#single needle stuff is painful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sugar-coat-it · 2 months

Text

Body piercer! Matty

Part 2

May I present my pride and joy (and first AU), body piercer Matty <3, based on the 2020 NOACF mohawk era

Fem! reader

****CW! Needles, pain****

Contains: Matty piercing reader’s nipples*, lustful fantasies, praise, Matty has a tongue piercing, HELLA tension and pining, Matty being a sweetheart through the whole thing

*note, I don’t have nipple piercings lol, apologies if any of this is inaccurate.

Word count: 5313

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

PART ONE- Fate lands you in Matty Healy’s capable hands when looking to get your nipples pierced. Tension ensues.

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

The thought of getting your nipples pierced had been in the back of your mind for what felt like years. It nagged at you every time you saw a pretty girl with barbells poking out under her tank top, you wanted to be her. You’d done all the research, article after article on the healing period, the pain level, and the kinds of jewelry you can get. You also knew fairly well how they enhance sexual encounters, which had a whole draw of its own. You’d done everything except actually make the appointment. That is, up until a few days ago. Fresh off of a breakup and tired of feeling sorry for yourself, you’d called your local tattoo parlor and scheduled a slot with a body piercer named Maddie, then hung up feeling rather pleased with yourself for finally getting it done. The anticipation of the leadup to the appointment had you biting your lips raw. You’d gotten other piercings before, but never in a place so intimate. Never one that required taking your top off, that’s for certain. But friends had been encouraging you nonstop, telling you what a “hot girl” move it was, and who were you to argue?

Finally, the day comes, and you’re swinging open the parlor door a little too hard, evidently very tense. The bell that jangles when the door opens clanks against the wall, making the man behind the counter startle. Wide-eyed and wincing, you shoot him an apologetic look, embarrassed that you’d practically ripped their front door off the hinge. Great start!

Slowly, after making sure the door is safely shut, you approach the counter, absentmindedly toying with the rings that adorn your fingers, twisting them between your thumb and your forefinger. The man at the counter is exactly who you’d expect to be working at a tattoo and piercing parlor, but an even more stunning rendition if you were being honest. His slightly sleepy-looking eyes brighten a little at the sight of you, a fluffy mohawk of chocolatey waves sitting atop his head. He’s adorned with inked patterns along his skin, a patchwork of symbols across his arms that you restrict yourself to only glancing at for a moment. His eyes crinkle at the edges when he greets you with a warm smile, offering a little wave before you start to explain why you’re here, your voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

“Hi, I’ve got a 1:00 appointment?” you explain before providing your name, trying your hardest to stop fidgeting.

Your mind is in about 20 places, and it doesn’t help that your heart just fluttered at the eye contact he’s holding with you. The man nods at you, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he picks up the scheduling book, sifting through the pages with black polished nails. When he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of the single silver hoop earring that he’s sporting quite well. Curiosity creeps up like a slinking cat, making you wonder what other modifications he might have. His narrowed eyes scan the book, toffee-colored irises flicking over names until he finds yours penciled in, jabbing his nail against the page.

“Yeah I see you, you’re with me then. And, you did your paperwork and payment stuff, it looks like,” he says, snapping the schedule closed definitively.

“Oh, no I don’t think…” you start to correct, tilting your head at him with confusion until you trail off into quiet.

That’s when it catches your eye, the nametag on his white tank top reads “Matty”. Then it clicks. Matty. Not Maddie. You’d scheduled your appointment to get your tits pierced with a guy. A very attractive guy that was now going to watch you squirm like a child. Your jaw drops slightly, a sinking feeling in your gut starting to fester as you realize your mistake.

“Everything alright there? Second thoughts, perhaps?” Matty prompts, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

“No… no second thoughts. To be honest, I thought I had an appointment with a female piercer,” you answer, preemptively grimacing before you’d even finished your sentence.

“Oh, shit. Well, that’s not ideal. Listen, we can get you in here another day then, no problem. Tell me what works for you,” he says, already scrambling for a pencil to put your name elsewhere in the book.

“Actually, I think it’s fine. I’m already here, right?” you offer, shrugging to try and appear more nonchalant about the whole thing (your palms are sweating).

“Are you sure? Seriously, I don’t want you uncomfortable on my watch. It’s not a big deal to get you a different appointment,” he frowns, absentmindedly twirling the pencil between his fingers.

His eyes are strangely soft for someone with such an intimidating job, you can only describe the feeling they give you as melting. You can’t quite place why, but his presence alone is somehow quelling your nerves, even if it’s just a bit. Your hands start to still, dropping to rest at your sides as you decide to let him do it anyway. He looks trustworthy, right?

“Yeah, I’m sure. But thank you, truly,” you say, a soft smile pulling at your lips at how keen he seems on making you comfortable.

Matty nods slowly, rising from the chair while eyeing you like he’s not sure if you’re going to turn on your heel and run out the door if he looks away. He asks you to follow him to the back, you’re trailing close behind as he pulls his baggy camo pants further up his hips by his belt. The room he leads you to is small and fairly chilly, but only in temperature. The space itself feels homey, plastered with stickers and posters of various punk bands, it doesn’t feel like some sterile hospital room.

“Stay standin’ for me, just need to get some things,” he instructs, turning to reach for his supplies, including the jewelry you’d selected over the phone, “and, whenever you’re ready you can take your top off, okay?”

Without the pressure of his eyes on you, it takes a moment before you slowly ease your shirt up and over your shoulders, setting it beside you. You take a slightly uneven breath as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra, suddenly forgetting the muscle memory from doing it for so many years. The moment it’s off, the rush of cold air instantly sends a shiver licking up your spine. You lean back against the counter, trying to appear as casual as you can as you eye the piercer. Your eyebrows slope with admiration, softening your expression as you realize that he’s now aimlessly fishing through a drawer, trying to give you time to ease into undressing while he’s still turned around. He stays with his back to you until you clear your throat, signaling that you’ve finished. His expression is unphased as he turns around on the heels of his platformed lace-up boots. God, he really is beyond cool, isn’t he?

“Right, I’m gonna put these on, and then I’ll mark the placement,” Matty explains, holding up a pair of latex gloves.

Matty pulls the gloves over his sizeable hands, the bulging veins catching your eye as he flexes his fingers to test that they’re taught. He’s taking a few steps closer to you, now only about an arm's length away as he explains that he’s not going to touch you without the gloves, though of course, your first unfiltered thought is that you wish he would. His eyes hadn’t strayed from your face for even a second this whole time, being remarkably neutral despite the fact that you were topless. Though, you suppose that sort of thing must not phase him since he’s probably pierced tons of nipples. That doesn’t stop the odd tinge of disappointment that he hadn’t even glanced at your body. You swallow the feeling like it’s bile, knowing that it’s totally unreasonable to want him to gaze at you with anything but professionalism.

“Is it okay if I put my hands on you? Need to clean the area,” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, it’s making you slightly weak in the knees, he’s just so fucking gentle.

You nod, rolling your shoulders back in preparation for him to touch you while he pours solvent on a cotton pad. His disciplined, gloved hands reach out, and only now does he allow his gaze to dip down to your chest. You could swear his breath hitches just a little, the quiet room allowing for the smallest sounds to be heard. Maybe he is just a man after all. The thought makes pride simmer in your chest, but you’re not dwelling on it for long, your mind going blank the moment he starts to swiftly swipe the pad along your nipples, sanitizing your skin and also effectively making them harden from the stimulation. You tense up, standing straighter than before as you bite back any semblance of a reaction. Matty throws you a glance to assess your discomfort, soft brown irises following the slopes of your features. He places the sanitizing supplies to the side, now uncapping a purple skin marker. This was going to be a long process if he kept looking at you that way.

“Nothing's happening yet, okay? Just gonna draw on where they’re gonna go,” he says, holding it up while raising his eyebrows as if to say “Look, it’s harmless”.

Matty leans in again, his eyes narrowing with concentration, gloved knuckles brushing the side of your breast as he marks a dot on the side of your nipple. Watching Matty stare at your tits with such laser focus has your cheeks flushing just slightly, heat prickling at the bridge of your nose. He runs the tip of the marker from one side of the hardened bud to the other, marking a symmetrical dot. Tingles spread under your skin like wildfire, he’s barely touched you and yet you can feel yourself buzzing at the slightest sensations. His pretty brown eyes meet yours and he just smiles at you sympathetically, knowing how hyperfocused on his every movement you must be.

“You’re not breathing,” he whispers, playfully jabbing the capped end of the pen against your arm.

Your eyes widen as you realize that he’s absolutely right, you’d been holding your breath this whole time. You release your bated breath, your chest heaving slightly as Matty keeps looking down at you, giving you a moment to regain your senses. You swear the eye contact while being inches away from him is making you more lightheaded than the lack of oxygen. With a satisfied nod, he resumes, repeating the same process of drawing the dots at the peak of your other breast. Then, he takes a step back, biting the cap of the marker between his canines while he evaluates his work. This allows you another moment to admire him as he eyeballs the symmetricalness of his markings. Your mind is wandering, perhaps trying to distract you from how intently this man is studying your breasts. You’re wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t so gentle with you. What if he touched you instead with greed, the need to satiate himself? In your head, you imagine the warm, honey tones of his eyes darkening like tinted glass as he drinks you in not as his client, but as something to desire, to want to feel flush beneath his calloused fingertips. This version of Matty doesn’t try to limit every graze of his working hands, he’s starving; groping, and mapping every part of your skin that he can reach. You’re jumping the gun now, the image flashes through your mind like a ricocheting bullet: Matty’s got you pressed up against the wall, his hands are mean as he grabs a handful of one of your tits, his thigh is hitched between your legs, keeping your thighs parted. His head dips down, his shaggy mohawk tickling at your neck as he tugs on the silver barbell through your nipple with his teeth, pain melding with pleasure till they’re impossible to separate. And, oh, fuck, does he have a tongue piercing? Your eyes flick down to his mouth now, mind reeling as you spot the silver stud on his tongue revealed by the way he’s chewing on the cap of the marker. You are losing yourself, and fast, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Alright, looks just about even. Would you go ahead and lie down there, darlin’?” he asks, cocking his head towards the reclined padded chair next to him.

Now is where the nerves are starting to kick in, it’s all fun and fantasizing about your body piercer until you actually have to sit in the chair. You were hardly able to mentally fawn over the pet name as you took unsure strides to situate yourself in the cold, plastic parlor recliner. Matty busies himself with preparing various metal objects while you stare up at the ceiling, squinting at the fluorescent lights and wondering why you wanted your tits pierced so badly in the first place. Then, his unreasonably darling face is in your field of vision, peering down at you with a consoling smile.

“Comfy?” he prompts, a needle in one hand and a small pair of forceps in the other.

It’s not a comforting sight, no matter how lovely the man holding them is.

“Sorta. I’m actually kind of a chicken about these things,” you admit with a wobbly smile in return.

“No… really?” he grins boyishly, clearly being sarcastic with you.

You shoot him a look for that, but it melts away into a little laugh, you can’t seem to even fake a cold stare around him, it’s sort of pitiful. Standing over you, Matty raises the forceps close to your breasts but doesn’t touch you with them just yet. You bite your lip, lifting your head to get a better look at what’s happening, even though you’re not entirely sure you even want to watch.

“Now, this is just going to feel like a little pinch, shouldn’t hurt,” he says, his voice lowering a little before he slips in a: “You’re doing really good.”

The praise tears your gaze away from his hands and onto his face, blinking in disbelief at the way he’d caused a fizzling pang of desire inside you so effortlessly. That feeling doesn’t get any weaker the moment you feel the cool metal clamp around your nipple, your lips parting with a soft gasp, hands tensing with the urge to hold onto something, to hold onto him. Matty’s pierced tongue darts out past his lips in concentration, soothing over his bottom lip as he lines the needle up next to the hardened bud. You jolt at the sharp tip of the object against your sensitive skin, your hand shooting out to grab onto Matty’s bicep in a moment of pure reaction. Both of you seem equally shocked that you’d suddenly clutched his arm, your nails slightly biting into his skin amongst the spattering of pretty freckles that mark him. There’s a moment of the loudest silence you’ve ever heard, his stare feels like it’s searing you. You’re about to rush into apologizing, but then he’s placing his tools back down onto his tray of supplies, tentatively reaching to rest his larger hand over yours, enveloping it in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m just lining up my shot. I’m gonna tell you when it’s time, okay? Just breathe with me for a moment,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing tenderly over the back of your hand.

He takes an exaggerated breath, encouraging you to do the same, his chest rising beneath his white tank top. You mirror Matty, taking a deep breath in of, well… him. He smells like a dizzying combination of Marlboros and woody aftershave because of course, he does.

“That’s it, much better. It’ll be a whole fuckin’ ordeal if you pass out on me, so stay with me here. Can you do that?” he questions, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah… yeah, I can. Thank you,” you say softly, trying to disregard the sparks radiating under Matty’s palm.

You stay like this for a few breaths longer, Matty doesn’t look away from you and you’re not so sure that it’s only because he doesn’t want you to conk out. His gloved hand gives yours an encouraging squeeze before letting go slowly. The heat still lingers as he retrieves his tools a second time, the flexing of his bicep under your grasp reminds you that you should probably let go of him now. But, the moment you start to retract your hand, he glances at you and speaks in that silky tone of his.

“You don’t have to let go, s’okay. You can use me like a stress toy, or something. I don’t really care,” he shrugs, winking at you.

You just nod dumbly, your eyes going a little wider as you settle your hand over his bare arm again, right over the top of his Newcastle United seahorse tattoo. You’d like to use him in other ways too, but that’s not very appropriate, now is it?

You let out a sigh as you come to the same point in the process again, Matty lining up the needle diligently while keeping your nipple clamped with the metal forceps, but this time, you get to cling to his arm. You don’t want to distract him, because it would be your loss in the end, but there is a sense of satisfaction when you feel his bicep flex slightly as you trace your thumb along the symbol inked on his skin, following the curve of the seahorses mane with your nail.

“Okay, love. Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m going to do it on three, and when I say three, I need you to take a sharp breath in for me, like this,” he instructs, then shows you what he means with a harsh inhale through his nose.

You breathe out a weak “okay”, already gripping his arm harder from the anticipation building up to a high. You decide it’s best not to watch, especially since you’d promised you wouldn’t pass out. You let your head rest back against the chair, your nose scrunching as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Matty begins to count down, increasing the pressure of the clamp. 1. 2. 3. You inhale sharply through your nose at the same time that an unprecedented amount of burning pain reverberates through your chest, your eyes snapping open. You’re clawing at his arm, a cry ripping past your lips while tears well up and blur your vision. It’s a feeling so intense that it’s seeping through you to your stomach, crawling like the meanest sunburn. Of all the piercings you’ve gotten, you can say without a doubt that this takes first prize for the most painful.

“Oh, fuck!” you sob, the sound being embarrassingly close to a full-bodied moan.

Matty slides the jewelry through while swiftly retracting the needle, trying to stifle the way the sound you’d made was affecting him, echoing in his skull in a way he knows it shouldn’t. He doesn’t even flinch despite the way your nails are leaving angry, red crescents marred on his skin. He quickly screws the barbell together before completely retracting his hands from you, taking one more glance at his handiwork before consoling you, his heart seemingly aching for the pretty girl in his chair.

