and rise again; frequently, they actually worked on their own pieces instead of gossiping. Ok, instead of only gossiping. They still gossiped. Whenever it wasn’t about the unfathomably unrealistic Spider-Man affair, MJ drowned them out with headphones and made progress on her sketch.

She gave it a week―the recon―because that was a standard length of time and the mission felt more scientific that way. Ugh, these were Peter’s words. Her head was full of Avengers vernacular these days, all mixed up with a spectrum of graphite hardnesses and the names of a couple dozen French landscape painters. That was how MJ really knew her body wasn’t going to one day reject Peter like a mismatched blood donation. He’d become part of her mental vocabulary, and that was her sanctuary.

She hustled him through the propped-open window and into her physical sanctuary, the studio, on a Friday. Midmorning and the light was clear and white. The room would transform around 4:30pm when a hot afternoon glow inflamed the space through westward-facing glass, but this earlier, crisper light was good for a lot of things. Uniform illumination across textured sheets of watercolour paper. Fidelity of oil paint colours roughly blended and scraped with a palette knife. Minimal shadows cast as Peter’s feet, saran-wrapped into his Spidey suit, landed on the wood floor. With heavier footfalls, thanks to her black combat boots, MJ led him to the supply room and shut them in.

“Cutting it a little close,” she complained, glancing at her watch.

“I was on my way,” Peter said, gesturing widely (what kept MJ calm was the knowledge that his superhuman agility would make sure he caught anything he knocked over before it hit the ground), “and then there was this guy trying to grand theft auto a flour truck out in front of this bakery.” He pointed like the bakery was hiding just across the room behind the industrial-sized jugs of linseed oil. Peter deflated, mind snapped swiftly into the present. “Long story short, the bakery owner promised me free bagels if you wanna go after.”

MJ nodded, trying to tame her fond smirk. She would’ve loved him just as much if his biology had been totally garden-variety, but Peter in the suit―eyes of his mask widening as he relayed his latest crime bust―was adorable.

“After.”

“Ok… ok, great.”

Peter attempted to lean casually into a stack of collapsed easels, which squeaked loudly across the floor, threatening a noisy topple, before he jerked upright and steadied them. The way he’d never gotten calmer about her saying yes to a date was pretty adorable too.

“So, when are they―”

MJ heard the door to the studio bang open and slapped a hand across the mouth area of her boyfriend’s mask. Her palm didn’t actually obstruct his words, but the action silenced him. He tensed at her side as they tilted their heads, listening. A more minor part of the mission―dammit, plan―had been for MJ to make sure there were enough easels, brushes, and various other tools of the trade out on and around the counter that spanned one wall of the studio; the last thing she and Peter needed was an unsuspecting audience member striding into the supply room. Oh, those girls would know they were in here, but it wasn’t going to be by accident.

“You don’t think they’ll leave when they hear us?”

MJ shivered―Peter’s lips were right against her ear. She hadn’t heard him peel up his mask and lean in. Turning her head slightly, she tried to respond just as softly.

“Not these three. They’re shamelessly curious.”

“You’re sure?”

God, her face was getting hot. He was just talking to her. Talking at a whisper. Fine, it was kinda sexy, though there were things besides his last-second questioning of her brilliant plan that she’d rather have heard in that voice.

“You didn’t see the painting,” MJ reminded him.

“Yeah, there’s that,” Peter allowed.

They waited a few minutes longer, enduring the insignificant chatter and grating laughter coming from the studio. MJ tried to keep as still as Peter. Gradually, the human sounds lessened and were replaced by the glop of a brush through too much paint, the hiss of that same brush across a taut canvas. She looked at him and nodded.

“We’re starting?” he murmured.

MJ turn away from the door and smacked the center of his chest, turning the Spidey suit into a slack mass that Peter reflexively caught in his elbows before it could fall all the way down. She raised her eyebrows. Peter let the suit drop.

“This isn’t very romantic,” he complained quietly, yanking his feet free and piling the suit on the lid of a large tub of gesso.

“Yeah, well, we can’t exactly do this with the suit on.”

“The mask?”

MJ assessed his face, everything below his nose uncovered.

“I think half-off is fine, in case they barge in. The lower part of your face isn’t very distinctive.”

She twisted towards the door once more. At this point, they were supposed to be past discussion. Peter really didn’t understand the concept of planning something in advance, even when they had planned this in advance.

“Again with the lack of romance,” he griped, suddenly pressed up right behind her. Immediately, MJ’s heart was pounding more fiercely.

“Trying to be practical, nerd.”

Her voice didn’t come out overly stern, not with Peter’s hands touching down very lightly on her hips.

“But what do I always say when we order pizza and you try to get me to choose between bacon and ham?”

“You don’t need that much meat on a pizza. It’s high in sodium.”

His sigh ruffled the hair hanging in a loose ponytail against the back of her neck.

“No, that’s what you always say. What do I say?”

Pressing her palm to the door, MJ let her eyes slide closed. One of Peter’s hands had ducked under the hem of her shirt. She felt the side of his thumb skim her abdomen.

“That you prefer both,” she replied.

He made a low agreeing noise, flattened his palm against her for a second, then rotated his hand to unbutton her jeans. There was a surge within her. Peter always turned her on, but this was a fresh excitement. Subtly, MJ pressed her hips forward. She heard him breathe harder. His other hand moved from her hip to grasp the waist of her jeans while he unzipped them. She could feel it. She could feel him behind her, rising and thickening. Dipping his hands into her undone jeans, Peter nosed her hair out of the way to kiss her for the first time since they’d entered the room, on the side of her neck.

“I think I prefer both too,” she said.

She felt his teeth as he smiled and pushed against his crotch in response. His groan was abbreviated to a grunt when he clamped his mouth shut; the clench of Peter’s jaw bumped her throat. MJ grinned to herself and rolled into him again. There wasn’t any hesitancy as his fingers pried the thin elastic edge of her underwear away from her skin and plunged one hand beneath it. She gasped aloud and the fact that they were doing this for a reason came back to her. That didn’t mean being overheard had to be the only reason.

Because MJ knew it was one of Peter’s weaknesses, she grasped his wrist, slowly smoothing her hand down to lay flat on the back of his, and urged it further. He panted, kissing her neck, more loosely this time. Reaching up and back with her other hand, she toyed with the little flick of hair at back of his neck, right where it started to curl if he went too long between haircuts―exposed below the peeled up mask. With a shudder, Peter stroked a finger through her increasing arousal. Her hand tensed on his. A subtle widening of her stance wouldn’t be quite so subtle to the guy whose super-senses allowed him to notice the tiniest details even when distracted, but so be it. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know how she wanted him to touch her.

She turned her head, disengaging Peter’s before bringing him back just as quickly with a thorough kiss. Continuously, MJ’s fingers stroked his hairline. Goosebumps spread across the back of his neck.

