farfallenewtz

[farfallenewtz]

Mtl doodles

[farfallenewtz]

*insert hilarious relatable sentence that no one asked for, But needed*

[farfallenewtz]

PSA: never discuss private affairs in your DMs, especially contraception and abortion. Social media moguls will absolutely sell you out to the government. There are already cases of people being charged based on evidence in their DMs.

[farfallenewtz]

Metal Caretaker

Chapter 2

!Warnings!

ADULT LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, IMPLIED NSFW

Minors DNI

18+

Chapter 1

_______________________________________

"Excush me?!"

"Ohs wowies! She's is so prettys!"

"Uhs, why's dos we needes a babies watchers?"

"Dood, the fucks do you tinks we aare?"

"That is so not metal"

All of the band members loudly voiced their displeasure to Charles. He stood still, not at all surprised by their reaction to the new installation to the team.

"Guys, uh, calm down. Miss L/N here came a long way to work with you all"

"Bull fuckingch shlit, I don't care how hotlch she is. I'm ah grown asslch man"

"Yeah's yous thinks you cans justs puts a really hots sluts in fronts ofs us and wes won'ts noticies?"

Here I was standing right in front of the most nefarious death metal band in the world. They all stared at me like I was some cockroach...well except Toki.

He was holding a brown teddy bear, and staring at me with curiosity and..almost admiration. He reminded me almost like a child, the same bright big eyes and slight blush to face.

"I's thinks she seems reallys nice. She doesn'ts looks like a sluts ats all!"

"Thank you, Mr. Wartooth, it's a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to working with you"

All but Toki and Charles looked at me, flabbergasted I spoke to them at all. Nathan had his arms crossed, going between glaring at both me and Charles. Skwisgaar was looking at me. What some would think is sizing a person up. But knowing Skwisgaar was him checking me out, the familiar tabloid flirtatious glint in his eye. Pickle didn't seem to immediately hate me, but he seemed generally upset at the fact that he had a caregiver to begin with.

"Dood, Charles, this ain't fair why do yo have to randomly do this outta no whare?"

Nathan chimed in,

"Yeah, Charles what makes you think we even need a...a babysitter? That's so....so... NOT DOABLE."

Charles flinched slightly but stood strong. Him and Nathan initiated a strong staring contest, seemingly baiting each other mentally to see who would win their internal battle against one another.

"Nathanch right csharles. Thisch ich really gay"

William stood next to Pickles, who had started to nod off, seemingly drunk and probably high.

It was then I looked around the room for the first time since I had entered it.

The room was massive with large couches in the center, with stains of..God knows what coating them. Many large televisions hanging from the ceiling, massive meat hooks stabbing through the screens, holding them in place. A miracle, they still seemed to work.

Old arcade games lined the walls, brightly flashing colors and loading screens playing light retro gaming music.

Torn, dusty, stained cloth draped on the ceiling with large rusted chandeliers covered in a light layer of dust. Old beer bottles and cans were littering the floor and shoved under all the pieces of furniture, tables covered in all the liquor and drugs one could.....no SHOULD possibly have.

This band seemed to have a running theme of medieval, gothic taste in decor. One would think they delved a little too deep into the so called ideal death metal aesthetic. Occasional old weapons scattered across the room and walls. You couldn't help but admire them briefly.

Charles cleared his throat to speak, I wasn't sure who won him and Nathan's little war. But Nathan was looking away seemingly in defeat.

"Guys..uh. You haven't written a single song in almost a year, and you're constantly fighting. Things around here, uh, have for better words, have gone to shit.

You all need help. Miss L/N here is going to be that help"

I stepped forward and smiled warmly,

"Yes, thank you, Charles. I am here to help you all with what happened last year. Now I know that I'm new, but I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to help you guys get back on track."

Toki hopped over to me,

"Yous ares reallys prettys Missehs L/Ns! Does Yous wants to drawses withs me?"

I smiled and opened my mouth to reply, but Charles beat me to it.