“I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, but you’re halfway done. Doing so good, you’re alright,” he murmurs, reaching the gloved back of his hand to your face to wipe some of the stray tears on your cheeks.

You just whine, the radiating pain only now starting to subside as you keep your hold on his arm, now smoothing over the marks you’d left with your fingertips as if you’re kissing them better. His thumb grazes along your cheek for a little too long for it to be accidental. Matty’s praise while he wipes away your tears is making your mind fuzzy, it’s like he’s numbing the pain; the sweetest morphine.

Your gasps for breath are slowing, the pain like a dull pulse, easing its grip on you. Mortification is starting to sink in now that you’re not reeling from shooting pain. One of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen just watched you in one of your most vulnerable moments, and there’s still one piercing to go, much to your dismay.

“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” you admit with a breathy laugh at your own expense.

“Nah, don’t be embarrassed. You could’ve done much worse, probably,” he says, looking amused as he shakes his head at you.

“Like what?” “I dunno… like, socked me in the face as a fight or flight response.”

You laugh at that, a bright sound filling the room that makes Matty’s smile grow fonder as he gazes down at you with those pretty, sparkly eyes. The moment lingers on for a few beats, tension blooming between you that almost makes you forget about the throbbing ache of your left breast (almost).

“You do know I have to do the other one right? Unless you’re a bit odd and like the one-piercing look,” he reminds cautiously over the clinking metallic sound of him picking up his tools.

“I know,” you sigh, “can you do it fast?”

“Erm… I’ll do it as quickly as I can without making it cockeyed, but I reckon you’ll be fine. Besides, the second one’s always easier from what I’ve seen.”

He doesn’t seem like the type that would elude you for the sake of false security, so you take his word as gospel, settling in to prepare yourself for what’s hopefully a more tolerable experience. His next words have your heart thrumming against your ribs.

“Can you handle it?” he asks, more of a challenge than a question.

You nod at him quietly, absentmindedly drawing little feather-light swirls on his bicep. The incentive of his praise is becoming all too tempting. You want to handle it, you want to show him that you can do it. There’s a new, honeyed kind of heat seeping into your bones.

“Good girl. You’re a strong one, love,” he praises, sensing just how eager you are.

The next pulse you feel doesn’t come from your chest. Good girl? He has to be fucking with you. Jesus, does he talk to all of his customers like this? Does he wipe all of their tears too? Something in you wants to believe he doesn’t. He watches as your lips part slowly, your lashes fluttering as you look up at him. You have to know.

“Do you call all your customers that?” you whisper, blinking up at him coyly.

“Not really, no. Only the pretty ones who deserve it.”

Your breath comes out as a shudder, it’s unfair how easily he leaves you stunned. He clicks his tongue casually before getting back to work, all too pleased by the look on your face. You know the routine by now, Matty makes quick work of clamping your nipple and arranging the prodding tip of the needle just so. You’re still clinging to his arm, or your personal stress toy, something you’ve grown very familiar to the feel of throughout your time here. The countdown starts, he’s not giving you as much time to prepare. 1. 2. 3. What was more like a shriek from earlier comes out as a whine this time, a high-pitched, whimpery noise spilling from you. You don’t curse or practically maul his arm this time, but it’s still painful, you can’t say you’re fond of how vividly you can feel the needle go in and out amidst the burning sting.

“Beautiful, atta girl,” he whispers, screwing the end of the barbell on before leaning back to admire his work, his eyes unabashedly glued to how the jewelry sits prettily on your breasts.

You have no clue if he’s talking about you, your tits, or the job he’d done, but it makes your skin warm all the same.

Finally, you allow yourself to look at your chest, gently sliding your hand off of his bicep to prop yourself up on your arms and get a good look at the two new adornments. Shit, they look good on you, better than you’d hoped, and perfectly symmetrical thanks to him. He smirks when he notices the way you’re gawking at the piercings, knowing that the pain is barely a thought in your mind now, too distracted by how newly desirable you must feel. Matty likes knowing that one, he’s good at his job, and two, that he’s just helped you feel sexier. He’s really enjoying watching you admire yourself and in turn, his work. There’s a slight stir beneath his baggy pants, which he knows should never happen while he’s with a client, but you might just be the sweetest thing that’s ever been in his chair. He’s allowing himself a pass.

“Shit, Matty, they’re really nice,” you gape, your stomach swooping when you glance up to see the smug look playing on his lips.

“Yeah, they came out mint. Suit you nicely, don’t they?” he says, daring to dance along the line of being unprofessional as he then glances down at your tits and whistles.

What a boy.

“Thank you… for everything I mean,”

“Don’t mention it, you were great,” Matty smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he waves off your gushing.

Butterflies are rampaging in your stomach, god, why does he have to be so lovely? He looks like he has something he wants to say, but it goes unspoken, rattling around in his head instead. His expression is hard to read, but would you be deluding yourself to say there’s a tinge of longing? A few beats of quiet tick by, and you’re now becoming acutely aware of the fact that you no longer have a reason to be topless, awkwardly crossing your arms. Always so attentive, Matty suddenly straightens up and reaches over your body, his chain dangling in front of your face as he grabs your shirt and bra from the counter. He places them on your lap and politely turns away as if he’s never seen you undressed, clearing his throat like that will clear the thick tension in the air.

You wince as soon as the cups of your bra meet your immensely tender breasts, sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth as you power through clasping it. The sensitivity is something you’d been warned about, and now you get to joyfully experience it firsthand for the next however many weeks. Your eyes are on Matty’s back as you slip your shirt over your head, taking note of how rigid he seems as he gathers the after-piercing care papers for you. But maybe it’s in your head. You haven’t known him very long at all, it’s a dangerous game to assume any of the tension of this afternoon was real when you were freaking out for more than half of it.

“Right, any questions for me?” he asks, striding over to hand you the pages.

Are you single?Can we go out?Should we make out right now?How are you real?

“No, I think I’m alright.”

“Okay, well, if you’re not woozy, you can go ahead and stand up when you’re ready,” he says, clasping his hands together as if he’s wrapping up his job well done.

With the care pamphlet in one hand, you start to slowly swing your legs over to the side, noticing the way Matty stands at attention like he’s ready to catch you if your legs give out. But they don’t, you’re able to stand with minimal wobbles, shaking out your hands to try and relax your poor, recovering body.

The walk back to the front of the parlor is quiet, the both of you trying to grapple with the tension you couldn’t quite leave behind in the chair. There’s not much else to say, is there? You’re both standing next to the door now, and Matty retracts one of his hands from within his pockets to hold it out to you. Nothing says “I just blurred the lines of professionality while piercing your tits and now this is goodbye” like a good old handshake, does it? You try to keep your expression neutral even though this all feels quite bittersweet, grasping his hand with a firm shake. It’s the first time you’ve felt his hand without the latex glove between you, they’re soft, but you can tell he works with his hands, the callouses on his fingertips grazing your skin.

“Lovely to meet you, sorry I wasn’t a chick,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, you too. And don’t worry about that, I’m glad it was you,” you reply, perhaps being a little too sincere, but it feels right to say.

“... well, listen, get home safe, alright? Take care of yourself, call if you have any problems,” he says, once again seeming like he’s biting his tongue, keeping himself from saying something to you.

You reach for the handle of the door, but you don’t open it. You look back at him like you’re giving him one more chance to tell you what you’re hoping to hear, but he doesn’t, he just offers a nod with an unreadable expression on his face. Heartache.

“See you, Matty,” you nod in return, opening the door and shutting it behind you.

You evaluate your situation on the walk back to your car. You’ve rid yourself of the urge to get your tits pierced, and they look fantastic, but your new problem is that you have a massive crush on your body piercer that you’re likely never going to see again unless you get another piercing. It’d be a rather expensive hobby to get a piercing just to see his face, so scratch that. Your only option is to be reminded of him every time you take your shirt off, how miserable is that?

Little do you know, the moment the shop door closed behind you, Matty groaned with his face in his hands, mentally kicking himself for not asking you out, or at least getting your number. Sure, you were a client, he had to be careful, but shit, you weren’t just any client, now were you? What was wrong with him? Something about you left the body piercer stiff and tongue-tied, replaying every moment of your encounter back in his mind. Never in his life had Matty Healy felt anything for a customer.

—---One month later—----

After a hellish month of healing, scabbing, and getting your piercings caught on things, you’ve decided that there’s no real point in having nipple piercings if no one gets to see them but you. You’d like to tell yourself that you don’t think about Matty as much anymore, but that would be laughably dishonest. Dating apps are just about one of the most aggravating wastes of time ever, and you’ve had no luck meeting people naturally, so here comes the next best thing: blind dates. Your close friend fancies herself to be somewhat of a matchmaker, she’s been talking up this guy to you for days now, telling you how funny and totally your type he is, and nothing could possibly go wrong if she set you up. You have your doubts, but still, you find yourself in a cafe waiting for your mystery man to sweep you off your feet with his supposed punchy one-liners. What you don’t expect, however, is to watch a very familiar mohawked man stride into the place, the eyes that have patronized your dreams every night scanning across the cafe until they lock onto you.

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

Don’t you worry, I won’t leave you hanging with just tension, ofc there’s going to be a smutty part two <3

Thank you very much for reading, I hope it wasn’t underwhelming! And thank you to any other writers that I reached out to to consult about my ideas, ily, mwah!

#oh god I’m nervous about this one #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader #matty healy fic #body piercer!Matty

288 notes · View notes

emepe · 2 months

Text

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A simple dinner party leads to new relations. Eren Jaeger can't keep his eyes off of you.

— Content warnings: mentions of murder, alcohol consumption.

— Notes: I'm so excited to post the first chapter to my new series. I've been wanting to write again for two years now and I finally got hit with inspiration. This is a little different from my usual stuff, but I hope you'll like it. A special thank you to @dreamy-jaeger for beta-reading <3 Happy reading, bubs!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

at first sight

Nobody ever said anything about the desperate cries that could be faintly heard from one of the units in Sina Park. Then again, the surrounding houses were occupied by people well into the age when sound just doesn’t reach them as well as it did even just a few years back.

Sina Park was known for being a peaceful area. With its small and painterly identical houses, and its gardens full of color and floral aromas, it was a picture-perfect community. It wasn’t embedded into its terms to remain strictly as senior-only housing but the great majority of its residents certainly gave off that idea to any outsider. It was to the point where it came as a surprise for one to find out there was someone under the age of sixty living there. But everyone in Sina was well acquainted with each other, and friendliness was practically the norm between every carefree neighbor.

That was probably why Mr. Shadis didn’t bat an eye when he was enjoying a cup of tea on his front porch and he saw the youngest of the Sina community step out with a duffel bag that was promptly thrown into the trunk of his car, the same night silence reclaimed its territory in Sina Gardens.

“A bit chilly tonight, eh Fred?” Mr. Shadis asked from his side of the street, raising his hand in greeting when he saw his neighbor walk out.

The young man tossed a boyish smile toward his elder while reciprocating his wave.

“Just a bit, Mr. Shadis. You probably shouldn’t be out much longer or you’ll catch a cold,” he replied, still smiling as he slammed his trunk shut and smoothly tossed his car key in the air with his left hand, catching it swiftly with his right.

“Me? What about you?” Shadis teased.

“I’ve still got good bones,” he joked to which Shadis clicked his tongue, feigning hurt feelings as he shook his head.

“You be careful on the road now, eh Fred?” he said, watching the young man disappear into his car, his hand lagging behind to wave goodbye.

The car peeled slowly from its driveway, out of Sina Park, and onto the main road. As the speedometer needle trembled between steady numbers, music flowed softly through the car’s speakers, barely loud enough to disguise the disgusted voice that murmured “That’s not my name, you stupid fuck.”

The early autumn breeze pins your skirt against your thighs and playfully tussles your hair as you hurry toward the bakery on the corner of the street. You’re welcomed by the pleasant jingle of the bell above the door, as well as Kuchel’s warm interior that puts a stop to the outside’s disturbances on your clothes.

A slight impatience consumes you as you wait for your turn to order, but you try to keep your booted feet from tapping against the hardwood floor and settle for tapping your fingers on your wallet as you try to assess the available baked goods from your spot in line. There’s a variety of sweet and salty treats — from jumbo oatmeal cookies to pain au chocolat to rolls — but you’ve only got a single thing in mind. A breath of relief escapes your lightly chapped lips when you get close enough to see a neatly stacked pyramid of lemon bars in the display, and a second one after you have a box of them secured in your hands minutes later.

A satisfied smirk tugs lightly at your lips as you allow yourself to admire the neatly packaged treats. As you make your way to the door, the bell dings, pulling your attention from the box and saving you from clumsily bumping into the man who just walked in. The exchange is brief; he quickly apologizes for the avoided accident and holds the door open for you with a shy smile.

You don’t reciprocate his warm smile but opt for politely nodding in acknowledgment and thanking him for the gesture before hurrying out the door, not wanting to prolong his act of kindness more than necessary. You take a sharp turn toward the nearest bus stop, completely oblivious to the lingering pair of emerald eyes that steal one last glance at you from inside the bakery.

Once again, the wind teases your hair until it finds itself locked out by the shutting door of the bus you settle into. Your hand dives into your purse to retrieve your earbuds as soon as you find a seat, yet no music plays throughout your journey. The box from the bakery remains safely in your lap, the contents being lightly jostled now and then when the bus stops to pick up more passengers.

From the bakery to the bus and for the twenty-minute commute, you go over the names of the people you’ll be meeting in your head.

It’s not often that you get invited to a coworker’s housewarming party. It’s not often that you form a friendly relationship with a coworker. In fact, it’s not often that you engage with someone at all unless it’s for work or other impersonal things. But Armin Arlert’s nice. Despite being the kind of person who can’t seem to let the purposely lonely be lonely, you’ve taken a liking to him.

His friends, you think, might be a different story. It’s not that you expect them to be dreadful people, but socializing has never been your scene. You can be pleasant, laugh at jokes, and perhaps even throw one out yourself, but it’s not in you to pursue deeper connections. You’re more at ease keeping to yourself and observing if anything. However, the hopeful look on Armin’s face during your lunch break last week, when he insisted he wanted you at his party, has been popping up in your head at all hours so you feel as though you have no choice but to go beyond your standard pleasantries.

Your plan for surviving the evening is simple. Get there a few hours early so you can help cook, clean, or anything else Armin might need help with before his friends arrive. Partly because that’s what your altruistic nature steers you to do, but also because you’re hoping you can get a refresher course on what Armin's friends are like so you know what to expect and how to act. If they’re all friends of Armin, maybe it’ll be worth it for you to put some genuine intention behind your courtesies. After all, being friends with Armin hasn’t been difficult so far. You dare to even call it nice. Maybe it’s time for you to make at least one more friend.

Armin’s kitchen is bustling with energy as he and his friends move from one spot to another, swiftly keeping out of each other’s way in perfect sync to finish dinner preparations.