“Let me know,” she said in a teasing voice, pausing to lick his lower lip, “if I’m being too romantic.”

Peter’s lips smiled against hers.

“And you tell me…” His mouth remained open, questioning almost, as he traced her opening with the tip of his finger. MJ exhaled roughly. “…if I get too practical.”

With that, Peter withdrew his hand (she would not admit to actually fucking whimpering in disappointment), grabbed her hips, and spun her, forcing her back against the door. The resultant thud was followed by confused-sounding voices from their prey in the studio. Exhilarated more than panicked, MJ looked her boyfriend sternly in the eyes of his mask.

“We need to make more noise, now, before they come to investigate,” she murmured.

Appearing to barely make contact with his fist, Peter forced another thump out of the door. MJ rolled her eyes, heartrate dropping.

“Not like that. They’ll just think somebody’s locked in here.”

“Like what then?”

“Like… sex-type noises,” she said, gesturing vaguely before folding her arms around his neck, fingers back to playing with his hair.

The only problem with Peter’s improvising was that he didn’t give her enough time to check him out―wearing nothing but his boxers and folded-up mask―before he did it. He just stepped close and snatched the jeans and underwear down her legs, then cupped his hand between them. MJ panted in surprise and reawakened desire. It wasn’t loud enough. They both knew it.

Necessity was supposed to be the mother of invention, but she figured the smirk on Peter’s face right before he stroked his finger inside her was necessity’s other child. MJ sighed in pleasure and paired it with a look that said, about time, nerd. Though he dug in deeper, he would only curl his finger slightly, making her hips wriggle and, consequently, bump against the door.

Shit, there were footsteps heading their way. Peter had it handled―MJ flushed retroactively at her mental double-entendre―pressing another finger into her and hooking both firmly. She let out a genuine wail.

From the other side of the door, a hysterical giggle.

MJ didn’t care what they said, just that the girls stayed in the studio―that was vital. Rather than straining to hear the specific words constructing the scandalized tone, she pulled Peter closer. Running a palm down his chest, she had him faintly trembling before she suddenly grasped his erection through his boxers. He groaned loudly enough to send a prickle down MJ’s spine. Now the listeners would know there were two people in here, instead of a lone pervert masturbating to the sight of uniformly sharpened coloured pencils. (She did enjoy being surrounded by beautiful new art supplies, just not in a way that made her want to go American Pie on them.)

Biting lightly along Peter’s jaw (so maybe she thought the lower part of his face was more special and alluring than she’d implied), MJ released her hold on him, only to sneak her hand inside his boxers and grasp him properly. He was hot and pulsing in her palm, breath muggy on the side of her face. It intensified her pleasure. She stroked him, steady and torturous, and eased down on his fingers as Peter continued his own motions.

“You’re getting me so wet, Spider-Man,” MJ breathed.

Peter tilted his head away.

“Louder,” he said.

She kissed him before taking a good look at his parted lips and the pink of his cheeks, delicate as a watercolour wash. Peter interrupted her study.

“They should hear you say it,” he prompted, glancing down to where he fingered her. “So they know you’re in here with him. Me.”

Gradually, still grinding down on his hand as he kept a fixed momentum, MJ grinned.

“Would it really be for their benefit, or yours?”

Peter looked up immediately. His gaze slid from one of her eyes to the other. Suddenly, he jabbed his fingers more insistently. MJ gasped and automatically squeezed her fist, making her boyfriend lurch closer.

“Let me see you for a minute,” she said. It stopped being a request as she pushed his mask up herself.

He raised his free hand, trailing the backs of his fingers across her cheek, then slapped his palm to the door, making it (and her heart) jump. Biting down on her lip, she tempered and tenderized her excited smile.

“Just say it,” Peter demanded, brown eyes molten.

Letting her head tip back and hit the door, MJ repeated herself at a much higher volume. That got the girls in the studio talking again.

“Better?” she asked Peter, looking him square in the eye. He shook his head.

“I didn’t like that one either.”

His thumb went to her clit and she rubbed while he held still, fingers unmoving inside her.

“Suggestions?”

MJ was trying for nonchalant. The truth was that she couldn’t manage a full sentence, not at the moment, not while a tingle like static charge was building, climbing her body from the location of Peter’s thumb. He gave her a kind, very normal, Peter sort of smile.

“Say it to me.”

Locking eyes with him, MJ rotated her wrist, caressing up and down his length. She saw his jaw clench.

“You’re getting me so wet, Spider-Man.”

Peter exhaled evenly.

“Condom?”

“Front pocket.”

First, his hand went from the door into his boxers, gently unwrapping her fingers from his dick with an expression of great sacrifice on his face. Continuing to gaze back at her, Peter pushed his boxers off and nudged them away with the side of his foot. MJ lowered her eyes to sweep his body, but when they came back up, she discovered he hadn’t quit looking at her. With another trust-inspiring smile, he knelt. Dextrous fingers retrieved the condom from her jeans. Peter kissed her hip, her inner thigh, before helping her out of her boots and clothing the rest of the way. Only her thin t-shirt stayed on, and he could probably feel her nipples through that, especially when he straightened up and lifted her by the backs of her thighs. MJ’s hand met his against her leg and she took charge of the condom, opening it and then unrolling it on him.

“Already feels good,” Peter told her. She kissed him for a lengthy minute in exchange for his honesty. And for his desire for her, currently standing rigid between them. “M,” he whispered fervently as their mouths parted.

Her inner thighs clamped to his hips as she shifted, angling herself. Ready. He was careful not to hide his grin as he tugged the mask back down over his eyes and nose. Peter’s expression became focused as he followed her guiding hand, delving into her. Already too worked up to receive him slowly, MJ used her legs to draw him all the way in, although it stopped her breath. When she inhaled, the sound in her ears was of someone surfacing from a deep dive.

“Spider-Man,” MJ said, loud, clear, hungry.

Peter thrust.

“Oh, Jesus,” she gasped, though she’d only ever found religion in paintings; angels―good and terrible―in unearthly detail, or obscured by heavenly backlighting.

Her boyfriend spoke to her like mindreading was part of his lunchbox assortment of superpowers.

“How would you paint me,” Peter asked, begging while he commanded. Another thrust, deeper. She clung to his shoulders.

“Haloed,” MJ panted.

Surging forward, he kissed her messily. She did nothing to bring order to the kiss, tongue twisting and tumbling with Peter’s, moaning lustfully into his mouth. He rocked his hips even harder when MJ clawed her fingers into his hair beneath the mask and took a good grip. She didn’t know anymore if they were noisy, couldn’t count how many times his driving thrusts tested the strength of the door. Every breath shaky, MJ rolled what felt like her entire body. She sweat―the room’s circulation was poor and the day must have been getting hotter―and Peter’s hand smoothed greedily over her hip and up to her waist, under her t-shirt.