"Toki, uh, Miss L/N has some work to do before she can start her work with you all."

Toki's smile wavered slightly, but he stayed silent,

"Miss L/N will start her work with you all within the next couple of days. She will be stationed in the main wing with you guys in the case of you requiring her assistance.

I will schedule a meeting with you guys tomorrow to go over the rules for this change ...I, uh, know this will be hard for you all, but uh, change needs to happen.

Charles sighed softly, seemingly tired from everything. The band stayed silent, thinking about what Charles said,

"Tchk, whatevertsh"

Murderface walked out, Pickles following behind. Toki sat on the couch, distracted by his coloring pages, having exited out of the conversation in whole. Nathan was brooding silently but chose to stay in the room. Skwisgaar was sitting next to Toki strumming on his Gibson Guitar.

"Miss L/N, allow me to show you to your room"

I nodded, somewhat taken aback by the mood shift in the room.

This wasn't going to be easy.

What did I agree too.

_______________________________________

Tell me who this should be about. Originally, it was going to be an X Toki, but I decided that wasn't going to fall into what I wanted the story to be like.

-Newt

[farfallenewtz]

Metal Caretaker

Chapter 1

Summary:

Reader is hired by Charles as the caretaker of the boys after the apocalypse.

!WARNINGS!

ADULT LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, IMPLIED NSFW

Minors DNI

18+

Chapter Two

_______________________________________

Charles knew that the band still dreamt of the apocalypse. He knew they were still dealing with the outcome of it, the loss and pain.

Many nights, William woke up screaming, remembering Dick and his final moments. His sacrifice for what he believed in. The band felt guilt... surprisingly. He knew they tried to hide it behind their usual persona's, playing the entire event off as a minor inconvenience to them. But Charles knew. He wished he could be there for them and support them in the way they needed. But he couldn't. They knew it. He knew it.

Anyone involved with Dethklok was emotionally stunted, and anyone who wasn't would be shunned by the band for being "gay" or "not metal." But Charles knew something had to be done. And it had to happen fast.

The band..... Nathan with his anger issues....Pickles with his addiction. Skwisgaar with his bottling, and William with his deflecting.

Toki....God Toki was probably the one who was hit the hardest. After he had been captured... tortured..... he changed. He started acting as a child, lost in a world he wasn't familiar with. He got hurt the worst when he found out the band played his disappearance out as unimportant, they never spoke of him....tried to forget his missing presence. Played the whole thing off while they went and partied around the world, doing anything and everything to forget Toki even existed.

Toki tried to understand. He probably would have hidden from the pain, too, if it had been one of his band mates. But it still hurt. He would watch on repeat videos of concerts with the fans yelling out Toki's name, demanding him come back. All while his bandmates ignored and deflected the situation.

Charles knew it was time to get the boys' help. They needed something or someone. Time was ticking, and emotions were starting to bubble over. He couldn't do his normal methods and force them to speak to a therapist, especially with what happened to Twinkletits. He had to take another approach.

Something they couldn't refuse or run from.

*Y/N POV*

I sighed, reading the file Charles provided to me. This was a big job. Larger than any other job I had done in the past.

Normally, I was working with children, and I excelled in providing care for children who just lost themselves in the system....to the world. This was nothing like what I was used to. Five grown men were going to be tough, especially five grown men who happened to be the Dethklok band.

Standing I walked to the door and opened to reveal Charles. He had allowed me to view the files before I had to meet the band. He rushed what normally would have been a couple week long process, but I guess if you are the manager to the most famous death metal band in the world, you can pay for just about anything to happen instantly.

Charles stood, walking to me before entering the door.

'I, uh, presume these files provided all the information needed for you Miss L/N?"

Charles stood stiffly examining my features waiting for me to reject this job and run as far as I could.

"Yes, Mr. Offendsen. These files were wonderfully put together. I assume now it is time for me to meet the band?"

Charles blinked in surprise but quickly straightened out. He nodded and straightened his posture before extending a hand.