“I still can’t believe every single one of you bought me a candle… and the same one to top it all off,” Armin shakes his head in amusement, his mind recalling the small cluster of ocean-scented candles he left on the living room coffee table.

Despite his constant assurance that he’d take full responsibility for the food and drinks — he was the one to bring up the idea of a housewarming party first, so it only made sense —, all of his friends arrived little by little before noon to help out with the cooking. First was Mikasa who, as soon as Armin opened the door, handed him the gift bag with a smile, congratulating him on the move and saying she hoped her present would help make the place a little cozier.

Then came Connie and Sasha who, despite being roommates, failed to coordinate their gift choices and only realized they bought the same thing when Armin opened Sasha’s bag first and Connie’s jaw dropped in absolute horror. It only got funnier from there. Jean barely stuck the carefully wrapped gift box toward Armin when Mikasa muttered under her breath “It’s a good day for candle sales”.

“Well, you like candles, and the ocean is pretty much your brand, dude. Don’t blame us.” Jean shrugs, not bothering to peel his focused gaze from the carrots he’s grating.

“The last time I even talked about the ocean I was, like, fifteen. Almost ten years ago!”

Everyone knows Armin loves the long-term supply of ocean-scented candles, and what may seem like complaints to outsiders is just another bit they’ve all dragged on from their youth.

But Connie still seems a bit lost. His hands pause from sprinkling rosemary leaves on the potato wedges Mikasa neatly laid out on a baking tray.

“So you’re not fucking with the ocean anymore?” he asks with an uncharacteristically serious expression that causes Jean to sputter a laugh before disguising it as a cough.

“Ignore them,” Sasha prompts, rolling her eyes. Her lips then stretch into a suggestive grin. “Tell us about the girl you invited over. Before she gets here, you have to tell us for real this time, are you into her? Do we need to talk you up? I’m the best wingwoman, Armin. I will make her love you even if it kills me.” Sasha’s hands fall heavily onto Armin’s shoulders as if to back up her conviction.

Armin furrows his brow in mild exasperation. This was the second time he’d been harrowed with that string of questions, which didn’t seem like much, but it took a while for him to get his friends to drop the topic the first time around. He shakes his head and peels Sasha’s hands from his form, fixing them firmly at her sides.

“I already told you it’s not like that. And I don't think human sacrifice is needed, Sash. We’re friends. I just want her to meet you guys… and Eren, of course.”

Nobody picks up on the short pause before Eren’s name or Armin’s sly expression that he’s quick to hide by turning to face the sink.

“She’s a bit quiet but she’s really nice. I think she’ll be a nice addition to our group. You’ll like her, I promise. Just go a little easy, okay?” Armin pauses as he tugs on a pair of dishwashing gloves to whip around one last time. “And don’t say anything weird! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“Okay,” Jean replies in a sing-songy voice. Armin turns to shoot him a threatening look upon hearing his teasing tone, only to find Jean pointing a stern finger in his direction, “But if you change your mind, I got you, bro.”

Armin only smiles in response, not willing to spare any more breath in correcting him, and starts washing the dishes. Before he can finish scrubbing the bowl in his hands, the doorbell rings and he rushes to pry himself free from his dishwashing gloves before heading to the intercom, glancing back to make sure everyone is still keeping busy.

“It’s me,” a slightly fuzzy version of your voice comes through the speaker.

He buzzes you in immediately and steps into the hall to wait for you.

When he sees you round the corner, his face breaks out into a grin.

“Hey, you made it!”

Your lips quirk into a small smile. Armin makes way for you to step inside.

“I thought I could get here a little early to help you with the food. I hope that’s okay.” Your voice trembles a bit at the end, and you start to worry when you realize Armin’s grin has faded.

“Actually, everything is pretty much done already. Everyone got here around noon, and they kind of took over.”

As if on cue, a burst of laughter hits your ears from where you assume the kitchen is.

You manage to let out a slow ‘oh’.

Your simple plan has officially backfired. Since Armin's friends are already here, and since he's had no shortage of hands to help him prepare for his get-together, there's nothing left for you to do. More importantly, there’s no more window for you to ask questions. You hoped you’d be the first to arrive, and each arrival after that would be spaced out so you had enough time to get a feel on every one of Armin’s friends on their own. Now that that’s out the window, you start to worry the dynamics will be a bit too awkward between you and however many there are of them. It’s a battlefield now. Too many factors, too many things to worry about. Headfirst, no safety net, no baby steps.

Almost as if he can sense your panic through your otherwise expressionless face, Armin smiles.

“Don't worry about it, they're nice.”

Your fingers curl tighter around the box of desserts. There's a permanent knot in your stomach that twists further, reminding you of its presence, in situations like this. Your mind flashes a jumble of different scenarios and all the possibilities for outcomes without letting you actually process or make sense of any of it.

And in the next instant, you're back.

“I brought some lemon bars from Kuchel.” You raise the box just enough for the movement to catch Armin’s eye.

His face lights up when he looks down at the box in your hands and he immediately takes hold of it.

“I freakin’ love these! Thank you!”

Relief washes over your previously tensed features. Of course, you already knew these specific lemon bars are Armin’s favorite. He's always bummed out when you go together to Kuchel for your lunch break and there's no more left.

“I actually got the last batch,” you state proudly, the feeling only growing when his fingers excitedly tug at the ribbon tying the handles together and fishing out a pastry, biting into it with no hesitation.

“No kidding, they always sell out. Come on, I'll introduce you to everybody.” He heads toward the kitchen, waving at you to follow him.

You nervously tug at your turtleneck's sleeves, leaving them to cover your hands in an almost protective manner.

The fact that all eyes fall on you the second you step into everyone's line of vision doesn't help you feel at ease. Your gaze wanders to a distant place in an attempt to lessen the mental weight everyone's stares bear on you. But Armin throws a comforting arm over your shoulder and gives you a light squeeze as he announces your name to everybody.

When you look up — because you have to in order to properly link names and faces together — each new person in the room has a warmth to their features that gradually soothes your internal distress.

Sasha’s the first name to be called out. She's also the only one who goes up to steal you from Armin's arms and hugs you excitedly, squealing about how exciting it is to finally meet you. You're taken aback by the sudden embrace, but she’s holding you so tight that you can't look back at Armin for help. You're also oblivious to his warning gaze toward her behind your back.

Mikasa smiles and nods politely at you from the other side of the counter. It's quite the contrast from the first girl, but her gaze radiates kindness.

Jean's good looks are the first thing you notice from him, and he's got a cool energy to match. He raises two fingers in a salute when it's his turn, paired with a side smile as he casually leans against the bar.

Lastly, there's Connie, who proves himself to be as goofy as Armin told you beforehand, by dramatically posing with one arm against the counter and his opposite hand resting on his hip, muscles flexed, head turned low just so he could look up again and say “the one and only”.

You purse your lips in response to hide the smile that still manages to slip through.

“Nice to meet you all.”

You stand there awkwardly for what you think is a second too long, silently begging to come up with something else to say or for someone else to pick up the task so everyone can move on.

Thankfully, Armin swoops in, showing off his box of lemon bars on his way to a seat at the bar. He taps the seat next to him, gesturing for you to sit.

“Impressive,” Jean says, nodding in approval as he neatly folds a tea towel. He knows how much Armin loves Kuchel's lemon bars.

“It's not a big deal,” you reply, waving him off as you scan the room for something to give yourself to do. But there isn't much.

The counters have been cleared of any signs of ingredient prep during introductions, there's a timer set for the oven, and there's but a small pile of dishes left unfinished at the sink, which Mikasa is already finishing up. So you settle for sitting at the bar and staying out of everyone's way.

However, sitting still doesn't clear you from everyone's attention. It only makes sense that they're curious about you. And with the oven timer still with a little less than an hour to go, you can sense the start of a conversation where you're the main focus.

“So…” Jean begins.

Everyone gathers around the bar.

You brace yourself.

The following minutes are a bit of a blur. You try your best to keep up with everyone's questions. Where you're from, your birthday, your zodiac sign, what kind of music you like, if you've been to this and that place, or tried the food at x, y, and z. They're pretty basic questions, but as long as you're a target you're kept on your toes. After each of your answers, there's an exchanged glance or a nod of approval. You know everyone is only trying to get to know you, yet you can't help but feel as though every question is part of a test and your likability is at stake. That is until the conversation branches out to a story about the best taco truck in the next town over, which, in turn, leads to a story about Connie and Sasha getting food poisoning from a different taco truck they decided to try after their favorite one happened to close early that day. Only then can you breathe a sigh of relief. You even laugh a little at Sasha’s colorful retelling of the taco story.

“So, basically, don't go to Tito's,” Sasha finalizes, giving you a stern look. “You'll be shitting and barfing for a week.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” you laugh.

After that, the conversation flows a lot easier for you. There's less pressure with the decrease in questions thrown your way, which gives you more confidence to chime in with anecdotes of your own. It's hard to pinpoint when the conversation stopped feeling like a test, but you're grateful for it.

You realize there was never any battlefield to survive. Not here, not with this group of friends. And it’s nice to have several people willing to fill in any silence and steer the flow of the conversation instead of feeling the pressure of everyone's interest in your hands.

Just as you take a second to wander your gaze across everyone's laughing faces, finally feeling at ease with your place in the group, the doorbell rings, followed by the shrill sound of the timer.

“Fucking Jaeger,” Jean mutters.

“Just in time,” Armin grins, hops down from his chair, and makes his way to the door. Jean follows him at his heel, mumbling something about “Jaeger” being late.

You're distracted by Mikasa's voice calling your name.

“Could you get me the oven mitts, please?”

You nod and offer your assistance in taking out the chicken.

On the other side of the wall, Armin buzzes his last guest in and holds the door open to wait, shooting a confused look at Jean, who leans back against the wall to wait, too.

As soon as he comes in, Armin yells out, “Eren!” and pulls his best friend into a big hug, forcing him to crouch slightly to accommodate his embrace. They both laugh as Jean stands with his arms across his chest and a disgruntled look on his face.

“Hey, man. Sorry I'm late.”

“Mhm,” Jean hums, expecting Eren to cower under his gaze.

He doesn't. Jean is completely ignored as Eren sheepishly starts to explain himself, even though Armin didn't expect him until around this time anyway.

“I wanted to get you those lemon bars you like from that bakery. But when I got there, they were all out, so I went to their other shop across town, but they didn't have any either, and so then I—”

Armin laughs.

“Relax. You made it, that's what matters.”

“I feel bad, though. I really wanted to get some for you. I know they're your favorite.”

“If you really wanted to do something nice, you could've gotten here earlier to help with the cooking,” Jean scolds. Then he smirks. “Like I did.”

Eren rolls his eyes, finally acknowledging Jean.

He then pulls out a small gift box and hands it to Armin with a smile.

"I got you a candle, though."

Jean snorts and walks back to the kitchen, leaving an annoyed Eren shooting daggers at his back.

Armin graciously takes the gift, taking the lid off to confirm that the candle is, indeed, ocean-scented.

"Thanks, buddy. I was running short on these," he smiles sympathetically at his friend, patting his shoulder.

As they walk into the open space of the dining area, you walk out with a stack of plates in your hands to set the table. Armin perks up upon seeing you and excitedly rushes Eren, saying he wants to introduce him to somebody.

Armin’s voice catches your attention as you carefully set the plates down. “This is my best friend Eren.”

Your gaze shifts toward the pair of surprised green eyes already set on you while Armin’s voice goes on in the background, repeating your name to his friend.

“Hey, it’s you.” Eren smiles in recognition.

Armin’s eyebrows raise in surprise; yours furrow in confusion. Everyone starts filing to the dining area with food and silverware to finish setting the table. You step aside, murmuring quiet apologies as you get out of their way and step closer to Armin and his friend.

“You two know each other?” Armin asks, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

Before Eren can answer, he’s interrupted by Mikasa walking over.

“Hey, Eren. You’re late.” She looks up at him with disappointment. You get the feeling he was supposed to arrive around the same time she and the others did.

“Yeah!” Connie whines from the dining table, where he’s setting up wine glasses. “We had to work twice as hard.”

Eren ignores Connie’s flawed math.

“Sorry, everybody,” he replies, yet his tone is more that of a meek kid who’s forced to apologize.

He returns his focus to his original conversation. Armin is still looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, right! Uh… yeah, we bumped into each other at Kuchel’s earlier,” he finally explains. He looks at you shyly. “I held the door for you.”

Your furrowed brow softens, and your lips shape into a silent ah! when you recall the brief interaction. You didn’t even remember his face, but you nod along now.

“Come on, guys. Let’s eat!” Mikasa’s voice cuts through the silence, putting an end to your conversation.

Throughout dinner, everyone is a lot more chatty than you expected, considering there's plenty of food to get through. Everyone spills out as many light-hearted anecdotes about one another as the bites they take of baked potato wedges, garlic butter chicken, and grated carrot salad. Their stories are clear to have been brought up between them several times over the years, but they're new to you and you appreciate them choosing to share with you.

It turns out, the universe has worked its magic to make sure all six friends remain close since childhood. The fact is a little intimidating when you find out, but you do your best to push it aside.

At first, you're perfectly fine quietly listening as you eat, your voice only adding to the mix in the shape of a laugh, a gasp, or a question for the storyteller — just enough so they don't forget you're there.

The entire time, you feel a pair of eyes stealing glances at you from across the table even when you're not talking. Whenever you slowly look up to meet them, Eren quickly shifts his gaze elsewhere. When choosing places at the table, Armin insisted on having you across from one another. He didn't outright say it, but he did rearrange everyone else so that it worked out that way.

Given that he was the last to arrive and you've barely spoken directly to each other since he got here, you're not sure how to feel about Eren yet. He seems nice enough, but you don't feel as easy even looking at him as you do with the others. It's strange, but his late arrival made all the difference. Somehow he seems like a total stranger compared to the people you met just an hour before him. After your awkward introduction, it’s hard to say if you can make the situation better.

Night has settled in by the time everyone is leaning back in their seats with full bellies, lazily sipping wine every few minutes as the conversation eases into a quieter, slower pace. The serving dishes have been scraped clean. The box of lemon bars you brought over has been split for dessert, leaving just one lonely square that you know a slightly tipsy Armin has been eyeing.

Eren had turned to look at you with surprise when Armin thanked you for the second time.

“Ah, so you're the one who beat me to the last batch,” was what he said.

A soft apology tumbled from your lips.

So far, you hadn't proved yourself to be big on smiling but, when you did, it was nice to look at. Consequently, he tried to be the cause of at least one. So when you gave him nothing for his weak attempt at teasing, he shrunk in his seat and decided to keep quiet.

It's not long before Jean suggests moving to the living room to play a game and you take that as your cue to start clearing the table so there's no mess to come back to later. As you slip quietly into the kitchen, you can hear Jean and Connie arguing over whether to play cards or Monopoly. As Connie argues, he doesn't want to play Monopoly with a cheater, to which Jean says it's not his fault he's the better player.

You carefully place the dishes in the sink, adjusting the streaming water to a warm temperature. As you tug the pair of dishwashing gloves onto your hands, you catch a glimpse of a figure stepping beside you. When you look up, you're met with a boyish grin and shy jewel-toned eyes. He's setting down another pile of dirty dishes on the counter.