His other hand supported her, the grip on her leg soft yet strong, and MJ was confident, throwing her hips down onto his, caught by a solid prod and the best feeling in the world. Peter bucked faster and her hand clamped to the back of his neck, the other sticky on his shoulder. Formless, desperate sounds left her mouth, giving up on the kiss, and convinced her boyfriend to reach between her legs and manipulate her clit in tight circles.

“Spide… Spi… Sp…”

MJ climaxed, yanking Peter’s torso to hers, and squeezing her eyes shut. Things were blurry, even inside her head. Holding tight to thighs that felt only distantly like her own, Peter strove through a final handful of thrusts, ending in a completion that heaved MJ’s limp body into the door one last time. They waited it out, the calming. She wanted to tell him that he was her hero for not having weak human arms, which might have been worn out by the sex and set her bare ass down on the supply room floor (ew), but she prioritized breathing. There would be other opportunities to make the nerd blush.

Peter exhaled forcefully after a little bit.

“Are you good? Do you wanna stand?” He pulled back, swiping hair away from her face. Damn ponytail had been too loose.

“Yeah.”

MJ’s feet touched the floor and she stepped around Peter. That was when her legs forgot how to be legs and she tripped over a massive roll of bubble wrap. The jolt woke her up, but it was Peter’s quick hands that caught her.

“Now I’m good,” she said, a little giddy.

“Ok.”

Peter’s hands backed off, but his arms stayed extended towards her.

“Relax.” Her voice probably wasn’t sarcastic enough to hide how sweet she thought he was being. “If I need rescuing while I put my pants on, you’ll be the first to know.”

They dressed quickly―meaning MJ did her best, skipping her socks (they went into her pocket), while Peter stood there, already in his full Spider-Man suit. Yeah, if her outfit was a single sausage casing, she’d be fast too. She assumed the condom had made it into the large trash can, alongside pencil shavings and her classmates’ scrapped ideas.

“Show off,” she mumbled.

“Hey, I don’t want to keep the bakery guy waiting. I have a lot of respect for the schedule of a man who wants to give me free bagels.”

MJ couldn’t see the smirk on his face since he’d pulled the mask down, but she could hear it.

“Yeah, yeah. Go out the window and I’ll meet you two blocks down, like we planned.”

Peter nodded and she let him hold the door for her as they stepped out into the studio. Looked like the audience had hung around. Applause would’ve been nice, MJ couldn’t lie.

“Until next time,” she told Spider-Man, ignoring the others for a moment.

He did a lame little salute that she was definitely never going to let him do again before bounding to the window and scrambling out. Maybe it was smoother than a scramble, but she was suffering from the lameness of the salute.

“How’s the painting going?” she asked The Artist in a tone of colossal disinterest once Spider-Man was out of sight.

Before the girl could answer―or maybe she couldn’t, all three of them did look pretty stunned―MJ strolled to the far end of the studio and collected her sketchbook and pencils, tucking them into her bag. The trio continued to stare at her as she leisurely returned and circled behind them to scrutinize the artwork for herself.

“Huh,” she said, and headed for the door.

One of them―Girl Two, if her memory served―managed a few words.

“Was that…?”

MJ turned back to them, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“Yeah.”

With a ridiculous feeling of power, she approached them again and pointed at the painting of so-called ‘Spider-Man.’ Her finger made a circle in the air in front of not-Peter’s crotch.

“You haven’t been generous enough here,” she critiqued. “I’d drop his name from the title, if I were you. The inaccuracy gives the whole thing away. Not that any of you will ever get the chance to see for yourselves.”

This time MJ didn’t pause on her way out, just called back, “Have a super weekend,” and let the door bang behind her.

#SpideychelleWeek2k19 #my writing #spider-man #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #spideychelle fic #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #college au #Marvel MCU #MCU fic #MCU fanfiction #MCU #fanfiction #Avengers #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #michelle jones #peter parker x michelle jones

[daddychims]

Offside Pt 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Series Masterlist!

Genre: Smut, Soccer AU, College AU

Pairings: Soccer Player! Jungkook X Sports Trainer! Reader

Word Count: 2k

Other BTS members all make a cameo as well because I’m an OT7 Trash!

You work as a sports trainer, providing basic first aid and injury management for the Hanguk University’s soccer team. Going with your mundane life of caring for the dozen of guys hurting themselves in the soccer game takes a turn when one of the guys catches your eyes. It’s not his breathtakingly good looks or his muscular athletic body usually seducing girls at the campus that catches your eyes. But the action plan in your kit, indicating he is diagnosed with Asthma is what draws your eyes time and time again to the Golden Boy of Hanguk University.

Warning: Slow burn, eventual smut, Taehyung being a freaking tease the whole time, Fuckboy!Jungkook, Asthmatic! Jungkook , mentions of episodes of Asthma, Take your Ventolin kids, Take your medications kids!

“Namjoon!” You call finally finding your friend in the middle of the crowd and quickly squeeze through the sea of bodies ”Where were you!? I was waiting for you!” You hiss with an upset tone

“I was having a quick talk with Hoseok and the boys,” He replies wrapping his arms around your shoulder and giving you a quick hug, “sorry we got a bit distracted talking about the games.”

”Did everything go alright!?” You ask remembering Jiwoo’s word about the possible conflicts that might arise between them, considering Jungkook didnt want the opponents in his house 

“yeah,  we're having a friendly game at Hanguk's Stadium this Friday. You’ll be there right!?” He asks with an excited tone

“yeah of course,” you roll your eyes “Enough with the game talk, let's go get your love life set, lovebird!”

He laughs at your teasing nickname and follows you along the crowd to where Jiwoo is standing with a couple of others, swaying to the beat.

”You’re back, I was getting worried!” Jiwoo grins while quickly handing you the red cup filled of booze

“Yeah sorry, I was trying to find my friend,” you say, before pointing at Namjoon who’s standing behind you “Have you met Namjoon before!?”

“Oh no!” Jiwoo frowns, extending her arm for him “I’m Jiwoo, I heard a lot about you!”

“Namjoon,” he replies, his dimples appearing upon his lips curving to a grin “Nice to meet you!”

”Where is Hoseok?" You ask looking around for the guy, hoping you can possibly cover up for your friend's attempt to get close to Jiwoo without her brother suspecting things.

"Not sure," She shrugs looking around for his brother "He was dancing with this girl earlier." she then gives you a knowing smile

"Oh okay," you nod returning her smile with a faint one yourself "I'll see if I can find him, I had something I wanted to discuss with him. I guess I can leave Namjoon with you huh?"

"Oh, sure!" Jiwoon nods enthusiastically "I'll return him safe and sound, dont worry!" she jokes and your best friend almost drools all over her 

"I'll be okay if you dont too," you pat his shoulder and flash him a quick wink "Have fun!"

You drift away from the two, glancing back and watching as Namjoon smoothly occupies your place beside Jiwoo and leans closer to whisper something in her ear.