"Of course, uh, please follow me."

We walked out of the large conference room. The large corridors with hundreds of rooms decorated with torches, creating a dark ambiance. The shadows flickering and the Klokateers tumbling around as they slave away for the band.

"You will, uh, receive a room in the main wing of Mordhaus. The same wing as the band members. You read the expectations of this job, so you will, uh, understand your placement"

I nodded,

"Yes, Sir. I understand "

He curtly nodded, and we continued on. Small talk did not seem to be of interest to Charles. He presented with a stiff, uncomfortable vibe. He appeared to be an emotionally cut-off man, too occupied with work and the band to be bothered with anything but.

We approached large doors, yelling heard from beyond them.

Charles sighed,

"My, uh, apologies for them, Miss L/N"

Klokateer's stationed outside the doors, grabbed the large handles, and pulled the large (and most likely extremely heavy) doors. Charles stepped in first, straightened his suit jacket, and calmly approached the band.

They went silent, looking at me with curiosity.

"Boys. This is Miss L/N. She will be your new caretaker"

Oh boy

All hell broke loose

_______________________________________

Thanks for reading. Give me input. May or may not continue. Depends if anyone likes this enough.

-Newt

[farfallenewtz]

Forever incomplete

[farfallenewtz]

Please please PLEASE, ADD ME TO THE TAG LIST😭🧡👉👈

The Kitchen Window (pt. 5)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (vannie's been missing for weeks. when her savior returns her in a broken state, it's your turn to do the rescuing)

warnings - angst, violence, themes of animal abuse, slight nsfw

word count - 3.9k

READ PREVIOUS PARTS HERE - one - two - three - four

It's hard to come to terms with the way you feel about Raphael. When he's not around you physically, he's taking up your every waking thought. It's just so abnormal, the way your paths had crossed and led you to a point where every little thing you do, is in thought of him. To a point where you lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of him, and the nights you get to see him, you come up with almost every excuse to have him stay at your window just a little longer.

Why was this so, so difficult? It was a complicated thing, the situation at hand. It should feel freeing, and light. But with the circumstances of you being a human and Raph being, well… Raph, it's stressing you out. Not even the fear of rejection, but what might happen if he’s reciprocating the same feelings. Where do you even go from there?

Raph’s hard to read. You can see the emotions always conflicting on his face, but what he’s thinking is a whole other deal. Even though he’s friendly, he’s closed off. Talking about things that are bothering him just isn’t something he does.

On top of this dilemma comes another issue that’s been eating at your insides.

Vannie’s missing.

The first day, you think nothing of it.

It’s been a long day at work, and she doesn’t come to greet you at the sound of an opening door or the shake of her food bowl. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere, under the couch or your dresser. But you’re surprised to see she hasn’t curled up in your bed with you when you wake up the next morning. Vannie always does that. Something could’ve spooked her, but was it so bad that she would hide in fear all night? You can’t find the time to look for her rushing out the door to open up shop.

After another day, is when you really get concerned. You practically flip the apartment inside out searching for your cat, opening cabinets, upturning the little furniture you own. All the while calling her name and shaking one of her favorite toys to coax her out. She doesn’t come. This was really, really bad. Had you left the window open? Did she slip out of the door when you were leaving for work one morning?

After you’ve given up on looking through your home, you turn to the few neighbors you have, knocking on their doors. All of them pitifully shake their heads and tell you they haven’t seen her. Most of them didn’t even know you owned an animal.

It’s an empty, hopeless feeling that’s breaking your heart. She was the only thing you had to come to after a tireless day of work. Every day has dragged on meaninglessly. You’re slow to close the cafe each night, knowing Vannie won’t be perched on her cat tree in the corner of your living room while she waits for you to step inside.

When you go to hang a “missing pet” poster, it looks so insignificant in the sea of all the other pictures of lost dogs and cats that are plastered onto the light post. You spend each day tirelessly waiting at the kitchen window for your baby to come home.