“Hi.”

You're not sure how to respond other than with a polite nod and a soft hi back. There's not much else to say, anyway. Half of you hopes he'll leave; you need some space to recharge your social battery. The other half is curious about the kind of conversation you might have to engage in if he stays.

You focus your gaze on the soaking dishes, waiting with bated breath to see what he does.

He stays.

He offers to dry what you wash.

There's a nervous tremor in his voice. Like a kid scared to ask for permission instead of an adult offering help. It's so small you barely notice it, but it's there.

You nod.

You wash, he dries.

It's quiet save for the sounds of dishes clinking together.

Then, his voice comes through.

“I didn't mean to put you on the spot earlier when I got here. I just have a knack for remembering faces.”

An uncomfortable warmth crawls up your neck and pools at your cheeks.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm kind of the opposite. I just don't pay attention to faces,” you explain.

“Oh.” He forces a laugh. “Yeah, no, I get it.”

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. It's a bit discouraging for him to see how laser-focused you are on doing the dishes though, and he already feels foolish for making you apologize for not recognizing a total stranger. He tries not to stare at you too much but it's difficult when you're right there beside him. He only hopes you can't make him out looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You, on the other hand, can feel his eyes burning holes into your side profile. Ignoring it is harder than you hope but at least you have something to help. You're not sure if he expects you to reciprocate his efforts in breaking the ice, but you've yet to get a proper read on him. He was mostly quiet during dinner. Whenever a story with him at the center came up, he'd try to sway the conversation in a different direction. He seemed tense and you hate to think he might be uncomfortable with your presence. Maybe he's an anxious person who's easily embarrassed, you think. Or he might’ve thought you were stuck up and rude after you failed to recognize him and that's why the air now feels so thick. That happens a lot. The people around you are mostly a blur until — and if you ever — have a reason to break into friendly territory.

The next time you hand a dish for Eren to dry, your gaze lingers, carefully taking in his features. His green eyes are striking, but it's not as if the rest of his face falls short of that. He's very handsome. In a more boyish way than you observed Jean to be, but sharper than, say, Armin. His brown hair is neatly cut on the sides, contrasted by the choppy bangs that line his forehead — something that brings more youth to his face. He's got long, thick lashes and plump lips. Faint freckles are scattered along what one might consider to be a perfect straight nose. He's very handsome, indeed. But that's not all. There's a delicacy to his features that blends them all harmoniously, making Eren Jaeger quite… pretty.

Eren suddenly clears his throat; you take it as a sign to stop staring.

“So… um… how long have you been friends with Armin?”

You already know the answer, and you didn’t mind the silence at all, but you might as well try to get Armin’s best friend in your good graces. Especially after your dreadful mistake of not recognizing him. It bothers you to think he might have decided he doesn’t like you because of that.

“Since we were six… Um… He had a lot of trouble with bullies back in elementary school and I beat them up for him.”

That part you didn’t know, so you pause your focus on the plate you’re scrubbing to glance at Eren with admiration.

“I think he might’ve developed a weird hero complex by mistake though,” he laughs to himself. “He wanted me to get into fights every time he saw someone new being bullied.”

You laugh. The sound makes Eren’s chest swell with pride.

“Did you do it?”

He bashfully nods without ungluing his gaze from the serving spoon he’s drying.

You laugh some more.

“And of course, then he would take them in as a friend. Something about strength in numbers or whatever. To this day he has this thing that he needs to take in anyone who seems vulnerable.”

You laugh through your nose fully aware of the familiarity you feel from Eren’s story.

“That definitely sounds like him.”

You grin as you finish rinsing the plate, excited to have found some common ground to latch onto for conversation.

Eren admires your happy expression from the corner of his eye.

But when you turn to look at him, he averts his gaze, curling his lips inwards, and he takes the plate from your hands.

Your lips downturn a bit, thinking you might still have a long way to go before you can make up for your mistake.

Still, the thickness in the kitchen air dissipates as you each return to your tasks, the corners of your lips perking up in relieved smiles.

Armin walks in a moment later with the remnants of a laugh on his face from whatever conversation he just left behind. His faded grin resurfaces when he finds you and Eren together, and he catches a glimpse of the pink tint dusting his best friend's cheeks.

He watches for a few seconds, mildly amused that neither of you seems to notice his presence. Just as Eren finishes wiping the last fork dry, he decides to speak.

“You didn't need to do that.”

His statement is directed at both of you, yet his gaze is fixed on you, a warm smile gracing his features.

“You should join the others,” he tells you. “Oh, and uh…” He swipes a bottle from one of the cupboards. “Take this with you.”

“Let me just help put away everything,” you offer.

“It's okay, Eren and I got it,” he assures you.

You back out hesitantly, only decidedly walking out when Armin gives you a reassuring nod.

Both men watch you leave. As soon as you're out of sight, Armin's lips stretch into a knowing smile.

“She's pretty, huh?”

Eren's eyebrows upturn in clear worry when he rips his gaze from you to look at Armin. They soften a split second later in an attempt to appear nonchalant before his grinning friend.

“Um… I guess so… I don't know.”

He hurries to tend to the dishes waiting to be put away, hoping it's enough to mask the way he slowly deflates.

Plates and forks are stored in silence. An amused Armin keeps glancing at him.

After a while, a soft laugh escapes his lips.

“Relax, I'm not into her.”

Eren stiffens, unable to remove his hand by will from the cupboard door he just shut, and instead letting gravity take the wheel.

Before he can reflect on how exposed he feels, Armin's voice comes through again from where he's now leaning casually against the counter with his hands in his pockets.

“But I meant it when I said she's pretty.” He nods along for emphasis even though Eren has yet to look at him.

“She's really smart too. And kind! I mean, she can seem a little cold at first, but I heard some guys are into that. There's just this charm to her, you know? A few guys at work have tried asking her out but they're totally wrong for her.” He shakes his head at the last thought, then side-eyes Eren expectantly.

“If she ever goes out with someone, I hope it's one of the good guys.”

Throughout Armin's speech, Eren kept his lips pressed together in a tight line, wondering where Armin was headed with all he was saying. At first, he assumed his friend was interested in the new face of the group, which is why he feigned disinterest. But with every word that kept rolling off his tongue, his intentions were blatantly obvious. And yet he still decides to ask, “What are you trying to do, Armin?”

"Nothing... nothing at all," Armin answers with a shrug, playing it off as if any suggestion is all in Eren's head. He straightens up and starts walking out of the kitchen. There's a pause in his step just before he can slip out of sight. Looking at Eren over his shoulder, he leaves him with one last thought.

“All I'm saying is if you just keep staring at her, she’s gonna get weirded out.”

Eren is left alone, blushing profusely and running a shaky hand through his hair.

“Come on! That can’t be your most embarrassing thing!”

You shrug.

“That's all I've got.”

“What’s going on?” Eren asks as he takes in the scene.

It took him a while to reason with himself alone in the kitchen. By the time Eren joins everyone in the living room — nerves finally dormant — everyone is sitting on the floor around the coffee table playing a drinking game. He walks over in search of an open space and ends up nestled between Jean and Connie. Jean throws an arm over his shoulders.

“Jaeger, good. Buddy, tell her about the time you tried to do a one-arm pushup.” From his sleepy eyes and the affectionate term toward Eren, one can easily tell he's drunk.

Eren looks up quizzically at everybody.

“We're telling our most embarrassing stories,” you explain. “Whoever has the worst one wins the round and everyone else has to drink. I think it's just a ploy for everyone to get dirt on me though.”

You pout at your cup. It's clear you're a little tipsy, too.

Eren softly laughs.

“Whaa– we would never,” Sasha pouts.

“You're getting a deal! You get six embarrassing stories for the price of one!” Connie points out.

As you start to argue that it's not really fair because it's not like you have anyone to tell, Sasha’s phone buzzes in her pocket and a loud groan rumbles from her throat after skimming through whatever text she just got. Her chin falls onto the coffee table, arms stretched out before her so she can reply.

Mikasa looks at her with concern and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, affectionately tapping her nose afterward.

“What's wrong?”

“Kaya's out with her friends and she's asking me to send her money for an Uber. I told her to be careful with her money but she just won't listen.”

Everyone either sympathetically smiles at her or idly watches her send over fifty dollars. You look at Armin, who quietly explains Kaya is Sasha’s younger sister who's a college freshman. You nod in understanding.

“That's a little sibling for you,” Connie mutters, softly patting Sasha’s head.

“That's why I love being an only child,” Jean states matter-of-factly. He stretches his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders back before reaching for the bottle of liquor at the center of the table. “Never had to worry about some annoying little runt.”

“I would've liked to have a younger sister,” Mikasa says. “It would've been fun to hang out and teach her things, you know?”

A touch of nostalgia dances along her lips as she traces the rim of her glass with her index finger.

“Oh, do you have any siblings?” Her eyes flit in your direction.

The question is innocent, but the topic of family causes you to shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“No… I don't.” You try to smile, but it's stiff.

Jean's loud clapping startles you. He tops off all but Connie's and Sasha’s glasses.

“Oh yeah, single child gang!” He raises his glass in cheers and downs the contents. You follow his lead, hoping that'll mark the end of that topic. But it doesn't. “You must've been spoiled growing up, am I right?”

You lower your gaze, opting to fiddle with your fingers instead of answering.

Mikasa seems to sense the fragility of the topic from your side because her eyebrows upturn in concern when she looks at you.

“Hey, not everyone has a mother like yours. Don't be rude, Jean-boy.” She raises a teasing eyebrow as she whips her head in Jean's direction.

“Didn't you yell at her when she brought cupcakes to our class for your birthday?” Eren scrunched his eyebrows together in feigned thought.

“I was twelve! You can't keep holding that over my head. I'm twenty-five now,” Jean whines.

“And I've yet to see you mature,” Eren mutters.

A hushed giggle escapes your lips. You cover it up by sipping your drink. A satisfied smirk tugs at Eren's lips when he catches a glimpse of your smile.

Contrary to his sober self, drunk Jean craves Eren's approval and affection instead of their usual frenemy-like banter. He looks at him with sad eyes.

“Hey, I've made up for it. Mama Kirstein doesn't need to lift a finger thanks to her amazing engineer son.”

Sasha’s face contorts in confusion.

“Last time I went to Trost with you, she was still working as a seamstress.”

Jean waves her off.

“She just likes to keep busy.”

“What do your parents do?” Sasha turns to you.

You're trapped.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Armin leaning forward with just as much interest as the others. In the past, Armin's asked about your family only once. After vaguely implying you weren't close to them, he dropped the topic. But now, in his intoxicated state, he doesn't do much to keep his level of curiosity under wraps. And knowing you're slightly buzzed, too, he hopes you’ve let go of any inhibitions that have kept you from revealing more of your background.

Armin likes you. He's always admired your efficiency at work, but you seemed lonely and closed off — which is why he decided to approach you in the first place. To everyone in the office, you were a cold stuck-up woman — yet they still refused to stop obsessing over you. To him, you were just misunderstood and lowkey. Sure, you refused to do much to take up space in a room, but through small conversations here and there, he was allowed to slowly unveil your true self.

But there was always another hidden wall. Armin wouldn't admit it out of fear of seeming like a creep, but that line you expertly draw — allowing someone in without fully giving yourself away — is part of what makes you alluring. That and your keen eye for reading people.

You wet your lips with a swipe of your tongue, looking for a way out inside the clear liquid sitting at the bottom of your glass.

Eren zeroes in on your face, trying to decipher the distant look in your eyes. The weight on his chest lightens when you finally speak.

“I'm not sure what they're doing now. Last time I checked, my mom was a drug addict, and my dad left when I was twelve.”

The weight in Eren's chest comes back heavier than ever.

Silence takes over the living room. Even the darkness outside the window seems eerily quiet as your abrupt statement courses through the gears in everyone's heads.

There's no certainty as to why you blurted out what you did. Maybe it was a sense of security which you now think was a trick of your mind. Perhaps the alcohol is to blame. After all, you didn't feel any need to be a burden on others on an otherwise fun night before. But the words just seemed to push their way out of your mouth.

A severe scolding rings in your ears.

You always ruin everything!

You don't expect anyone to come up with an answer. In fact, you'll be grateful if someone simply discards your words and steers the conversation in a different direction. But if nobody does, then you'll quietly make your way home. There’s no use in annoying others by begging them to let you stay, promising you won't cause any more trouble.

“How long has it been since you saw your mom?” Mikasa's voice cuts through the thickness of the air.

The look in her eyes is sympathetic. Not the fake kind that makes you feel pitied for having endured a rough life. It's the kind that simply matches such an ordinary question.

“About a year,” you murmur.

Jean hums in thought.

“A year, huh? That's almost how long you've been in the city, right?” He scratches his chin as he retrieves the information you shared earlier from his tipsy brain.

You nod. “Yup… one year.”

Everyone nods along to your answer. Everyone but one.

You nervously blink toward the left, searching Armin's face. He's slumped in his spot, his eyes lost at a blank point. They flash in your direction, and he quickly composes himself, but not quick enough for his expression to go unnoticed by you.

Despite some things here and there, he thought you were close. He never pressured you to share anything you didn't want to. Just getting along and respecting each other would have sufficed — he’s a giver more than he is a taker. But he feels like he failed to support you. He's extremely dumbfounded, but he doesn't make it a point that you never told him the specifics on something so big. He refuses to make you think he resents you for it.

But the glimpse you caught of his fallen shoulders and clouded eyes still makes you lower your head in guilt. Just ten minutes ago, you felt accomplished for being on your way to gaining new friends and grateful that Armin paved the way for you. You're embarrassed for having thought that you could juggle more relationships when you've barely been open to the one you already have. It's almost laughable that you thought to leave your comfort zone and give this evening a try.

Before you can issue an apology, Jean's loud clapping startles you for the second time tonight.

"Well.” He tilts his head as he splits the last of the liquor into everyone's glass for one last drink. “In any case... if you hadn't moved here, you wouldn't be drinking with the best people you'll ever meet."

“Hear, hear!” Armin yells beside you, following Jean's lead and raising his glass toward the center.

Your eyes meet his. He's smiling, nodding almost imperceptibly for you to join your glass with everyone else's. The corners of your lips quirk into a relieved smile. You raise your glass.

The rest of the group cheers as joyful clinks spread through the room.

Whatever darkness was squeezing at your chest dissipates. Your eyes crinkle in amusement as you allow your giddiness to take over.

A pair of mesmerized green eyes linger on your face from the opposite side of the coffee table. His lips part slightly to draw in a long breath, followed by a sip of alcohol.

A beeping phone sifts through the commotion.

Mikasa looks down at her phone. First, with curiosity, then with worry.

Levi Don't go out at night for a while. Killer on the loose. SN3

She calls out Armin's name.

“Turn on the news on channel 3.”

The urgency tainting Mikasa's usual steady voice has Armin scrambling to find the remote, though with a bit of confusion. Everyone else exchanges quizzical glances while they wait for him to turn the television on.