"Little fucker grew up well," you mutter under your breath watching him like a proud mama when someone wraps his arms around your body and locks you with his.

"What's  Sugar doing here?"

You frown upon hearing the familiar nickname, not even surprised when you turn around to see the sight of Kim Taehyung a few centimetres away from you.

"Avoiding you, for the most part!" you snort back with an unamused tone

"Ouch that's unfortunate," he pouts leaning closer and locking his forehead on yours, the scent of his breath indicating a mixture of booze and mint hitting your nose "I was hoping you're finally upping your stalking game and decided to confess your feelings for me."

"In your dreams, Tae!" you scoff as you push against his chest, the guy stumbling back with a smirk "Have fun daydreaming!" you pat his shoulder walking pass him when you hear a familiar voice and immediately stop 

"Kim Taehyung!"

You turn around and watch as the guy walks closer to where you, or more specifically Taehyung is standing. He immediately notices you and his haughty eyes which are directed at Taehyung curve into an innocent eye smile before coming back to Taehyung again. 

"Park, What do you want?"

You glance over at Taehyung, slightly surprised by his icy tone which you've almost never heard before. Taehyung is a manwhore but he is not mean. For the two years you've known him, he was always one of the guys who was smiling like an idiot in and outside the field, trying to ease the mood for his teammates and everyone else.  This, however, is a different Taehyung that you usually know and are used to.

"I just thought we haven't had much of time to greet each other in the meeting," Jimin replies with a crooked smirk on the corner of his lips "Where's your friend? Is he hiding from me?"

You stand there, watching the guy in awe, slightly taken off guard by the charisma and intimidating aura he gives off. When you crashed onto him earlier and basically planted on top of his body to the floor, everything happened too fast to take in everything about him.

But now, standing across him, eyes stumbling down his God-like features that dangerously all go well together draws you more and more into observing him. He basically is a living example of a Michelangelo artwork and by the way he carries himself, you guess he knows it very well.

"Well he wasn't too keen to have a jerk like you in his house anyway," Taehyung snorts in response, biting the corner of his lips to suppress his anger "If It wasn't for Hoseok Hyung-"

"He could always say no," Jimin scoffs mockingly, rolling his eyes "But he's still a little pussy-"

Your eyes widen as the next thing you know is Taehyung's hand grasping Jimin's collar, pulling him against himself as he mutters the rageful words

"Watch your mouth little boy," Taehyung warns through gritted teeth "you might not have it in one piece for the games if you keep running your mouth like that."

"You all are just words," Jimin mocks holding on Taehyung's wrist and pulling himself apart "Is that Hanguk's specialty? Your friend is good at it too."

Taehyung is about to charge his fist towards him when you quickly reach and grab his wrist "Tae," you murmur leaning closer to him "I wanted to go home, Can you drop me off?"

Taehyung bores his burning gaze into the shorter guy's eyes before glancing at you, eyes quivering in hesitation.

"I was on my way home," you hear Jimin's signature high pitch voice ringing in your ear "I could drop you off." he suggests with a knowing smile, that somehow resonates the fact that he still remembers your strange first meeting. 

You part your lips to object the guy's suggestion, knowing very well that your actual intention is to just stop Taehyung from knocking him with a punch, which he also is not helping with.

"No need," Taehyung growls holding your wrist firmly "She's ours, hands off!"

"Ooh!" Jimin raises an eyebrow eyeing you before facing Taehyung "Possessive huh?"

"Have to be," Taehyung responds sternly " there are a lot of wolves sneaking around here recently." he scoffs, eyes looking Jimin up and down 

"Oh yeah, for sure!" Jimin nods chuckling at Taehyung's choice of words before bringing his gaze to you "before careful of the wolves Y/N!" he mutters with his cocky smirk before walking past the two of you

You stand there, still dazed by what happened against your eyes, wondering how the guy who you barely met about an hour ago already knows your name. Your eyes flick back at Taehyung who still holds your wrist firmly in his.

"I didnt actually mean it!" You state, pointing at your wrist with you head and he immediately releases it

"Bugger," he chuckles scratching his head "I thought that good for nothing bastard was coming to my  use, I was about to go grab some flavored condom's from Jeon's drawer just for you Sugar."

"You are disgusting!" you breath out in disblief as you turn on your heels to leave  You hear Taehyung's laughing fading behind you as you rush out of the house. 

-

It's another mundane day in the corner of Hanguk's stadium. You open the first aid kit which you're gonna carry to the field side and place the MDI Inhaler you just received from the office upstairs inside.

Taking out the action plan inside the little plastic zip lock bag you unfold the A4 page and quickly read through the document you probably skimmed through before.

[Name: Jeon Jungkook

Date of Birth: 1/09/1997

Diagnosis: Stable Asthma

Medications:

- Salbutamol (Ventaline) administered as an MDI during Asthma episodes

- Seretide (fluticasone propionate/salmeterol) administered as a DPI, twice daily to prevent and control the symptoms

See instructions below for more information]

Your eyes wander on the second line of his medications for a few seconds, wondering if they are really being used the way they should be as the page indicates.

The memories from the other night at Jungkook's house, where he was coughing and gasping for air refreshes in your mind and you have to physically shake it off your thought to get yourself out of the dark hole you're falling down to.

You quickly push the ziplock bag which now contains the new Ventaline inhaler inside your kit and lift it off the table, making your way to the field. You push the door of the clinic open when you feel someone yank you back inside before closing the door behind you and pushing your back to the door.

"J-Jeon!" you gasp with a surprised tone watching the guy's rage glazed eyes

"Who do you think you are?" he asks with venom dripping off his tone "Huh? who the fuck do you think you are?"

"What are you talking about?" You ask with a lost tone, slightly caught off guard by the sudden confrontation

"I'm talking about the little game you're trying to play," he hisses leaning closer as he squints his eyes at you "First  you started asking me about the damn medications, then you came into my room pretending like you fucking care," his clenches his jaw together, the line in his jaw protruding from the immense pressure "Now you go behind my back and tell shit about me to Dr Kim."

"I just told him what I saw-" anger starts to boil up in your head and you can no longer just stand there and wait for the guy to accuse you

"What are you trying to get out of this?" he asks with a dark smirk "Is this your way of catching my attention?" he raises an eyebrow suspiciously "If you want me to fuck you, you dont need to go around acting like a little bitch to get my attention, just say it nicely and I'll consider you."

"Jeon," you frown, heat surging up through your veins at his careless words "I dont know what got you so heated, but you need to calm down and watch your words," you explain, trying your best to keep your voice stable despite the anger and frustration attempting to waver it

"Watch my words?" He scoffs in disbelief, eyes boring in yours "That's my advice to you," his voice turns lower, getting a hint of threat in it "Get your nose out of my shoes and shut your mouth," he warns leaning closer, his lips almost meeting your ears "If you're a good a girl and keep it down, I'll give it a thought and I might fuck you in my free time!"