One night, Mikey swings by. His usual friendly and excited smile wipes clean off his face when he sees your tired eyes, puffy and red from crying through the glass. You open it, wiping at the snot dripping from your nose.

“Woah, angel.” He’s leaning down and looking toward you with caution, “What’s wrong?”

“V-Vannie,” you have to swallow the frog in your throat to keep from sobbing all over again, “Vannie’s missing. I can’t find her anywhere.”

Empathy is swimming in his eyes.

“Aw dude,” Mikey grabs your hand from the window and gives it a comforting squeeze, “I’m sorry. Didya’ put up posters and stuff?”

You nod, and squeeze back, with a sniffle.

“Hung them up everywhere. She’s been gone for over a week. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll tell the bros if you want. We’ll look for her on patrol.”

You sigh, and give him a watery, weak smile.

“Thank you Mike. You’re the best.”

He winks.

“Anytime sweet cheeks,” he looks down at his phone, “I gotta get going, but don’t worry, We’ll find your kitty!”

Mikey blows you a kiss and scales your fire escape.

That night, it’s just a little bit easier trying to find rest. Bless those boys, always looking out for you. The next morning you receive a text from another unsaved number. You know it’s Raph.

[sorry to hear about van]

[i’ll find her for you]

You smile at your phone.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A few more days slug along, before you see one of the brothers again.

It’s a night you’re supposed to be sleeping, with work the next morning. Instead, you’re laying on the couch, phone being the only light in the dark living room, and scrolling through the hundreds of pictures of your sweet kitty, through tear clouded eyes. A video of her playing with a hair tie in your empty bathtub pulls a sad little whimper from you. You miss Vannie so badly. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve seen her, and it worries you what she’s been doing, if she’s hurt, or an unthinkable other outcome that you immediately shove out of your head and lock the door on anytime it crossed your mind. Life’s been full of interruptions lately. This next one shouldn’t be a shocker, but it is anyway.

Tick.

You almost miss the noise. A few seconds later, it comes again.

Tick-ting.

You turn to look at the window. Another small rock clicks against the glass and bounces off onto the fire escape, and it calls you to get up and investigate. By the time you get there, another pebble flies at you, and it makes you flinch. It comes down below from the dark alleyway. You open the window.

“Hello?”

Mrowr.

Your heart drops.

“Vannie?”

You see the huge figure of one of the turtles stepping forward, and in their outstretched hand, is your cat. Her grey fur is soaked with the rain that’s starting to trickle outside, one ear laid back in fear and confusion.

“Oh my god. Raph, you found her!” Like a fumbling idiot, you scramble over the sink and push yourself all the way out of the opening, feet landing lightly on the metal platform. The summer rain immediately hits your hair and skin. Raphael doesn’t move. Something feels off.

The way he holds her out into the light, keeping the rest of his body in the shadows. His labored breaths can barely be heard over water tinking off every surface it can reach.

“Raph? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Raph, come here.”

You watch him. He doesn’t want to, you can tell. The way he pauses and then staggers forward on a limp foot makes your eyes widen with concern. He grunts. Then you see the deep red stains that covers his outstretched arm.

“Holy shit.”

It’s hard to make out his face. Raph’s trying his best to hide it, leveraging the darkness, down where he’s swaying unsteadily.

“Raphael, what happened?”

He just gruff’s out in response, animalistic, and pained.

“Come up here. Please.”

He sighs. The lowering of his arm, with Vannie still clutched safely, indicated his surrender. He slinks forward under the fire escape, and you feel it wobble as he ascends it. It’s slow, interrupted with strained, deep breathing and huffs of discomfort. Your face contorts from that of uncertainty into dread. Suddenly, you’re not so worried about your lost cat anymore. Raphael steps onto the scaffolding with you. He loses his footing against the slick metal, and his bad leg gives out underneath him, falling to one of his knees. He yelps with a snarled lip, all the while, Vannie held safely against his chest.

“What the fuck.”