A male newscaster is halfway through reciting a report on the police department's recent findings.

“... The twenty-six-year-old woman's body was dismembered and disposed of in a garbage dumpster behind a local restaurant. Police have yet to report any evidence that can lead them to any suspects. An autopsy is ongoing to pinpoint the cause of death but with the initial report, signs point to a possible case of torture…”

The mood shifts yet again. Everyone stares at the screen, but the words no longer reach anyone's ears. Nobody recognized the girl identified on the screen but it's still unnerving when something so tragic and cruel happens in the city one lives in. Being close in age to the victim just makes it even rougher.

Eren is the first to look back — specifically at the girls.

You all seem lost in thought. His gaze flits in your direction. You're just as distant, nursing your glass in your hands as you chew on your bottom lip. He turns to Mikasa.

“Was that Levi earlier?”

Eren's voice pulls Mikasa from her thoughts.

She nods.

“Who's Levi?” you ask.

“My uncle,” she explains. “He texted me not to go out at night for a while. They didn't say if this was a serial killer but I don't think he wants to take any chances as long as the culprit is out there.” In a lower voice she adds, “he's in the police.”

You slowly nod, then suddenly remember where you are.

“I need to get home fast, then.”

Your eyes land on the digital clock beside the TV. It's well past the time to catch the last bus. You swipe your phone from your purse to look up cab numbers, unaware of the nervous glances exchanged all around you.

“I don't think you should leave now.” Eren stops you from dialing the first cab company from your search results, his eyes wide with concern. He doesn't realize his hand is holding onto your wrist until you look down at it.

He pulls away, embarrassed, but remains firm in his statement.

“Eren's right,” Connie agrees. He has a protective hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Mind if we crash here tonight?” He directs his gaze at Armin.

“No need to ask. I'll bring out some blankets.”

It's two in the morning. A cluster of tired bodies sleeps peacefully on the living room floor. Lazy limbs stretch out and across someone else's. Light snores and rare mumblings are the only thing that disturbs the quiet.

The murder on the news had left everyone unsettled. Much so, that everyone felt inclined to sleep together in the same room. It didn’t do much for their comfort given the space, but it gave everyone a sense of safety.

Eren’s eyelids barely flutter open. They're so heavy, he wishes he could just ignore the uncomfortable fullness of his bladder. But he can't. Begrudgingly, he clumsily rises to his feet and makes his way to the bathroom, rubbing his temples with one hand and feeling around for any walls and furniture with his other while his eyes adjust to the darkness.

When he gets back, he catches sight of a lone figure sitting out on the small balcony outside of the kitchen.

It takes him a minute to rid himself of the extra warmth in his face. He takes a deep breath and quietly slides the door open to step out.

“Hey.”

You look up at him from your chair. Your knees are pressed against your chest, your arms wrapped around them for support as your cheek rests on top.

“Hi.”

“Is it okay if I sit?”

You nod and proceed to face forward, resting your chin where your cheek used to be.

The night is pleasantly warm. You're wearing the sweats and shirt Armin lent you for the night.

Eren's gaze roams every shape of your side profile. It's the second time you've been alone together and he's racking his brain on what to talk about to balance out the way he's been staring at you all night. He doesn't want to give Armin another reason to tease him. His hands are sweaty and his cheeks start to warm at the reminder.

“Did I wake you?”

Your voice is gentle and sweet, but it startles him nonetheless.

“No,” he manages to say. He pauses. “How long have you been out here?”

You shake your head as you look up at the star-littered sky.

“Not long.”

He hums, mulling your answer over.

If you’re awake at this hour, not bothering to try going back to sleep, something must be weighing heavily on your mind, he reasons. That’s further proven by the way you’re shrinking into yourself, trying to take up as little space as you can. Not that he’s especially knowledgeable about you, but there’s a difference in how your quietness manifests itself now than during dinner. It’s comparable to the way you were after watching the news.

“Are you okay?”

He watches you hesitate to give him an answer. Your lips tremble, parting and pressing together a couple of times. It’s as if you’re willing to talk but the words are lodged in your throat.

“You can tell me.”

Still no answer.

“Is it because of the girl on the news?”

Finally, you look at him. Your brows twist with grief.

“I just can’t stop thinking about her. Her family must be devastated.”

All evening, Eren’s had a hard time holding your gaze. Mainly because he didn’t want to give himself away, but it’s also hard to admire someone when they’re looking directly at you. Once his racing heart finds a steadier rhythm, he finds it’s actually easy to lose himself in your eyes.

There’s a subtle glassiness to them — one he’d be more concerned about if he hadn’t noticed it as a natural part of you. Your eyes heavily conveyed every emotion, every little thought. And Eren suddenly felt compelled to learn how to read them.

The way you’ve presented yourself so far — gentle and cautious — gives you an aura of delicate maturity in the eyes of others. But for a brief moment, you seem small. Troubled, even.

“I know it’s selfish for me to be thinking about this, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll have anyone crying for me when I die. I don’t have many people,” you whisper.

It feels strange to Eren to suddenly feel a surge of courage when he’s been nothing but an awkward wreck around you since you met.

“You have us now.”

You don’t show yourself to be entirely convinced. In fact, there’s a hint of amusement shimmering in your eyes. But you appreciate his words no matter how empty they might turn out to be.

Eren hesitates to ask you the question that’s been gnawing at his brain for hours now. You’ve been sharing such a pleasant moment, that he hates to think he might ruin it all and end up losing his cool in the process.

“That stuff about your parents… is it true?”

It’s a leap of faith.

“You think I made it up?”

The raised eyebrow and the humorless smile that graces your lips take him by surprise, even more so than the firm tone of your voice.

“No, of course not!” He chokes on his words, frantic he might have offended you.

But you laugh, and it soothes him instantly.

“Relax, I was just teasing you.” You look away, warmth pooling at your cheeks upon your failed attempt to be funny. “It’s true, by the way. I’m a child of neglect.”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips.

He doesn't pick up on your embarrassment — he’s much too focused on his own.

Despite the bitterness lacing your gentle voice, he can’t help himself from wanting to know more. It makes him anxious. Finding you attractive is besides the point. His mind is scrambling at any opportunity to get closer to you. He wants to keep talking. He wants to hear more about what worries you. He wants to stretch out the night and keep the conversation going — even if he’s caught off guard by your unpredictable teasing a few more times. He wants to know about your past. He wants to know you. But you kill off his chances when you suddenly change the course of the conversation.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” You look up at him with concern contorting your features. It takes everything in him not to let his gaze drift to your bottom lip that’s caught between your teeth to keep your nerves at bay.

“Huh?”

You clear your throat before explaining and fiddle with your hands as you do. You focus on the moon instead of him.

It’s quite cute for Eren to see you fidget for once.

“It's just that during dinner you barely talked and whenever I looked at you, you would look away,” you explain bashfully. “And then when we were doing the dishes together, you just felt a little awkward. I mean, I don’t expect you to be all chummy with me, but it was kind of like you were forcing yourself to talk to me.”

Eren wants to smack himself. He had no idea of the message he was sending all this time. All those averted gazes and suppressed smiles must have looked totally different from your end.

“I thought maybe you were uncomfortable with me around.”

Your voice is even softer than before. It might have to do with the people sleeping inside or maybe you're just feeling quieter than usual. Eren has no idea. But it's a nice sound, and his quickening heartbeat isn't lost on him.

The abrupt changes in his system are giving him whiplash. And it’s all because of you.

“I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

A deep shade of red gradually tints his cheeks, openly defying the pale blue light from the moon. His gaze shies away from you and settles on his lap, where he nervously rubs his sweaty palms just to give himself something to do. When his eyes slowly drift back to your face, he swallows hard.

It finally hits you.

Oh, you think.

Next chapter

Chapter guide | Masterlist | Navigation

#aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jaeger x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #aot imagines #eren yeager fanfiction #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #tw: alcohol

121 notes · View notes

onewithblankets · 1 year

Text

pro tips for administering your own t shots

aight so i’ve been doing the whole self injection thing for nine/ten-ish months now, and as someone who’s always been, and still is, a little squeamish around needles, here are some things that help:

when you wipe down the injection site (I do my thighs, intramuscular injection) with an alcohol wipe, wait a little bit for the skin to dry before sticking the needle in. i’ve found this helps reduce the sting a bit.

listen to music. it helps make the whole process a little less nerve-wracking when you’re humming along to a song you like as you prep your syringe.

along the same lines as the last point, I like to use certain beats of a song as a ‘countdown’ almost, to hype myself up for the injection itself. instead of going “three-two-one” and then sticking the needle in, i’ll go “alright, i’ll put on cotard’s solution and stick it in when he starts screaming.” definitely makes the anticipation of the needle itself more bearable.

the anticipation is always worse than the actual injection. don’t let your own brain psyche you out of taking your t for fear of pain. i came into intramuscular injections thinking it’d be awful pain all the time, but half the time it’s barely more than a slight sting and usually doesn’t feel like anything after I put the bandaid on. i think i was more sore in the first couple weeks than i ever am now, though, so i may have just gotten used to it.

don’t inject too quickly, once you have the needle in your flesh. testosterone is pretty thick, so it’ll be a little slower coming out, and trying to push it too hard too fast will just make it uncomfortable or a little painful.

do all the prepwork and keep everything together in front of you before you even uncap the first needle. make sure you have all the alcohol wipes, needles, vial, bandaids, and sharps box right next to you. you don’t want to pull your needle out of your thigh and then realize you don’t have a bandaid to put on the bleeding hole. that stuff gets everywhere.

alternate your injection sites. don’t do the exact same spot every single week (or however frequently you do your injections) or it will build up tougher tissue and make it harder for you to do injections. i just switch between left and right thighs every week.

once your t is in the syringe, keep your fingers/palms FAR AWAY from the plunger until the needle is inside you. you do not want to know how many times i accidentally squeezed some t out of my syringe because i was moving things around and absentmindedly squeezed on the plunger just a little too hard

check out Howard Brown! very good high quality videos on how to do subcutaneous and intramuscular injections + how to draw medicine out of the vial in the first place. highly recommend.

that’s all i can really think of atm. might update this later if i think of more things/figure something new and cool out for myself, though. hope it’s at least a little helpful for some of you funny internet people.

#trans #transgender #transmasc #trans man #testosterone #tw needles #tw injections #trans masc #t shot #hrt #transmasculine #ftm #trans ftm

2K notes · View notes

livelaughlovesubs · 3 months

Note

Ok ok. So I don’t usually like angst but what about WHB mc finally breaking after Sitri time after time has only considered and called them Solomon. Maybe it hurts more because mc has fallen for him so him still not viewing mc as their own person hurts even more? Anyways yeah :) I’m still very annoyed that Sitri consideres the mc as Solomon in WHB :):):)

OH ALSO, it would be kinda cool if Sitri could like hear how mcs heart beat changes and stuff when he calls them Solomon or something around this lines, I was thinking about this all last night.

Ok, hi Nini 💗 how was your dayyyy?? 💗💗

-🐼

Heyyy, my day was pretty good, I like this idea so~ it will probably be short though. (I’m writing so much sfw stuff these days)

Annnd, idk how to write heartbeat, looked it up, and it said ‘lub’ and ‘dub’ soooo

~…..lub…..dub…..lub…..~

A steady heartbeat, rhythmic, like music to his ears. Sitri listened closely to your heart, he can read your mood like that. You were feeling bored, the beat was rather slow. He walked over to you, showcasing a gentle smile, “would you like some tea?” “Ah, sitri..! Yes, tea would be nice, thanks.”

~…dub…..lub..dub…..lub~

The pace got chaotic, but calmed down eventually, seems like you were deep in thought. “I’ll prepare it.” You watched his back while he heated the water, those baby blue locks looked so pretty in your eyes. He was a devil, yes, but even so he is definitely one of the most charming ones. You also liked how attentive he was, he always knew instantly how you felt.

~…lub….dub….lub….~

Your heartbeat got a little faster, were you impatient? He hurried up with the preparation, pouring the water over the leaves, then putting everything on a plate. Careful, diligent steps, not a single drop got wasted, how elegant. Sitri put the plate down on the table in front of you, he was still wearing a small smile. “Thank you, sitri!” You took a sip, and returned the smile to him. “My pleasure, Solomon.”

Ah… right. This time even you could feel your heartbeat drop. You’ve been tolerating him enough, everything with no fail, he always called you by that name. It was as if a needle pierced your heart, as if it got cut down and thrown out. He was attentive, but he was delusional, and that hurt. It hurts a lot.

~…lub-dub….lub….dub..lub…~

The rhythm got hieratic, sitri’s eyes widened a little, was it the effects of the tea? “Solomon-” “stop, sitri, don’t utter that name.” “What do you mean, Solomon?” “Stop it, don’t call me by that name.” “Humans are so strange, why don’t you want me to call you by your name?” “Because it’s not mine!” Maybe it was because of your already shitty mood, but you snapped. “What..Solomon-” “stop! stop..stop, just, stop it…”

~dub-lub..dub…lub..dub-lub~

Ah, what a… raging heart, fast, uneven. It sounded painful, why? This always happened whenever he calls your name, so he thought it was ‘normal’. But this time, you didn’t have an ounce of sympathy, there was only disappointment. “Sitri, think about it, do I look like Solomon to you?”

~lub..dub..lub-dub…lub~

It got louder, it sounded expectant, you told him to think? Right, your appearance wasn’t the same, but the soul, the heart beat, it was the same. You are Solomon, maybe only a reincarnation, but you were him. “I don’t understand, you are Solomon, there is nothing to change about it.”

~lub-dub…lub-dub..lub~

Now it sounded like.. you lost hope? At what, what do you want from him? He didn’t understand humans- no, he didn’t understand you. “Sitri, I need time for myself. Leave.” “But-” “no, sitri, you don’t understand, I just want you to…” he looked at you expectantly, you could see that his eyes were filled with confusion. “To leave me alone for now, please.” Why couldn’t he understand, is he actively refusing to understand? You don’t want to hurt him, and you know he doesn’t want to hurt you neither, though this just won’t work. The devil listened to your heartbeat a last time, you were wavering between two sides, he definitely did something wrong, but what, what should he do, should he just leave? Maybe that’s for the best. So he did, letting out a deep sigh, face twisting into a sad one, and closing the door behind him.

#🐼 anon #whb #what in hell is bad #whb sitri #whb angst #what in hell is bad sitri #sitri #sitri x reader #sitri whb

84 notes · View notes

eddiemuonson · 8 months

Text

Sweet Feelings - Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: You take care of Steve Harrington after they come back from the Upside Down, fighting against Vecna. You never actually liked his girlfriend, Nancy, and realized it wasn't only because she didn't treat him like he deserved.

Contains: mentions of wounds/blood, fluff

Word count: 3.1k

They came back from the Upside Down looking like they had lost a war, like they've seen a ghost. You haven't been around them that much when it comes to beating the monsters and the enemy.

Steve was bleeding on his stomach and his face was dripping blood, he had strangled markings on his neck as well. It shocked you to see him that way, though. Robin and Eddie were holding him up and helped him sit in your couch.