He then pulls away flashing an annoyed look before grabbing your arm and almost yanking you out of his way. You stay fixed on your spot as he opens the door and leaves the clinic with you behind.

-

Its been a few days since your shivering confrontation with Jungkook. You've only been to two training sessions so far and on both of them, you tried to stay away from him as much as possible.

You feel angry and frustrated that somehow your concern about the jerk's abnormal breathing has somehow been mistranslated to you being thirsty for his D.

It boils your blood that he's so full of himself that thinks every single person who's basically doing their job wants to fuck him, and that, unfortunately, includes you.

But nevertheless,  you decided its for the best to ignore the 5 years old self-centred guy who's living inside a 21 years old's body,  for a while and hopefully, he'll drop it all.

But your plans seem to be leading to a dead end since fate puts you in more and more occasions with him.

"Hey," Hoseok runs towards you, grabbing a bottle of water off your hand and mouthing a quick thanks 

"Hey," You mutter looking at the other boys who are recieving a lecture from the coach "How's it going?"

"Not too bad" he shrugs taking a big gulp of the bottle "Are you free tonight?"

"Y-Yeah!" you nod, remembering every unchecked box on your to-do list that scream for you to answer otherwise

"We're holding a small party for Jiwoo tonight," he explains with an excited tone "We haven't been able to celebrate her new job because of my game schedule, I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

"Oh of course!" You nod enthusiastically, forgetting all your deadlines immediately "Did you need help with anything? What do you want me to bring?"

"Oh," he chuckles scratching the back of his head "It's funny you ask because I was gonna ask you ..." he hesitates as he stumbles on his words "to bring Jiwoo with you!"

"What?" You frown digesting his words "I thought it's about-"

"Yeah but I was kinda planning to surprise her, So I thought if you could bring her along-" He hesitates to see your dumbfounded face so he quickly retracts his statement "Or not, I can probably think of something else! Dont worry about-"

"No," you quickly shake the surprise off "Of course I can bring her!" you say with a reassuring smile

"Oh My God, Thank you," he reaches forward, holding both your hand tightly with his sweaty hand "I really appreciate this Y/N!"

"Its alright Hoseok," you softly respond "Just tell where and when?"

"We're planning for about 7 tonight ," he says in a rushed tone "You can just text us when you're close and we'll prepare the place." He hesitates as he looks around trying to refresh his memory "The party is at Jungkook's, he has the biggest house of us all so we figured it'll work well ... "

Your face drops at the statement, all the words after that fading into a haze in your ears as you glance away from Hoseok to Jungkook who's listening attentively to the coach a few metres away from you. 

"Y/N?"

Your eyes flick back to Hoseok and you quickly regain your composure as you mutter "Yeah?"

"So Jungkook's place, at about 7 yeah?" he asks, concerned eyes fixed on you

"Yes," you nod absent-mindedly "I'll text you when we're about to get there yeah?"

"Great, Thank you!" the captain mutters the words of appreciation before running back to where the extra boys are with the coach

There is no way out of this sticky situation, you realize as your eyes trace back to Jungkook. You gulp as he suddenly glances away from the older man he's listening to you, raising an eyebrow at you as if he's questioning your eyes on him.

 His tongue darts to the corner of his cheek, smirking with an annoyed expression covering his face and you dont have to necessarily ask him to know that he's thinking how whipped you are for him, perhaps drooling all over him from the way your eyes are fixed on him. 

Taking interest in the Golden boy's breathing pattern was not the best idea after all, and you start to realize that too far down the track to undo it all.

A.N. Back with another chapter, hope you enjoyed

Please dont forget to reblog, like and comment or send asks!

Love Ya’ll

#Jeon Jungkook x you #Jeon Jungkook x reader #Jeon Jungkook x female reader #Jungkook x you #Jungkook x reader #Jungkook smut #Jungkook fic #bts fic #Offside #Soccer AU #College AU #Kim taehyung #park jimin #Jung hoseok #Kim Namjoon #Kim Seokjin

[gra-sonas]

Don’t Stay the Night

Pairing: Malex, Alex Manes/Michael Guerin

Words: 2.5K | Rating: M | On AO3

Written for a prompt from veronicabunch's prompt list:

➼ i have a strict rule where no one sleeps over but i guess i forgot to mention that because i wake up and you’re making coffee in my kitchen and why haven’t you left yet?

------

I borrowed 2 lines from Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. There's also a spatula in this fic. I hope @signoraviolettavalery enjoys those things in particular.

Eternal gratitude to the wonderful @insidious-intent for betaing, any remaining mistakes are mine.

~ • ~

Alex had had every intention to tell the man (Michael, he’d said his name was Michael when they’d barely made it inside of Alex’s flat before they'd started making out) that he couldn’t stay the night, but somewhere between Michael going down on his knees and swallowing Alex’s cock to the hilt, and Alex fucking Michael with reckless abandon, he must’ve forgotten to mention it. And now it’s 4 am and Alex is wide awake with Michael softly breathing (snoring) into his neck, his arms and legs wrapped around Alex from behind like a cuddly octopus.

Alex waits. Waits for his anxiety to kick in, for his body to go rigid in the warm embrace, waits for his ears to strain and listen for heavy footsteps in the corridor outside of his apartment. Instead, there's nothing. He feels amazing actually. His breathing is and remains even, his body and limbs are relaxed, his mind is at ease, he feels deliciously warm, and apart from Michael breathing and rustling the sheets ever so slightly when he moves in his sleep, Alex doesn’t hear anything, which puzzles him.

The only two nights he’s ever dared to spend with someone else in his bed, have both ended in disaster. The first disaster had been courtesy of his father, who’d kicked the quarterback (from a visiting high school) he’d snuck into his room to the curb in the middle of the night. He’d then made Alex enlist as a punishment the following morning. Alex had been seventeen at the time.

The second disaster had been courtesy of one of his nightmares a few years ago. He doesn’t even remember the guy’s name, only that he’d looked exceptionally uncomfortable (almost scared) when Alex’s screams and flailing had woken him up. He’d left in a hurry and Alex had never seen him again. Since then, and especially since the loss of his leg, his rule for hook-ups had been: don't stay the night.

So, the fact that he’s lying here in his own bed, peacefully, in the arms of a stranger in the early hours of the day, is difficult for Alex to process.

They’d met at the Wild Pony the night before. Alex had been there to meet with a group of friends when he’d spotted Michael at the bar. He’d looked gorgeous. A halo of honey golden curls framing a face Michelangelo would have desired to immortalize in marble, a lean yet muscular body clad in all denim, worn jeans low on slim hips, a shiny belt buckle directing Alex’s gaze to another promising area of the man’s body (if the decent bulge below the belt was anything to go by).