His arm isn’t the only thing nearly coated with blood. You can see it glinting in the faint light of your kitchen and moon peeking through thin clouds, spattered across the rest of his upper half, running from his nose, and down under his mask, being washed away by the rain. He’s got new, fresh cuts, almost white from how deep they go into his skin, and dark patches of skin that seem to be bruises.

“You-“ His voice is guttural and hoarse. He swallows thickly, “You ain’t gotta look at me like that.” Raphael spits a little blood from his mouth.

“What happened?”

He turns away, instead of answering your question. Vannie claws her way out of his hold and clambers into the window with record speed, desperate to get out of the rain.

“Cat did it.”

Even in this horrendous, battered up state, he has room for jokes. Idiot.

“I’m not kidding, Raph.” You take a step forward to better look at his injuries, gently grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. You can’t tell if it’s the rain or tears collecting in his eyes.

“Come inside.”

Next thing you know, you’re guiding Raphel gently up the staircase to your floor, straining under his body weight while he leans against you for support. He stumbles through the door, tracking rain and dark red into the carpet. It’s the least of your worries right now. Raph trudges to the tile floor of your kitchenette, and slumps down to sit on his butt. It’s still dark in the space, but you can’t bring yourself to flick on the light, worried it’ll hurt his eyes, and even more focused on his countless injuries. You don’t even know where to start.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He continues his streak of silence, just looking down at the floor with an empty, tired glare, while you stand to go get a towel and clean wash-rags. The rain drones outside, getting heavier. You don’t speak to each other while you dry the rain from his skin, and then gently scrub away the blood with warm water. He allows you to clean him up without quarrel, if it means not having to tell you how he sustained such horrific injuries. You’re seated on your knees, between his legs on the floor, close enough to feel Raphael’s breath leaving his nose and cool your warm face, and catch the scent of warm summer rain and iron on his skin. He flinches when the rag dabs over one of the deep scratches above his collarbone.

“Sorry,” you look up to see his eyelids heavy, and brow scrunched in a painful expression, “It’s not gonna feel great.”

He knows, of course, and lets you continue tending to the wound with a hand that’s as gentle as it can be. It’s quiet, once again. The downpour is happy to fill its space.

Your hands softly graze over each bruise and welt that he’s gained. Each rag is soaked with lukewarm water and the rusted tint of blood, then tossed to the side to be replaced with a new one, until all of Raph’s verdian scales are clear and dry. You don’t have a fancy first-aid kit like Donnie’s. It’s a Tupperware container filled with different sized bandaids and a nearly expired tube of neosporin. It would have to do until his brother could get his nifty, medically inclined hands on him.

This is so intimate. Centimeters away from each other’s warm bodies, in the dark, while you reach to stick a bandage over a little slice on the side of his cheek. So close it feels like a dam is about to crumble into pieces. You have to speak to keep yourself from doing something stupid.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say, so quiet, it’s almost a whisper, “But-“

“They had her.”

You pull away to look into his eyes. They’re swimming with some intense emotion between anger and shame, a deep green glinting in the soft light.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. Some douchebags,” he’s recounting the confrontation in his head, and looks down at his scratched knuckles, “They were tormentin the poor thing.”

Raph remembers ducking between a few alleys on his patrol that night. He’s climbing the side of an old warehouse where he usually sticks out, high above most of the city. The fifth floor is occupied with loud laughter and rap music that blares through the broken window. A bunch of men and women drinking and smoking, resting on old furniture and crates that had been left a long time ago. He thinks nothing of it, already trying to continue up the building, until he hears a yowl.

He doesn’t want to believe it’s Vannie, that they’re gathering around and dunking in a bucket of old mop water, but her missing ear and red collar around her neck confirm his worst fears. She’s trying to claw her water from their grip, but their numbers and strong tattooed arms overpower her, and they shove her under the surface again.