Both of them weren't that as injured as he was, but were still looking like they could use a shower and a bed at that point. They told you Harrington was pulled under the water and brought to the Upside Down, into Vecna's lair. He was beaten up by a bunch of Demobats, getting choked out and bitten on his stomach.

That explained a lot why he was so lightheaded at your house, Robin offering a glass of water while he was trying to catch his breath. Eddie was looking out your window, checking on the house, and it brought you to finally ask them about why they were there.

"So you're going to lure this demon into my house?", you were trying to digest the whole situation. You learned about first aid before, so you prepared a whole kit to patch Steve, otherwise he would die on your couch.

"He's probably not coming now anyway", Munson said. Poor guy was still terrified as he had never been face to face with something like that. Neither were you.

"He's learned we were after him to get him killed before he opened the portals in Hawkins". It was hard for you to believe everything about this story. You've heard about Upside Down before, you knew about other people's deaths that were caused by the supernatural. It was just too much to gather.

You nodded as you sat on the couch closer to Steve, and Robin sat next to Eddie on the other side of the livingroom. His wounds were oozing, and he was panting from the pain. Harrington couldn't fight against the pounding pain against his ribs, either.

"Just try to breathe slowly, it can ease the pain", you said. He tried looking at you, but held his head back against the furniture. "This is going to sting a lot, but I'm going to use some analgesic for the injuries, so you can get comfortable".

You weren't that close to Steve, even though you were almost always together, considering you were too close to Robin. Despite that, you were madly annoyed over how his girlfriend, Nancy, who would be such a dumbass with him.

She wasn't that nice to the guy, she would bitch about him all the time saying he was too clingy, and would ditch him to keep her status at the parties. You always thought he was too nice to his closest friends and specially to her.

He was always nice to you as well and you would banter about nonsense stuff at some point, having fun with the way you'd respond to each other. But still, you didn't know about his secrets, about his private life.

You heard him groan as you started to stitch him up, making sure the anesthesia kicks in on the rest of his wounds. It makes you flinch at the way he holds back his screaming from the pain and how he squirms his body in response.

"Has... anybody talked to Nancy- about what happened..", he was trying his best to keep his sanity while you're working on the needle through his body. You let out a scoff and he noticed it.

"You barely died, your friends are all worried about you, and you only worry about the single person who didn't move a finger to look for you?", you asked. It obviously came out the wrong way, as you didn't mean to be rude. But Robin realized she wasn't the only one to be so incredibly against his relationship.

But the thing is, she had the right to, she was his best friend. You were only his friend for a while and even though you get along, you couldn't just barge into his life like that.

"She's my girlfriend, (Y/N). I care for her", he responded. His body started to rest as the analgesic and the anesthesia were working, giving him some comfort.

"Well, is she here right now?", you give him a smirk and he furrows his brows.

"Steve, she has a point", Robin states. "Look, we've talked about that before. Once, I told you I didn't like the way she acted around you, and I still don't. If she's not looking for you, maybe it's just not worth it".

She assured him she would be by his side, even if his relationship wouldn't work anymore. But he wasn't in the mood for that right now. He was dealing with a lot of pain and with the fact he almost died to Demobats. As you finished his stomach injuries, you started giving attention to his face, his right brow was split open.

"I'm sorry about that", your touch was light and he closed his eyes. He didn't have much of a choice but to let you do your work. It didn't hurt that much like before, either way.

"Nah, I've been beaten up before", he said, playfully. "Just this time, the pain is worse".

"I didn't mean the beating". You whispered as your hand stitched up his skin. You had this weird feeling in the pitch of your stomach, which made you confused by your response about his relationship with Nancy.

"Oh.. yeah, maybe you were right. It wasn't the first time I heard about it. I guess I'm just not good at reading between the lines". Harrington sounded really hurt by the way he talked about it. He had to deal with a lot lately, specially with Vecna trying to kill him and his friends.

As you finished your work, you got up from the couch and started packing the first aid kit. "You guys should stay here for the night. You two can sleep in the guest bedroom", you smiled.

It's not just that it would be better for them, but you were kinda worried about the demon out there. Now that he knows they're out looking for him, it's just not good if they split up. In fact, staying at your house isn't even the best option, but you didn't want to be alone.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

You just couldn't sleep. You were thinking too much about Vecna and the portal thing Robin was talking about. She seemed to be sleeping very peacefully on your king-sized bed, lying comfortably on the mattress under your blankets.

Shouldn't she be careful and awake, hoping for something to happen? Maybe she shouldn't, but you were. You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that those things out there existed. You rolled over your bed and headed to the kitchen, maybe if you drink some water or even a medicine for your sleep you could actually rest.

All the lights were out except the one from your hallway, which was almost always on. You were wondering if Eddie and Steve were also asleep or just taking turns in case anything happened. Somehow, you felt helpless after realizing you were the only one awake. Or you thought so.

You almost had a stroke as you approached the kitchen and saw a shadow in the kitchen counter. Your gasp wasn't loud enough to wake the house, but it surprised him. Steve was standing there, also dumbfounded, holding a bread knife. You would've laughed if it wasn't for the jumpscare.

"Jesus Christ, you walk too quietly", he said, still holding the knife. Standing on his feet while resting his hand on the chair.

You scoff, it's not like you'd do that on purpose. "And you're holding a bread knife".

"Can't always be that prepared", he replied. You turned on the kitchen light and it slightly illuminated the place. You let out a small grin.

"I thought you and Eddie were both sleeping. Or at least taking turns", he shook his head.

"Well, he snores, and I can't sleep through this sharp pain on my body. So I figured I would at least stay away from him". He sounded exhausted, even though his tone was playful. "And you?".

"I can't sleep either. In fact, I think I'm too scared to", you revealed. It's like you were ashamed to admit it and he noticed it. You thought he would make fun of you at some point.

"It's going to be okay. We'll figure something out, we always do", he grabbed your hand, giving you some comfort. Harrington gave you a sincere smirk.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean to sound nosy or rude at all". He looked down on his foot and breathed through his mouth, like a sigh. "It's your relationship, I know. I just don't like her".

"You and Robin share the same feeling, honestly", Steve pointed out, running one of his hands through his hair. The other one was now resting on his hip. "I kinda get why if I think about that now. Of all the people who knew we were dragged there, she was the only one who didn't ask".

He was bitter, and you sensed this was a very tough topic for him to talk about. He was almost killed, he was beaten up several times, and she didn't have the time to ask about him? She didn't mind just calling him to see how he was after that.

You knew why you couldn't just not say anything about it, because he was one of the sweetest people you know, and it's annoying how he doesn't get the attention he deserves.

"Look, I know it's not a good situation. But you deserve a lot better than that", you said as you walked towards the fridge, grabbing a bowl of ice cream. Ice cream was always a good way of getting the pain numb.

You put the bowl on the counter and grabbed a pair of spoons, offering him one. You saw him give you a small smile.

"I don't know about you, but I like to use this as an excuse to avoid any emotion or pain. At least at the moment". You explained, and you grabbed a spoonful of the sweet.

He followed you and ate a huge amount of the ice cream, making him scrunch his nose, squinting his face. He could barely eat the whole thing as it was freezing his brain out, and you laughed softly.

"You can't inhale the food, Steve", you were still trying to hold back the bursting laugh that was threatening to leave your mouth, and promptly gave him a glass of water.

He chugged the whole liquid and held back his head, tears were streaming down his face as he tried to breathe.

"Fuck, this is like torture". You looked at him and snorted, he literally forgot he was almost killed. "What- oh, yeah, I take that back", he was grinning as he grabbed another spoonful.

For the next few minutes, you were just enjoying the sweetness of that dessert while listening to the clock in your living room. Steve didn't say another word after that, but it wasn't uncomfortable at all.

When you felt like you had enough of the ice cream, he grabbed the bowl to himself and started digging. You grabbed a water jar for both of you after eating so much, you just had to digest it.

It was almost 4 am when you decided to go back to bed, realizing you should be safe for now, specially knowing Steve was still there, and he would fight for his life as he always did.

"Thank you for... you know", he said, making a gesture to his whole body. "The painkillers will certainly be of help".

"Of course, I'm glad I could be supportive". You didn't mean to sound sarcastic, but when you realized what you said, it was already done. You knew he might take it to his heart because of Nancy, but you were being honest at least.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

After they left the next day to try and find their friend to kill Vecna, you only heard about what would happen through Robin. And it had been days since they were gone off the map to avoid the portals to open. You learned they never made it, you felt the earthquake under your feet as the city started shaking.

It was definitely the most traumatizing moment for you, as you weren't home when it happened, and you didn't know what you were supposed to do then. A few moments later, you finally got a call from Robin.

"Did you guys do it? What happened? Robin, everything is a mess here, Hawkins is in a mad shape", you said desperately, as soon as you picked up your phone.

"We didn't", she sighed. "Eddie is dead and-", you gasped under your breath as she paused. "Vecna didn't die, he's just wounded". She sounded really hurt about all that happened to them. Robin wasn't even in her normal state.

"How's Steve? Is he alive?", you asked too fast. You heard your heart thumping in your ears, your eyes burning from the tears that were almost escaping.

"Yes, he is. He's done with Nancy. It ended up in a non-conventional way though", she responded. "How are you, babe?".

You? You couldn't even describe how you were feeling. You just experienced an earthquake, you heard Eddie was dead, Vecna was still out there. The only good thing about that was that your friends were still alive, the kids were still alive.

You started to cry over the phone and didn't realize Robin was doing the same along with you, because she got you. She knew everything was still new for you, it was hard for you to understand all that. And the fact she had to experience all of that was also hard for her.

"We're coming back soon", she said after a while. "If your house is still in place, care to sort out your first aid kit? We're also going to need a few more rooms". You laughed at the way she asked you to host them at your place.

You went back home after that. Everything was still in place except for a few objects lying on the floor, a few broken things were splattered across the house, but you still had your place. You grabbed your first aid bag and left it in the living room.

You didn't know what to expect from them, you didn't know how hurt they were, but Robin didn't say anything, so you figured it wasn't a major injury anyway.

A few hours later, you heard a knock on the room and quickly ran to open it. Steve and Robin were facing you with a small grin, but behind them Lucas, Will, Dustin, Max and Evelen had that scared look on their faces. You let them in, looking behind you before closing the door.

They told you how most of the fight happened. Eddie died trying to save them after all. It hit you like a giant rock, you never expected that to happen too soon. And that was why you never tried to invest on helping them fight against all the monsters under Hawkins.

You just wanted to help them, giving them your house and patching them. Maybe trying to find out something, at most. But never going after those things. And hopefully they would never go after you either. But you were almost sure they would, one day.

They were all sitting downstairs while you were arranging your guest room with some pillows and blankets. You heard them talking and sometimes laughing off the pain and the trauma they just lived. It was relieving for you to actually have them by, which made you feel safer.

Steve knocked on the door even though it was still open, just so he would make his presence noticeable. You looked over your shoulder, and he was standing there, still looking beaten. He had a dark eye, a small split on his mouth and bruises all over his arms.

You shortened the space between both of you and hugged him. Not too tight to not squeeze him and his injuries, but also not too loose. He still smelled like his cologne, mixed with the dirt and the blood from his face that dripped on his neck.

He held you back, resting one of his hands on your hair, while cupping your waist with the other. You spent a good amount of time like that, and snapped out of your daydreaming when you heard Will laughing. When you looked at Harrington closely, you saw how his eyes were bright, he had this small redness around his cheeks and he held a side smile at you.

You didn't know why you had to be to be impulsive, but you crashed your lips on his. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin in yours. But Steve opened his mouth, deepening the kiss, browsing for your tongue. It felt like heaven when you started exploring each other's tongues.

He squeezed your waist and pulled your hair gently when you gripped his lower lip with your teeth. You gasped when he started to fasten the kiss, this time it was feral, and it had a hint of second intentions. Which you realized things changed when he started to guide you through the room until the back of your knees hit the bed.

He was about to approach you with his swollen lips when you heard footsteps, but didn't have time to break the contact, just enough to stare at an amused Dustin standing at the door.

"Ohhhh, I'm so sorry. We're about to order dinner. Didn't mean to disturb the birdies", he said, laughing at how you were looking at him.

The little guy was really sweet and funny. "Close the door next time". He said louder as he left the bedroom.

You and Steve looked at each other and snorted, laughing at how he reacted to both of you almost having at it on the bed. He rested his forehead on yours before nuzzling your nose, rubbing your chin with one hand.

"We'll catch up later", he said before giving you a wet kiss, leaving the room. He came back right after and stood on the hallway. When you looked at him, he gave you a gentle wink and a smirk before going downstairs.

Nancy just lost her chance to have a gentleman as her boyfriend. She wasn't able to give him the love he should have. And you were there sitting on the bed, thinking how things changes so fast, you were already wishing you would be that person if he'd let you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington imagine #userashe #userdjo

249 notes · View notes

ruinedbylanadelrey · 9 months

Note

Just imagine Reader taking care of Din’s injuries after he was in a big fight and got lots of cuts and bruises on his chest and back. Of course it starts to turn intimate and Din wants some, but Reader reminds him he’s hurt. It would be steamy, sweet, and funny all at once.

Like You Do | Din Djarin x f!Reader

"You're the one I can't lose, no one loves me like you do" - Joji, Like You Do

summary: Din comes back to the crest hurt and her heart just breaks at the sight of her strong Mandalorian crumbling to his knees. warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, descriptions of blood, cuts, and needles, his name is din not djarin (i'm sorry he is 4ever din<3), razor crest lives forever, mando'a use, no grogu, reader is so in love with, din is a simp, mando's helmet comes off (i'm sorry), sexual tension, touching, groping, kissing, din begging to be fucked AN: I have had this request in my drafts forever because i kept re writing it so here is the final product. I want to clarify that Din Djarin is my #1 man, i know it's shocking because I write about Joel mostly. But Din is my soulmate and I'm a little embarrassed to share my thoughts about Din. Like my room color scheme is grey, silver, and black I re did my room back when The Mandalorian came out. That's my little secret<3 anyways enjoy my little fantasy<3333 masterlist

translations: cyar’ika- darling, beloved, sweetheart Udesii- "take it easy" Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum- "I love you/I know you forver"

Din could feel the sliced skin stretch with each step he took, all he could smell is blood, blaster smoke, and sweat. His breathing was uneven and his body trembling when he made it to the crest, falling to his knees as he heard your sweet honey voice calling out to him.

"Din! Maker! I don't know where you're bleeding from!" You slide to your knees taking the large Mandalorian into your arms, laying him against your chest, your hands working quickly removing his armor except for his helmet. His flight suit was torn on his left side at the waist, his flesh gashed, red bleeding into the meat of his skin. He needs bacta but the hard stuff.

Din said he will only use it if you were the one hurt; your mind replayed that whole argument when you guys finally gave in and fell through the thin wire of tension cutting it when he thrust himself into your hot core.

You asked him, 'Why can't we use it on you if it ever comes down to it?'

'I will do whatever it takes to keep you alive...you're the one I can't lose.'