Michael had been talking to a leggy blonde amazon sitting on a barstool. She’d kept touching his arm and even grabbed for a strand of his curls to tuck behind one of his ears. In that moment, Alex had known he didn’t stand a chance with the guy, of course he was straight and had a model for a girlfriend.

Before he’d decided to turn around and look for his friends, Alex had allowed himself one last look at the Greek god, when suddenly Michael had looked up and stared right at Alex. They’d locked gazes and Alex had felt like time came to a halt suddenly. The music had faded into the background, the strobing lights from the small dance floor in the corner had dimmed down, and all Alex had been able to do was to stare at Michael for what felt like half an eternity. Then the blonde woman had poked Michael in the ribs with a perfectly manicured finger to get his attention.

When Michael had gestured at Alex to stay put, Alex had held onto a nearby barstool to steady himself, while Michael had bent down close to the woman’s ear to say something to her over the sound of the music.

She’d turned around and had followed Michael’s line of sight until she’d spotted Alex. She’d winked at him, her smile laced with something he interpreted as approval and encouragement. Alex had found that rather odd, what kind of arrangement did she and her boyfriend have? She’d slapped Michael on the back before she’d turned back around to the bar where a drink had been placed in front of her.

Michael’d had the swagger of a cowboy when he’d walked over to where Alex stood. He’d invaded Alex’s personal space with confidence, his curls had tickled the side of Alex’s face when he’d bent forward and whispered into Alex’s ear.

“Hey darlin’, haven’t seen you in here before.”

The drawled endearment should’ve annoyed him, but Alex had flirted back.

“I’ve been here before, cowboy, but you were probably just too busy making out with your girlfriend to notice.”

“She’s my sister, not my girlfriend.”

Oh, his sister. That would explain the intimate body language between the two.

“So, how about you save a horse and ride a cowboy, Private?”

Alex had tilted his head back to look at the man with a raised eyebrow, silently communicating his faux annoyance at the atrocious pick-up line. He’d wondered how the man knew he was military, but then he’d remembered he was wearing an Air Force t-shirt and his dog tags underneath his open black leather jacket.

“Airman, actually. Does the macho cowboy swagger shtick ever get you laid?”

Michael had winked at Alex, and as if he was laying down a challenge, he’d asked:

“You wanna find out, darlin’?”

Alex had indeed wanted to find out, or more precisely, his dick had wanted to. Alex had texted his friends, had called an Uber and half an hour later they’d stumbled through the door of Alex’s apartment, lips locked in a searing kiss and hands groping, trying to get off too many layers of fabric as fast as possible.

The sex had been epic. Like two pieces meant to be together, their bodies had seemingly known exactly what the other wanted and needed, and when.

Alex hadn’t even had time to consider a mental breakdown when Michael had pulled Alex’s jeans down in one smooth move and revealed the prosthetic. Michael hadn’t flinched at the sight, he’d just looked up at Alex with heavy lidded, kind eyes.

“Is it okay if I help you take it off, or would you rather do it yourself?”

Alex had been too far gone in his need to get Michael’s mouth back on his dick, he'd just waved at Michael in a helpless gesture. Michael had taken a quick look at the leg, then he’d removed it with sure hands and had placed it on the floor beside the bed very carefully. He’d even removed the sock covering the stump of Alex’s right leg, then bent down and tenderly kissed Alex’s knee just above the stump. Alex’s heart had almost stopped at the intimacy of it. Michael had continued to leave a trail of kisses and teasing bites all the way up Alex’s inner thighs until his mouth had been back on Alex’s cock.

Alex knows it’s ridiculous and utterly pathetic, but it had been during those few precious moments that he’d felt like he was falling head over heels in love with Michael. That’s nonsense, of course, he’s not the type to fall in love with someone he’s only known for a couple of hours. He’s not the type to fall in love with anyone for that matter.

And yet he can’t help but notice the flutter of his heart when he thinks back to that moment. Suddenly, tears prick at his eyes. He hates how his brain is always so eager to turn a wonderful thing into something that will no doubt make him feel miserable, but before he has a chance to start a mental downward spiral, he hears Michael’s hoarse whisper from behind.

“Stop thinking, Private. It’s way too early for that. Close your eyes and sleep.”

Alex turns half around in Michael’s embrace and his lips meet Michael’s in a soft kiss.

“Okay.”

He feels Michael settle behind him, his arms still a warm and reassuring cage around Alex’s torso. Alex gives in and with the feeling of Michael’s soft lips pressed to the nape of his neck, he drifts off to sleep.

-----

When he wakes up what must be hours later, it’s light outside and the alarm on his bedside table tells him it’s past 7am. He can’t even remember the last time he’s been able to sleep past 6. He stretches carefully and notices with a certain delight, how pleasantly sore he feels. A smile tugs at his lips when he thinks about the "exercise” that makes him feel like he overdid it at the gym yesterday. Only, it’s so much better!

That’s the moment when Alex’s brain finally kicks in and he becomes painfully aware that he’s alone in his bed. He looks around his bedroom. The clothes Michael had pulled off of him in his rush to get Alex naked, have been folded neatly and placed on a chair by the window. Michael’s all denim outfit is nowhere to be seen, though.

Alex closes his eyes for a second to tamp down the disappointment. Michael’s gone. They had fun last night, sure, and the sex had been amazing. Best he’s had in years, if not the best he’s ever had. He’d felt a deep connection with Michael, almost like they’d known each other for years.

What if Michael’s left his number somewhere? Alex turns and searches his night stand for a note, but he only sees his phone. For a wild moment Alex wonders if maybe Michael had unlocked it with his fingerprint while he was asleep and added himself as a contact, but when he checks his phone, there’s nothing. Maybe Michael left a note outside of his bedroom? It’s not like he has pen and paper stored by his bedside.

Alex doesn’t really want to get up, but he’s curious. He fumbles under the pillow and pulls out a pair of pyjama pants he puts on. He doesn’t bother with the prosthetic, instead he grabs a pair of crutches leaning against the wall near his bed and pulls himself into an upright position. He stretches again. He feels so good, and yet he’s anxious that his brain will come up with a million reasons to feel shit about himself, and last night.

Before he can dwell on any more negative thoughts, he walks over to the door of his bedroom and opens it. He’s surprised to hear music playing in the kitchen at the other end of the flat. Maybe Michael turned it on while he got dressed and forgot to turn it off? Then Alex hears someone sing. Slightly off-key, but that’s definitely a man’s voice, belting out the lyrics to Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings.

When Alex enters his kitchen, Michael stands at the stove and stirs something in a pan. The man is a sight to behold. He's only wearing a pair of almost see-through white boxers and Alex’s mouth waters when Michael’s buttocks seem to clench to the rhythm of the song underneath the fabric. Alex remembers all too vividly how amazing it felt to drive into the tight heat between those cheeks. He blushes and coughs, and almost drops a crutch in his haste to cover his mouth with his hand.