Raphael is filled with a blind rage that calls him to jump down through the window and threaten them with a loud voice. He recalls the overwhelming sinking feeling in his gut when their numbers grow even larger, jumping down from crates and out of dark corners of the huge room.

“They had a bunch a’ crowbars. Pocket knives. Shit like that.” He doesn’t want to look up at your face. He can already feel the despair setting in your features.

He was overpowered so quickly. Metal bats and steel toed shoes hitting his thick skin, blades cutting, while some of them held him down by his arms and sitting on the back of his shell, plastron pressed helplessly to the concrete floor. He cries out for his brothers, while the group of ruthless attackers steal his weapons and use them to barrade down on him. It was the thought of you crying for your cat that finally pulled him from the floor in a white-hot anger, throwing them off and falling backwards.

It was all a blur from there. Ruthless punches thrown and cracking against their faces. Just his bare, bandaged hands landing blows onto anyone and everyone that crossed his path. Raphael had practically blacked out. Nobody was getting away with it. Even the ones that tried to scramble away became a lost cause if he caught them in the corner of his eyes, dragging them by their legs and hauling them into piles of rotting wood and brick walls.

You watch as he shivers through the memory.

By the time Raphael is through with the assemblage of delinquents, he’s still pumping full of adrenaline and unfathomable rage, heaving out deep breaths with a bloody spittle collecting at the edges of his lips. All were lying unconscious or crying out in pain for their absent mothers, and any who got away were lucky enough to slink into the protective shade of the corners. The edges of his vision are still fuzzy. He can feel his racing heart in his head, and the trickle of blood down the sides of his face and arms. He’s not sure if most of it is, or theirs.

“I dunno if I killed any of em’. But I was so fuckin angry.”

Raph scoops up a cowering vannie from the bucket, then turns to her main assailant, trembling on the cold floor and cradling a (surely broken) wrist.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” He sneers down at the man, who has a blackened eye, “Hurtin’ a poor animal who did nothin to ya?”

Raph dumps the dirty contents of the bucket onto him, then kicks his side.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit, is what you are.”

Afterwards, he opts to take the stairs all the way down, limping on his bad leg, and make the trek to your apartment.

He’s pulled from his hateful trance, to look at where you’re staring up at him with watery eyes.

“You saved her.”

Raph seems surprised it’s all you have to say. Nothing about beating her captors to a pulp and leaving them for dead. A tear rolls down the side of your nose. His eyes widen with worry.

“You saved my baby, Raph.”

“I-I just,” he swallows thickly, “I know how important she is to ya,”

It’s amazing. The way the room is so dark and yet all of your senses are in tune with how every muscle moves under his thick skin. How he’s expected you to be overwhelmed with fear and push him away from you, with the worry that he’s this angry monster that he’s been hiding. Instead you’re thanking him. That means more to him than he could express. He hates the silence now, hates the way he’s so awkward and how he doesn’t know the right way to respond to your gratitude. He’s adjusting to lift himself off the ground.

“I gotta get back to-“ Raphael forgets about going back to the lair. He forgets his lame leg. All the cuts and bruises, and saving Vannie. You forget about the fear of rejection and what comes next. The sleepless nights that have been holding you awake at their mercy. Instead you’re both tuned into the way you lift yourself up on your knees and grab his face and pull him down.

It’s a short, unexpected kiss that doesn’t break past your lips, faces smushed together, like puzzle pieces that don’t fit quite right. And then you pull away, both so surprised at it, that at first it doesn’t register. On the outside, your hands are frozen, hovering just above his jawline, in pure idiocy at the idea that you just did that. And in your brain, you’re beating yourself senseless, because what the fuck were you thinking??

How fucking ridiculous.

Raph’s eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them, flicking between your own. He’s breathing heavy, mouth slack, and the wordless reaction is freaking you out. You swear you can hear his heart thundering under his plastron. Or was that you?

It’s then that he grabs you right back and pulls you in for a much more calculated, breathless kiss. You lean into it, desperate and nervous, and grabbing the tails of his bandanna to bring him as close as possible.