You scoffed at him and just spat 'So I can lose you and feel the exact same pain you would feel for me'

'You're so much stronger than me in every single way, cyar’ika' Din chokes up and it broke your heart seeing be so emotional. He was a cold-hearted person until you came along as another recuse he collected. You brought your sunshine and melted away the winter in his heart.

The movie in your head clears when you grabbed the needle of bacta and pinched his skin near the gash and pushed the medicine into his muscles. Din's screams were so visceral and his hands grip your thighs, bruising them to a deep purple. "Udesii! Udesii!" You cry out as you throw the empty syringe across the hull.

His body jolts while the bacta runs through his body, you composed yourself and grab the medpack pulling out the field cauterizer. You laid him on his right side while you fused his skin back together. Burning flesh filled the air making your bile come up your throat burning it and leaving a sour taste in your mouth, your hands slick from sweating and his blood.

Din going limp and taking shallows breaths submitting to you saving him. You wiped your hands on your pants and laying him on his back, you sobbed as you cupped the cheek of his helmet with your hands.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum" Din strangles to say holding your wrist in his hand, pressing your hand closer to the beskar. You collapsed on top of him, your body jerking from the hiccups and sobs leaving your mouth. Din wraps his arms around holding you like a child holding his favorite toy close so it won't leave his sight.

"You're so dramatic, little girl" Din takes a deep breath and laughs it out. You craned your neck to him without his helmet. You quickly turned away, you panic and guilt slamming into your heart. "I want you to see me, cyar’ika" Din grabs your chin and tilts your head where your eyes are burning into his brown eyes.

You swallow as your eyes dance around his face, taking his eyes, the scruff on his face, patchy in a few spots, his mustache bringing attention to his plump lips, so pink and kissable.

"You were crafted by the maker, din" You trace his nose with your fingertip, taking in how his skin feels on yours. "Kiss me, little girl, please" He whimpers while you thumb over his bottom lip. The need in his voice made you ache between your thighs. You carefully straddle his waist and bring your lips to his, Din sits up groaning while he licked in your mouth, his hands exploring up and down your back, his hands grabbing your ass and squeezing so hard.

You gasp and moan "Din...you're h-" he cuts you off and bites your lip. He grabs your hand and places it on top of the outline of his hard cock. "C'mon baby, let's fuck," his words entice you as you tighten your grip around his clothed length, and he winces and whimpers and you remembered you're the stronger one and need to stop this so he could rest.

"Din, no you need to rest," he kisses your neck and bites at the thin skin. "Little girl, let's have fun..." That damn name made you want to say screw it. "Let's sleep, I'm tired and you have to be too," You helped Din to the steel slab that he calls a bed and lays down holding out his arms for you to be his human-weighted blanket.

"We will talk about the bacta when we wake up" Din mumbles as sleep takes over him and relaxes with you on top of him.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #pedro pascal is the mandalorian

159 notes · View notes

thdorkmagnet · 6 months

Text

Hello all! Got something a bit different for you today. Since I've been gone, I've fallen deep into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fandom (you can thank Mutant Mayhem for that) and I've created a fanfiction for a truly lovely comic from @indieyuugure known as Indie's Turtles. The actual comic itself isn't out just yet but they've been posting stuff for it and I just knew I needed to make something for it!

This fanfiction takes place during the Space Arc (link here) and deals with Donnie's trauma after the events of the previous arc the Save Donnie Arc (Links here, here, and here). Basically, Bishop kidnapped Donnie and experimented on him and the bros had to swoop in and rescue him. I also touch on some this comic (linkie here too) at one point.

Also please go easy on me if anyone is out of character this is my first time writing any version of the turtles ever! Haha, hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or any of its variants. Indie's Turtles/ Indie TMNT belong to @indieyuugure.

The door to the ship's bathroom slid open, Donnie stumbling into the room a moment after, his breathing heavy and labored, a hand clenched tightly to his chest. He froze for a second, realizing too late that the bathroom was smaller than he remembered, already feeling suffocated inside. But he was snapped back to reality as the door slid shut behind him, the noise causing him to jump. Using this new wave of panic, Donnie willed himself forward, muttering the command to the ship's AI to activate the door lock.

He practically fell against the sink, leaning all his weight on it as his knees shook terribly. His hands just dangled there, hot sticky blood dripping onto white marble, Donnie squeezing tighter in some vain effort to stop the bleeding but there was too much of it- there was so much blood- he needed to wash it off. Get it off, get it off, get it off. In order to do that he needed to turn on the sink. Steeling himself, Donnie released his grip, only for a new wave of blood to slide down his hand, pooling in the sink. Donnie shuddered, keeping his right hand turned down so he didn’t have to see. In a single fluid motion he turned the handle, hot water instantly bursting from the pipes. Without a second of hesitation he stuck both hands into the falling stream, wincing as the gash in his hand throbbed. As the majority of the blood washed away down the drain, Donnie felt his breathing start to steady, his mind returning to him. Okay, okay, this wasn’t so bad. He was… he was doing good. He just needed to clean the wound up, slap a bandaid on and it would be over. There was no need to panic. He was safe.

But as he flipped his hand over to examine the gash, a new wave of terror clenched his heart. The entirety of his middle finger had been split open, endless waves of blood spurting from the cut and Donnie was pretty sure he could see the bone. A wave of nausea hit Donnie all at once and he gagged, pressing his good hand over his mouth to try and keep it down. Hot water soon poured into the gash, a muffled hiss escaping Donnie’s lips at the pain. Pain, pain. It hurt so bad. Make it stop hurting. Donnie’s breathing became raw and raspy, struggling to pull enough air into his lungs. He was dying. The pain was unbearable as the pressure of the water cut into the wound. He could feel the blood flowing from his body, leaving a horrible, hollow feeling behind. The water was too hot, every drop felt like needles being jabbed into his skin, over and over again. Get them out, get them out.

He tried to remember the breathing technique dad had taught him but he couldn’t find it in the cacophony of thoughts screaming in his head. Stop, stop. Pain. No more. Brothers. Need my brothers. Donnie let out a wail, thankful the sound was muffled by his hand. It was too much. The blood was everywhere. He was dying.

“Oh relax turtle, you aren’t dying.”

Donnie whimpered and squirmed as the needle was jabbed into his arm just below the elbow. It hit a vein, he could feel it. He felt the blood being drained out of him. It burned. He squirmed, trying to break free, trying to escape but he couldn’t. He was trapped. He was helpless. Where were his brothers?!

“STAY STILL! Unless you want it to hurt more.” The threat made his blood run cold. Even though it burned. He hated this. He hated this place. This was agony.

Finally, the needle was ripped from his arm and Donnie hissed, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the forming tears. The man didn’t even bother to clean or cover the puncture wound, a stream of warm blood dripping down Donnie’s arm, echoing the tears that slid down his cheeks.

“All that fuss over one little needle. You are making this so much more difficult than it needs to be.” Good. If Donnie was going to go through this he wanted to make it as painful for this monster as possible. He was about to make a witty retort but before he could the man spoke again, his voice cold and cynical. “You might as well get used to it, y'know. We’ll be at this for a while.”

Donnie didn’t even have time to scream before he felt the stab of another needle and the whole painful process started over again.

Donnie was trembling head to toe now, his body drenched in sweat as the flashback ended. Or paused really, since he was currently reliving the nightmare in real time. Tears dripped down his face as he sobbed brokenly. He shoved both arms entirely under the running faucet scrubbing at them with his good hand and his bad, dripping blood all over him. Everything itched. Everything hurt. He was coming undone. The sobs wracked his whole body, his tears mixing with the blood and water, a flood of pink filling the sink before swirling down the drain in a hypnotizing dance. Donnie felt his attention pulling away from the wound and onto the drain, watching it with a kind of mindless fascination.

He felt light-headed, like his brain had detached from his body floating freely above, an observer in his own skin. He could hear his thoughts roaring in his head, feel the knots in his stomach and the tears on his cheeks, the throbs of pain in his hand, but it was like he wasn’t there. He was separated, disconnected. The logical part of his brain told him he was losing too much blood. He needed to stop the bleeding. But that part was so far away. He couldn’t hear it through the fog. He fell to his knees. He wanted to lay down. He wanted to lay there and drift away. Maybe he would find a new self to inhabit. One that wasn’t so broken. One that didn’t hurt like he was hurting. He could just drift away and…

Footsteps. Footsteps down the hall. Someone was coming. Something about that grounded Donnie, pulling him back into himself. His head still spun but he was there again, in his own body. He tried to stand, using the sink for support, feeling his knees wobble but somehow keeping his balance. Who was it? Who was coming? His brothers? Fugitoid? Were they coming to check on him? How long had he been gone? They couldn’t see him like this. He didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want to be touched. If they found him here they would make him go to the medbay and the thought of that alone made him nauseas all over again. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go in there, no matter what.

Thinking fast he turned on the showerhead, water bursting from the nozzle and soaking the floor. Steam flooded the room, fogging Donnie’s glasses, rendering him blind. But at the very least it was no longer obvious he had been crying. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around his hand, trying to stop the bleeding or at least try and hide it. Which seemed pointless since there was blood everywhere now.

There was a soft knock on the door and Donnie jumped. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire. Or maybe that was just the heat from the shower and faucet finally getting to him.

“Hey, Don, you in there?” Leo. It was Leo on the other side of the door and he suddenly felt compelled to run into his arms and hide there until the pain ended. He might have done so if his legs weren’t shaking so much.

“Y-Yeah,” Donnie stuttered, hoping he sounded normal and not… well, the opposite.

“How long you been in there?” Leo asked, a hint of concern in his tone.

He had been expecting that question. It was a normal occurrence for him ever since he had started to shower longer than he should, since Mikey had found him in the middle of his multiple-hour showering sessions, scratching at his arms until they had been rubbed raw. Since then his family and friends had tried to limit the amount of time he was allowed to spend in the bathroom. “J-Just now,” he replied, trying to pull the towel tighter. It was starting to bleed through.

“Didn’t you get one earlier today?” Did he? Don couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make sense of the confusing mess of his mind, the fog still present and persistent.

“I, uh, spilled something on me. Needed to wash it off.” It was a weak lie but it was the best Donnie could do right now.

There was a pause as Leo seemed to hesitate. “...Are you doing okay?”

Donnie felt his chest clench. Had Leo seen through him? Did he know he was lying? What had tipped him off? “N-No, I’m fine, everything’s fine.” Why wouldn’t he just go away? Donnie’s resolve wasn’t very strong right now and he knew with enough pushing Leo could get the truth out of him. Maybe even get him out of the bathroom. He wasn't sure if he wanted that or not.

Another pause before a tired sigh. “Don, there’s blood leading from your lab to here.” Donnie flinched, wondering how he had overlooked something so simple. Wasn’t he supposed to be smarter than that? Leo seemed to be waiting for a response but Donnie didn’t know what to say, his tongue suddenly feeling like lead in his mouth, his thoughts too jumbled and the pain too great for him to form any kind of excuse. Finally, Leo continued, his tone gentle and coaxing. “Look, I know you probably want to be alone right now but, uh, I just want to make sure you're okay. It was… a lot of blood and I know you don’t… handle that well.”

Donnie swallowed, his eyes flooding with tears yet again, the urge to run to his brother growing stronger by the second.

Leo’s voice was soft. Calculated. “I won't push you. I just want to help."

“P-Promise you won’t say anything,” Donnie finally managed to get out.

“I won’t, I promise,” Leo’s voice replied, hopeful, relieved.

“And don’t m-make me go to the medbay. I don’t… I can’t.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Leo sounded a bit confused by that request but still agreed in a heartbeat. That was enough for Don, sucking in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he muttered the unlock command, the door sliding open in an instant. Leo shuffled inside, eyes wide, clearly taken aback by the state of the small bathroom. Then his eyes fell on his brother and Donnie felt the sudden urge to hide. He knew it must be quite a sight to see, Donnie and the bathroom covered in blood, hot steam billowing out of the small room in droves, cheeks damp with fresh tears and a bloody towel haphazardly wrapped around his right hand. But somehow Leo kept his promise, clenching his jaw tightly, forcing his face to stay neutral. Still Donnie squirmed in place, wondering what he was supposed to do or say now that Leo was here. An explanation would probably be nice.

“I-I was tinkering with some of Fugitoid’s tech and the- the metal piece slipped and well…” Donnie felt his skin crawl and he shuddered, the sentence dying on his tongue. He looked away, no longer feeling strong enough to face his brother, feeling hollow and exposed. What was Leo going to say, what was he going to do? If the roles were reversed Donnie would be lecturing by now. A few tears pricked at his eyes. He didn’t want his brother to see him this way, so useless and scared and broken.

But all Leo did was crouch down in front of his brother, slowly holding a hand out to him, waiting patiently for Donnie to react. It took him a few seconds to process what Leo wanted, a silent request to check Donnie’s finger. Don hesitated but finally worked up the courage to give him his hand, placing it flat against his brother's palm. Slowly Leo unfolded the towel, expression focused but calm. As cold air hit the open wound, Donnie hissed through his teeth. Leo’s eyes widened, worry etched into his features as he stared at the gash, some blood already starting to leak out again.

It felt like a lifetime before Leo moved again, finally nodding to himself, a decision made before he met Donnie’s eyes. “It needs stitches.”

Donnie felt a tremble jump up his spine, pulling his hand away and to his shell, shaking his head violently. No. No needles. He couldn’t. He struggled to articulate this though, instead merely whimpering pathetically. “I know, Dee, I know,” Leo said softly, shooting his brother an apologetic smile. “But there’s no other way. It’s gotta be done.” Donnie knew he was right but it still terrified him. “Let’s go back to my room, okay. I'm sure you don't wanna do it on the bathroom floor."

Donnie nodded numbly, allowing his brother to take command like he always did, gently pulling him to his feet. Leo grabbed another towel and wrapped it around the gash, tying a knot to try and hold it better in place. He then instructed Donnie to put pressure on the wound, guiding his shaking hands as Donnie failed to follow along with what Leo was saying. He felt really dizzy and tired all of a sudden, the pain and panic still tugging at his heart and head but almost… muted now. He was disconnecting again, he realized. Only this time he had Leo to ground him.

Leo turned off the faucet and showerhead before wrapping an arm around brother's shell, keeping him steady as he swayed unevenly on his feet. Donnie hadn't even noticed. Leo's other hand was cupped over Donnie's, helping to add a bit more pressure. It felt nice.

"What about the mess?" Donnie sluggishly asked, feeling a pang of guilt for reasons he didn't really understand.

"Later. Right now we gotta get you patched up."

Donnie grunted in agreement, finding himself leaning into his brother, allowing Leo to guide him to his room. He felt Leo shift, readjusting his grip so he could better support Donnie’s weight.

He needed this, Donnie realized. This comforting grip from his brother, this safety. He hadn’t realized just how much he had come to rely on the others since Bishop. Some days it felt like their support was the only thing keeping him stable. It made him feel a bit… helpless. In the past the others had always relied on him, he was the brains, the inventor, the medic, the one they went to when they didn’t know what to do. Now though. Now he relied on them. An equal exchange maybe. Donnie didn’t know anymore and he was too tired to care. Right now he just wanted to be there in the protective grip of his older brother and believe everything was okay.