When Michael hears Alex behind him, he turns around mid-chorus. He keeps singing.

“I’d marry you with paper rings.”

Alex can’t help himself, he laughs.

“Are you proposing?”

Michael holds the spatula like a microphone and sings at Alex, fluttering his lashes.

“Darlin’, you’re the one that I want.”

Then he drops the spatula on the counter, walks up to Alex and pulls him into a tight embrace. Their lips meet and for a while they’re very busy kissing each other  thoroughly, morning breath be damned.

When Alex feels like he’s about to keel over, Michael pulls up a chair for him and places the crutches right beside it on the floor. Alex takes a seat while Michael turns down the volume of the music. Alex is still slightly shell-shocked and he looks at Michael with wide eyes.

“You... stayed.”

His voice is a bit wobbly, he’d been prepared for the disappointment of finding his flat void of any hint that Michael’d been here, instead Michael's still here, almost naked in his kitchen, making breakfast and proposing marriage to Alex. Well, sort of.

“Of course I stayed, darlin’. Would you rather I’d be gone by now? I can still leave if you want?”

Michael sounds insecure, and Alex can’t have that.

“God, no. I’m honestly so relieved you’re still here. You know, normally, I have a strict rule where no one sleeps over but I guess I forgot to mention that because I wake up and you’re making coffee in my kitchen, and I’ve just been wondering why you haven’t left yet?”

“I wanted to eat breakfast with you. And if you’re free today, I wanted to ask you out on a date?”

Alex is baffled.

“You’re asking me out on a date? But why?”

“Because I like you, Private. And while we are unbelievably compatible in bed, I’d like to do something other than finding new ways to make you come. Not that I don't want to continue doing that, don't get me wrong, I very much want to. Just. Call me old-fashioned, but I think it would be great to see whether our compatibility also applies to other aspects of spending time with each other, if that’s ok?”

The alarm on Michael’s phone startles Alex and spares him an answer. Michael twirls around to the stove and turns it off. Then he fills two plates with something steaming hot that looks like some kind of stew and smells utterly delicious. Alex’s stomach growls. Michael carries the plates over to the table where a thermos with coffee, two mugs, and cutlery are placed already.

“You don’t have milk and I didn’t feel like making pancakes with the creamer in your fridge, so I’ve made shakshuka instead. Hope you like it?”

“I love shakshuka. And coffee.”

Alex bites his tongue, because he wants to add “and you”.

“Next time I’ll make sure I have milk for pancakes, though, pancakes are my favorites.”

Michael places the pan in the sink, then he walks over to where Alex still sits on a chair in the middle of his kitchen. Michael goes down on his knees in front of Alex (and doesn’t that  stir another deep desire in Alex) and pulls him in for a long and thorough kiss. When he pulls back just a fraction of an inch, he mumbles against Alex’s lips:

“Next time. I love the sound of that.”

#malex #malex fic #rnm fic #alex manes #michael guerin #roswell new mexico #my fic

[qythxn]

Sick of routine (Donatello x Reader)

Word count: 2341

Fandom: TMNT (2014/16)

Warnings : Mild cursing 

Today was like any other. Work was done, and you were on your way home. It was a dark, autumn evening. It was around seven-ish, and the sky was lined in purples and blacks. Walking through the crowded city streets of New York City, you found yourself in a trance of routine. Everything was normal, and every day was the same. You just wanted something new, was that too much too much to ask for? Maybe some news would come, and something different would come around. A girl could only hope, right?

And yet, there was something else in store for our sweet, sweet Y/N.

Donatello and his brothers had been off on their nightly shenanigans. Patrolling the city, hopping from rooftop to rooftop, and looking over these dear citizens they’d come to love. It was kind of sad how every single night they were off saving the world and its people, and they got no respect. They got no love at all. Was it so hard to ask for a thank you every once and a while? But Splinter had told them time and time again that it wasn’t about the thank you; it was about getting the mission done.

You were still walking, taking a small back street that lead straight to the building you stayed in. You were invested in your phone, looking down and reading some article about the vigilantes of your home city. You sighed. That was all that was ever on the news these days. You looked up from your phone, and found yourself accidentally bumping into a big, brawly man. Tattoos scattered his leathery, sweaty, scarred skin. His eyes were red around the edges, and the whites were yellow. Deep circles lined his disgusting face, looking as if he’d either been beaten up or had not slept in some time. Either way, you wanted nothing to do with this guy. He scared the fuck out of you!

“I—I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You said, letting out a nervous chuckle. He grinned, revealing disgusting yellowed teeth. It made you shudder. He grunted at you, though saying no actual words. You nodded as if he had actually uttered something, and began to walk around him, but you found that instead, he slithered his muscular arms around your waist. “That was very rude of you to just bump into me and think you could just walk off, hm?” He grunted, pushing your hair behind your ear. You could feel his nasty breath, smelling of alcohol and weed up close. “Please get off of me…” You whimpered, strangling to move away. “I don’t think so~” He cooed, and made a pass at you, grabbing your hips. It made you yell out. “Get off of me, creep!” You wriggled out of his grip after stomping on his foot. He slammed you into a wall, caging you in his arms, making you cringe away. “You dirty sl-“

“Hey asshole! Over here!” A voice came calling from behind him.

Four huge- maybe 7 feet tall -figures jumped down from behind him, letting off a loud thump. You could only see their shadows, but the disgusting man was dragged off into the darkness, leaving you petrified in fear against the wall still. You just stood there as the four continued to pummel the gross culprit, hearing agonistic screams and a loud “What the hell ae you?!” Before he was knocked out of his misery.

And you were standing there like an idiot, unable to comprehend all of this. “Go on lady, you can go home now.” A gruff, deep voice said. You were knocked out of your trance. Was this the change you were looking for? “Th-Thank you…” You said, still dazed and confused. “No problem, now go home, lady!” He said again. “But- I want to see my heroes?” You said, curious now why they stayed in the shadows. “No, no, no. Promise me, you don’t want to!” A rather nervous voice now spoke up. “But—I want to say thank you to your faces. I promise I won’t judge!” You explained, now stepping closer.

Out of reflex, Donnie held his hand up to stop the lady from coming any closer. He hated people getting too close, seeing as he always had to keep Mikey away from his stuff. He stared at her. She looked completely normal, like any other human. But there was just something about her. But he was quickly knocked out of it when Mikey spoke up. “Not to burst your bubble, dude, but your hand isn’t exactly in the shadows.”