This was happening. It was a thing.

You and Raphael sitting on the kitchen floor, with his shell pressed into one of the lower cabinets, and borderline making out. What would your mother think?

You’ve always been used to Raph’s soft touch, anytime he’d fist bump you through the kitchen window or brush past your arm. That was not him now.

His huge hands are tangled in your hair and at the nape of your neck, and he’s drinking you in like water. You’re pressing him further into the cabinet door intoxicated over the way your teeth and noses slightly graze past each other. His tongue slipping into your mouth makes you shudder and you huff. Raph’s easily pulling you up into his crossed legs.

This gentle giant was no more, firm and intentional with every move he makes. He doesn’t shy away from moving further into your touch and kissing you deeper. You can feel his mouth curl into a smile when you gasp. Your hands are everywhere. traveling up the tough texture of his plastron, to his beyond muscular shoulder, where one roughly grazes over a bigger cut. Raph pulls away with a hiss.

“Sorry!” You squeak out. It’s the first you’ve spoken since kissing him senseless. He winces but the recovery is swift, and he looks up at you with pupils blown wide, black eating away at their beautiful color, fluster evident at the warm tint to his face.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, sunshine.”

The nickname makes your stomach do a summersault. You smile, out of breath.

“You’re hot.”

Stupid! What the hell is wrong with you?!

“You kiddin’ me?” He laughs, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His voice is a low growl, and he pulls you in once again by the back of your head. Back to it, I guess.

If the window hadn’t been open, it would surely be fogged up by now, with your heated breaths floating up from the cool floor. This was great.

Unanticipated, and weird, but just so great. You have to push off of each other to stop from going any further than you already have, both sweaty, breathing heavily and grinning like you just won a Grammy. It takes a while before one of you can catch your breath. Raph nudges your shoulder.

“You’re my first kiss.”

He flashes you a five star grin with flared nostrils. You match it. It shouldn’t surprise you that much, but it does anyway.

“Yeah?” He nods, “Well, you’re my first good kiss.”

You see the pride roll over Raph in a wave.

“That good, huh?”

You shove his face away playfully when he gets close.

“Now that I think about it, it was mediocre.”

The turtle ruffles your already disheveled hair.

“Whateva. You loved that shit.”

Oh you did. The evidence of him enjoying just as much is the prominent arousal just under his naval, and you’re trying to avert your view. He catches it and his eyes blow wide, trying to quickly readjust the way he’s sitting.

“Ah! Heh-uhhh-“ Raph coughs into his fist, and then drags an open palm down his face in immense embarrassment, “Sorry! Sorry. I should probably, uh, get goin’”

It makes you giggle like a teenager. Raph’s bad leg hasn’t crossed either of your minds until he tries to lift himself from the floor and it gives out under his weight again and he shouts.

“There’s no way you’re getting back to the lair on that. Something’s probably broken.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snorts. You jump to his aid, slipping your arm under his for support and help raise him off the ground.

“You’ll probably need to stay here for the night, until Donnie can check you out.“

The thought of having a sleepover with the guy you just sucked face with for 20 minutes is so exciting.

“Are ya sure?” Raph sounds unsure while you guide him down onto the couch.

“You can sleep here. I’ll text Don to come over in the morning.”

He lays back onto the cushions and lets you grab him a blanket and pillow from your room, tucking him in and placing a light kiss on his red-banded forehead. You slide down onto the carpet to be eye level where Raphael’s head is snuggled into the pillow.

Vannie meows, the first you’ve heard from her since she came in through the window. Her tiny head peeks over the back of the couch. You both watch with soft smiles as she curls up, purring, on Raph’s chest.

He flinches a little when your hand slips into his larger one and gives it a squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The next morning, Donnie has successfully picked the lock to your front door, heeding to your late night text. He does a double take, and then snorts with an incredulous smile, seeing you passed out on the floor, his older brother on the couch and Vannie still sleeping soundly on top of him while he snores.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

BAM, YOU GET A BIG OL' KISS

HERE'S PART 5 EVERYONE!!! I SINCERELY APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT AND PATIENCE ON THIS PART, I REALLY STRUGGLED WRITING IT LMAO 🩷💓💕

Also, I came back to this page with 260 followers and I opened it this morning to 410??