You, on the other hand, had begun to get close enough to see what exactly these people were trying to hide. A hand came thrusting out at you, and you instantly screamed. The hand was big, green, and absolutely hideous! What the hell were these people?! You stepped back, but they stepped forward. “Nice going Don!” The red masked creature yelled. You looked away. All you saw were their colors and faces. Red, blue, orange, and purple. They were disgusting and huge and…green?! Covered in spots, and leathery skin like a dinosaur. That was all you caught. You didn’t want to look at them anymore. You didn’t want to face your fears. You were going to have nightmares tonight about these freaks. You had asked to see them in the first place, after all. You were afraid, scared to tears. That’s right. Tears streamed down your cheeks now, burning hot as they hit your cold, cold skin. “Get away from me freaks!” You yelled, stepping back and not daring to look forward. “Hey, you asked for it, lady!” The deep, gruff voice yelled back. You couldn’t take this any longer, now, and began to run home, as fast as you could, hoping those dinosaur people wouldn’t follow after you.

Donnie felt really bad. He had his eyes on you the whole time. This reminded him of the reason why they never got thank you’s. This reminded him of who he really was, and why they had to stay in the shadows. He watched you cry, watched you as you screamed for him to get away. It hurt him, really bad. He wanted so badly to change how he looked. He wanted to apologize to you and make you feel better. He turned away as you screamed and ran home. He couldn’t bare to watch any longer.

Now, you were in bed. You couldn’t sleep, and kept tossing and turning. You didn’t want to think of those hideous freaks. But you couldn’t get them out of your head. Sure, they saved you from that guy, but… they hurt him. And they could hurt you that same way if they wanted. You finally fell asleep, your eyes fluttering closed, and your tossing stopped. You were having a nightmare about the dinosaur people, just as you had predicted. Chasing you, thumping the ground with every step and…

Donnie had made his mind up after hours in the lab. He was going to go apologize to that woman, or leave her a note if she was asleep. He hadn’t talked to his brothers, which was a terrible idea. But he just felt so guilty…

The huge green people were throwing things at you now, screaming, catching up just as you were beginning to lose your breath. You felt so weak, and they were gaining on you…

Donnie stepped up to your building that he had watched you go in, and took a few peeks in a few windows before finding you. Your bed was pushed up against the window, so he could get a good look at your peaceful, sleeping face through the opened blinds.

Now, you fell, flailing your arms. You screamed in agony as your body was crushed under their weight, laughing, screaming, laughing….

Donnie tapped on the window, and watched as your eyes fluttered open.

Oh god, one of them was here.

He tried to smile, waving at you lightly.

You gasped, jumping up and falling off of your bed. You’d gotten a pretty good look at whatever the hell this guy was. He was probably coming to hurt you or something, or kill you for seeing him.

Donnie frowned, watching you fanatically hide. So, his plan wasn’t working very well. He tapped at the window once more, and found that it was open. He slid the note under, allowing it to flutter down and fall onto your bed.

“I’m not going to hurt you…” He whispered in a gentle, sweet voice.

You shuddered at the words, and closed your eyes, staying down for ten more minutes until you were sure he was gone. He’d left a note?

‘I’m sorry. Me and my brothers didn’t mean to scare you. Our appearance is not our fault, and we’d like to request that you don’t tell anybody about us, for the sake of this very reason. Again, we’re very sorry.’

 And two nights later, he came to visit you again. This time, you didn’t look away. In fact, you didn’t know what to do. You just stared at him, and you could see that you were making him extremely nervous.

For two nights, you were all Donatello could think about. He felt really bad for scaring you, and he just wanted to make sure that you were okay. He wanted to make it up to you. He decided to visit you again and try to apologize in person. But, it only got worse. Your eyes were on him the whole time and it was making him uncomfortable as he stood there in front of your window, the blinds drawn. You were staring at him, as he attempted to apologize, but instead he was a stuttering mess.

“I know I’m not human, and I know that’s really scary. I just… w-wanted to s-say sorry again for s-scaring you. I---- I have to go.”

And with that, the dinosaur man- who you now realized was a turtle, was gone. “Wait, purple!” You yelled after him, but he didn’t look back.

 Now, two weeks after the attack, you had gotten to actually having a conversation. You learned who he and his brothers were. You learned what he did, and learned his name. Donatello. And you couldn’t get the name out of your head.

A whole month after the attack, you had befriended his brothers. Michelangelo, Raphael, and Leonardo. They were very disapproving of their purple clad brother visiting you and talking to you behind their backs, but they all seemed lonely, and at that, happier with a new human friend. And to be honest, you were happy too.

 And now, to today. Seven months since your attack. Since the day you screamed. Since the day that you’d found your turtle. Donatello was now your best friend. You hung out almost every other day, and talked for hours on end through text. You and his brothers were friends too, but not as close as you and Don. He had been the one to befriend you. He had been the one to apologize. He had been the one to come out and tell you it was a mistake. And you were thankful. You still felt bad for screaming, and hurting his feelings, as you had learned. But out of it, you earned a new friend. And…. A crush. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were absolutely infatuated with the purple masked turtle. He was smart, and funny, and honestly pretty good looking compared to the human dumbasses on the surface. He cared about you, and that’s what mattered. But after screaming and calling him a freak for the first time you met him, you didn’t feel confident that he liked you back, or at least in the way that you did.

But thankfully, you didn’t have to.

You were together now, you watching him doing something on his computer. He was so invested in whatever he was doing, you just wanted to catch his attention. You stared forward, and stuck your tongue out. He didn’t budge.

“Psst!” Nothing.

You tapped him, and there was no response.

Making sure there was nothing on the counter, you leaned over and laid on your back, staring up at him. “Hehe, I can see up your nose.” You booped him, pushing his glasses up.

“Stop being so cute, Y/N. I’m doing work.” He responded, though you got a small smile out of him.

“You stop being cute and doing work, then.” You chuckled, and stole his glasses.

“Hey, give those ba--- Wait a second, what? You think I’m cute?” If turtles could blush now, his face would have been steaming red. You could see as his eyes softened and his hands shook, that you finally got him.

“Hehe, yeah. Now, tell me how many fingers I’m holding up.” You said, holding up three fingers.

Donatello didn’t respond, and instead the shaking continued. He was getting a little sweaty, and was looking away. He had the smallest smile on his face, and it was honestly the cutest thing to you.

“Three, dummy!” You laughed, and leaned up, pushing his glasses on his face.

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered under his breath, trying his best not to look at you. Anywhere but you. Your hair splayed out about you and your beautiful face- he just couldn’t take it.

“Hm? What was that?” You were going to say something else, but then you were shut up.

Donatello leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for a good six seconds, giving you both time to think about what he’d just done.

“I’m sorry… I just k-kinda uh-“ He was sweating again, and was extremely flustered. You thought it was adorable! You just shook your head. “I love you too.” You said softly, making him smile. That was possibly the happiest you’d ever seen him. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“D-Does this mean…?” he whispered.

“Yes, of course.” You shut him up with another kiss.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #fanfiction #donatello #donnie #tmnt donnie #tmnt imagines #tmnt x reader #donnie imagines #tmnt donatello #teenage mutant ninja turtles donatello #donnie x reader #donatello x reader #tmnt oneshots #tmnt fanfiction #imagine #imagines #tmnt imagine