I really do not deserve such incredible support from all of you wonderful folks 😭🙏🩷💓

I'm not sure if I'll add another part, which will most likely be a little epilogue, but PLEASE LET ME KNOWWW !!!!

Don't forget to REBLOG and let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist so you don't miss out on any of my TMNT works!!!

LOVE YA BABES 🩷💓💕🫧🧼🌸

taglist - [ @ladyofparchments @well-its-not-human-anymore @raphaelsrightarm @chiliiscereal @milkytheholy1 @moxfirefly @raphsgrl @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @imthegreenfairy86 @aurora-the-kunoichi @angelhazeisaweirdo @raisin-shell @fyreball66 @redsrooftopprincess @milykins @ahhhhhhhhhfuck @quitecontrary-to-mary @the-cauldron-witch @brins-rogers @yelocaltrashcan @pheradream-15 @asillysimp @miranexx @cinnamonskiss @le0n-ardo @silveritydreams @goldenflowerdragon @loveshrubs @glitterystarfishfestival @supersleepyslowpoke @floflodoesart ]

[farfallenewtz]

Need I say more

[farfallenewtz]

[farfallenewtz]

Do yall ever just

[farfallenewtz]

what are the skellies' ideal body types? like what do they find the most attractive in a partner?

Just a disclaimer for this post! The skeletons are into all shapes and sizes, but these are just headcanons on what I think their favorites would be!

It's a bit suggestive, so it's also going under a cut.

Sans is into women with larger proportions. Stretch marks? Fine with him. Big stomach? More like extra pillow. Shape doesn't really matter to him, but he likes larger women for sure. As for face shape, he thinks that squishy cheeks are adorable. They're fun to mess with.

Papyrus' favorite shape is a strawberry shape! That would be broad shoulders, large chest, and smaller hips. He thinks it's nice to be held. Extra plus if she's muscular! With face details, he thinks that moles (although he refuses to call them anything but "beauty marks") are the highest sign of status and beauty! They're just so unique!

Blue is into hourglass figures, plain and simple. They're curvy. When it comes to faces, he likes round faces with big eyes. They just look so cute to him!

Stretch likes big thighs; that's the only part of the body that he actually pays much thought to on its own. If you ask him, he'll probably say that freckles are cutest to him (and who could blame him, honestly).

Red thinks that hourglass figures are great. There's just so much of the good stuff! He also likes big, pouty lips (and sinking his teeth into them).

Edge likes "flat" women with long, angular faces. He thinks they're dainty and beautiful, no matter what size they are.

Grimm, like Sans, is also a bit of a "chubby chaser". He views fat as a sign of beauty and being well-fed. If there's more to her stomach, that's even better--he's just glad she knows how to take care of herself. Just like his counterpart, he thinks that cheeks are the best part of the face.

Spooky is into pear shapes! Big thighs, wide hips. Like Red, he thinks that lips are beautiful and fun to bite.

[farfallenewtz]

Y/N: “My future partner will be brave, strong, intelligent…”

Papyrus: *Proceeds to step on a caterpillar, fall to his knees crying and apologising profusely*

Y/N: *Points* “That one. I want that one.”

Paps: *Still crying over a caterpillar*

Y/N : That meets ALL my standards

[farfallenewtz]

*cough cough* SSLL *COUGH*

[farfallenewtz]

Can't Have Nice Things

The Ketamine King Musk has shutdown the IRS's Free Tax Filing system.

Of all the things a government could off, a way to Freely calculate and file your taxes seems like a good one. But the richest man in the world thinks we shouldn't have that.

[farfallenewtz]

[farfallenewtz]

[farfallenewtz]

when will they stop haunting me