Maybe that was enough for now.

…

Leo had experience with pain.

As the oldest and the leader, Leo was used to taking the hits the others couldn't. He did his best to cover their weaknesses, to endure the brunt of the attack so that his family didn’t have to. He thought he could take it, he had a high pain tolerance only rivaled by Raph, and most of his injuries healed pretty quickly anyways. At the time, he thought he was being heroic, but looking back it had been nothing more than naive stupidity.

It was only when he got his first real taste of pain Leo learned he wasn't as invincible or as strong as he thought he was. It had felt like dying. The agony, the fear, the helplessness, they were thoughts and feelings he had never known before. No loss had ever felt like this, nothing had ever come so close to breaking him before. Sometimes late at night, he wondered if he actually had broken and just pretended not to notice. Those nights he usually never got to sleep.

When Leo finally woke, body still alive with pain but no longer alone, surrounded by his family and friends, he had thought the worst was over. But once again it was either optimism or innocence blinding him to the truth.

He hadn’t escaped from the fight, it had just changed form.

The weeks and months that followed were the hardest of his entire life, a never-ending struggle against his own mind and body, nightmares and flashbacks haunted him like ghosts, and the few bits of Leo left felt so utterly empty, like there was nothing of him left at all. Every day was a fight that left him drained and exhausted, pushing his limits and tearing at the fabric of his sanity, always one step away from unraveling the empty self Leo had become.

Somehow though, Leo had kept going, kept pushing, kept trying. He still didn't entirely know why, maybe it was his dad in him, maybe he was just too stubborn to roll over and die, or maybe it was the leader refusing to abandon his team, but something in him kept him going. Kept him fighting. He fought for his family, for his friends, for his city, for himself.

And slowly, ever so slowly, things got better. Easier. Day by day, step by step, Leo got better. There were still hard days when he fell apart all over again but he was strong enough to overcome them now. He wouldn't say he was healed, not completely, but he was more whole, more himself.

Which is why it felt like sick irony that the moment Leo started to feel more whole it was Donnie who fell apart. His time as Bishop's experiment had been brief but it had left him in the same broken state Leo knew all too well. The circumstances were different but the scars they left were the same. And if Leo had thought it was painful experiencing it firsthand, it was pure agony watching the same thing happen to his brother, to Donnie.

The others had noticed the changes in him, too, but not on the same level as Leo. No Leo was painfully aware of every hitch in his brother's breath, every involuntary flinch at the wrong word or sound, every shudder when he thought no one was looking. He knew them because at one time they had been his.

Leo did his best to be what Donnie needed him to be. A pillar of strength in a sea of darkness and fear. He remembered his family's support during his lowest and how much it had done for him. Leo wanted, needed, to be that for Donnie. And as the group made the jump from New York to space, Leo started seeing a more positive response from his brother. The fear still lingered but it was drowned out by the thrill of discovery, Donnie captivated by the new technology he saw, enthralled by the new places and species they encountered, an eagerness to learn and understand that was so fundamentally Donnie it made Leo's chest hurt. He had missed this side of his brother. More than he knew. And maybe that was why he foolishly, stupidly, started to believe that things were better. That Donnie was fine.

Leo really had to stop pretending he knew anything.

Seeing the blood staining Donnie’s workbench had been a wake-up call, a cold splash of reality that turned his veins to ice. His body moved before his mind could, running down the metallic halls of the ship using the trail of blood to guide him. He reprimanded himself, cursed himself, for ever believing Donnie was okay. Not when he knew the effort it took to heal, to make any kind of progress. It was an exhausting struggle, a push and pull against hope and despair that never seemed to reach a victor. Even if things had improved Donnie’s scars were too new, too fresh, that anything could send him spiraling. Leo still remembered the first month in the farmhouse when Mikey had fumbled and shattered a cup. The family was more careful around glass after that.

Leo hadn't started breathing again until he heard Don's voice through the bathroom door. It surprised him that his brother had chosen to take shelter there, since small spaces tended to be another trigger of Donnie’s. He must have been desperate. It had taken some gentle persuasion to get inside, giving Leo momentary relief as he feared Donnie might completely shut him out in this state. However, all thoughts froze the moment he saw his younger brother.

It felt like looking into a twisted mirror, distorted but still the same, reflecting his past self back at him. Donnie’s body was covered in blood, cheeks red and puffy from crying, his breathing shallow and quick. It had clearly been a bad attack, one of the worst Leo had ever witnessed and his heart ached for his brother. He struggled to keep his face neutral, trying to remember the promise he had made, clenching his jaw and biting down so hard on his tongue he tasted blood. Donnie seemed to shrink under his gaze, trying to offer a weak explanation that quickly broke off as his eyes grew listless and empty, clearly pulled back into a painful memory. Leo could guess which one.

There was something achingly familiar in Donnie’s broken look, he could see him struggle to hold back the torrent of emotions pulling him down and Leo feared if he did nothing his brother might drown in it. No, Leo thought, steeling himself. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to hold Donnie up until he could swim on his own again, the way Don and the others had done for him. So he had shoved it all down, all the emotions threatening to strangle him, and forced himself to focus on his brother. He had decided to come at it logically, turning his attention to the most pressing concern right then which was most definitely the gash in his brother’s hand. The panic attack seemed to have mostly subsided, even if it had left Donnie shook, but even with a towel pressed to it, he had clearly still been bleeding. And he had lost too much blood already.

He hated how his brother seemed to recoil at the first mention of stitches. The way Donnie pulled his hand away and shook his head reminded Leo of when they were kids and their dad had tried to coax Donnie into eating something on his plate he disliked. Donnie had always been the picky eater of the family. Leo felt himself trying to match his dad’s tone in those moments, soft, apologetic, but with no room for argument. It surprised him a little when Donnie wordlessly agreed, expecting some kind of fight on the matter.

But as he practically carried his brother to his room, it occurred to him that Don just didn’t have the energy to argue. For some reason, that made Leo’s stomach twist into knots. Donnie had felt so limp against him, his movements sluggish and unfocused, the exact opposite of the brother he knew and loved. He wanted that brother back so, so badly.

As they settled on Leo’s bed, however, small bits of Donnie started to return, reprimanding Leo for forgetting to disinfect the wound before starting, even if he kept his eyes on the far wall instead of his brother. He had begun a long-winded rant about the dangers of infection and Leo had just let him talk, knowing it was more to distract himself than to actually educate. He still noticeably flinched every time Leo pressed the needle into his skin but both turtles pretended not to notice.

Eventually, the speech had trailed off and Donnie went uncharacteristically quiet. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, the only sound was the tapping of Donnie’s foot against the ground, anxiously bouncing as he fought to hold back the panic. Leo glanced up every so often to see how his brother was holding up, everytime greeted by the same wide eyed look staring off into the distance instead of at him. Donnie had pressed a hand against his mouth, possibly to cover the frantic breathing Leo could just barely make out. He tried to work faster but stitches were a bit outside his area of expertise. He had tried to point this out to Don but his brother was adamant that it needed to be him. Leo couldn’t help but feel flattered by that, even if a part of him knew it was just Donnie being cautious. Mikey and Raph were likely to freak and that only raised his chances of visiting the dreaded medbay. That meant Leo had to take the extra time to do it right. He couldn’t risk it reopening and causing a fiasco. Or worse, send Donnie spiraling all over again.

So instead, he did his best to distract, asking Donnie a question he hoped would get him talking again. "So, Don, what were you working on? Anything interesting?"

Donnie flinched before going still, even the tapping stopped, drawing Leo’s attention upwards. Leo saw his brother’s eyes glaze over and nearly panicked, worried he had said the wrong thing. But before he could try and change the subject Donnie responded softly, "I was trying to upgrade my staff."

Leo held in a sigh, returning his focus back on the stitches. Good. At least Donnie was talking. “Oh. What kinda upgrades?” Leo had done some minor tweaks with his katanas in the past but knowing Don his plans were probably excessively excessive.

“Well for starters I’m going to reinforce the base using titanium to help strengthen it in combat. From there I have some ideas for additional weapon enhancements.”

“With like, what? Missiles? Rockets? Lasers?” Leo teased.

“Yes,” Donnie said simply and the grin vanished from Leo’s lips. Okay, yep, that was definitely excessive. And unnecessary. They were ninjas, they were supposed to be silent killers, it was gonna be kinda hard to do that if they were blowing up anything that got close to them.

But not wanting to offend his brother, he instead asked, “Isn’t that more replacing than upgrading?”

“Perhaps to some.” There was no emotion in Donnie’s tone, his eyes growing distant and vacant. Though his foot had started tapping again, the only indication of his distress.

Leo swallowed down the lump in his throat, lowering his gaze again as he finished off his current stitch and started the next one. He felt Donnie tense and gave him a weak apology. “Sorry, almost done.”

“It’s fine.” Nothing about Donnie’s tone was fine but Leo didn’t want to comment on it and neither did his brother.

“So when do I get to see this cool futuristic staff?” Leo asked, trying to put as much enthusiasm in his voice as he could.

Donnie let out a tired sigh. “Too early to say. It’s still very much a work in progress. I haven’t even finished the frame.”

“Well whenever it’s done, I’m sure it’ll be awesome. Like everything you make,” Leo complimented.

Donnie grunted in agreement before going quiet again. Luckily, Leo was close to finishing so he decided to let the silence settle, focusing intensely as he added the last few stitches. Once he was done, he tied a small knot at the end to keep it from unraveling before severing the thread and putting it and the needle back in the small case sitting next to him.

“There done,” Leo said in relief, observing his handiwork. It was far from perfect, the stitches crooked and poorly spaced, no doubt Fugitoid could have done it better, but the wound was sealed and that’s what mattered. At the very least he didn’t have to worry about Donnie further injuring himself.

After a moment, Donnie inspected his finger as well, something akin to fear flashing across his eyes before he looked away. Leo wasted no time in sliding a black fingerless glove over the wound. “I-It looks good.” Donnie’s voice cracked and he quickly cleared his throat to try and hide the slip up. “Decent work for your first time.” His fingers seemed to subconsciously pick at the glove as he nervously spoke.

“I’m sure Fugitoid could have done it better. Or you for that matter," Leo replied.

Donnie swallowed before giving him a weak smile. “Regardless, it was a good job. You did a good job."

Leo paused, waiting to see if Donnie had more to say. There certainly seemed to be more, something heavy and unspoken hovering between them. But Leo didn't push, instead returning the compliment with a grateful nod. "Glad the genius approves," he joked. "Although it's probably going to scar, there wasn't much I could do about-"

"Why aren't you asking me about what happened?!" Donnie blurted out and Leo went silent, waiting patiently for his brother to finish. "Go ahead, I know you wanna know right! Or maybe you wanna lecture me! Tell me how broken I am! How I'm being careless! How I nearly died because I was too stubborn to ask for help!" There was anger in his tone, raw and vile and hateful, and while Leo was the target, he knew he wasn't the source. He wanted to believe it was Bishop who had invoked Donnie's wrath but he knew better.

This kind of anger could only ever be self-inflicted.

Donnie buried his face in his hands, unknowingly sliding his glasses up to his forehead, hiding the frustrated tears threatening to spill over. "I just don't understand what you're waiting for! You already saw everything, I know you're worried about me!" Donnie barked out a soulless chuckle. "I'm worried about me! If Mikey or Raph were here they would have already dragged it out of me! So why aren't you?!"

Leo nearly laughed at the irony. He remembered having those exact thoughts when Raph had comforted him. Leo had woken from a particularly violent nightmare, panting and bathed in sweat. He had given up on the hopes of sleep thanks to the throbs of pain from his newly acquired wounds, instead sneaking downstairs to play video games. He didn't even bother picking one out, just playing what was already in the N64. His thoughts began to wander as he played through a few levels of Street Smash, muscle memory kicking in as he powered through enemy after enemy. Leo's thoughts, however, were stuck in a losing battle as he relived that night again and again and again. He was lost so deep in the memory he didn't even notice Raph until he was standing over his shoulder, questioning why Leo was up at 3 in the morning.

Leo tried to dodge the question, anxiously waiting for Raph to call him out, to begin pestering him for answers he was too tired and too broken to give, to turn the game off and force him back into bed. Instead, he plopped down next to him and started to play too. Of all the responses Leo had been anticipating this was not it. Here Raph was pleasantly chatting about Street Smash as if the brother sitting next to him wasn't sleep-deprived and traumatized. It was jarring but not unpleasant, the first real sense of normalcy since he woke up.

It didn't take much for Leo to open up after that, the silence that settled between them the final push he needed to get him talking. It was reluctant at first but soon he couldn't stop the words as they poured out of him, burning like fire on his tongue. And Raph just listened, watching him with gentle, worried eyes. That split open a dam in Leo's heart, tears rolling down his cheeks in waves. Raph pulled him into a hug and Leo just cried for all he lost. He felt like a little lost kid as he buried his head in Raph's plastron, sobbing brokenly.

It felt like a lifetime before the tears finally stopped, leaving Leo too exhausted to move or think or feel. He expected Raph to let go but he just continued to hold him there, rubbing soft circles into Leo’s shell. A calmness settled over him, strange and foreign but not unpleasant. He leaned into the feeling, letting it settle in his bones.

Raph asked if Leo wanted to go to bed but he shook his head, worried that the nightmares would chase this warm feeling away, leaving him lost to coldness and fear. Raph finally pulled out of the hug but only so he could snuggle against Leo, picking up his controller and restarting the level. The two stayed up the rest of the night playing video games and Raph never once spoke about what happened, content to just sit there in silence with his brother.

Things got a little easier after that, leaving Leo a little stronger to face what was to come. Leo didn't know where he would be now if Raph hadn't been there that night to listen, to support him, to pull him out of the brink of despair and help him find his footing again.

Now it was his turn to be that for Donnie.

Leo considered his words carefully, asking himself what Donnie most needed to hear right now. "Did you want to talk about what happened?"

Donnie seemed taken aback by this reply, shifting awkwardly on Leo's bed. "Not particularly," he mumbled.

"Then we won't," Leo replied simply. Donnie's eyes narrowed suspiciously, doubt written across his features. Clearly Donnie wasn't taking him at his word. He looked like he expected the whole thing to be a trick, like any second Leo might suddenly start prying into things he'd rather keep to himself. It was distinctly familiar, a look Donnie had flashed him a hundred times and he very nearly laughed in relief.

"What, I'm being serious! Yeah I'm worried about you but I'm not gonna force you to talk about stuff. I'm here to support you, Don, in whatever way you need."

Donnie’s expression softened but the skepticism didn't quite go away. "So we can just sit here? In silence?"

"If that's what you need."

"And there are no ulterior motives?" Donnie moved in so their faces were inches apart. "Like, perhaps, getting me to talk about what happened with… Bishop." Leo didn't miss the subtle shudder at the mention of Donnie's captor.

Leo kept his face neutral, matching his brother's suspicious look with one of sympathy. "You just came down from a panic attack, pushing you is the last thing I'm going to do."

Donnie hesitated, Leo practically seeing the gears turn in his brother's head, before finally giving a curt nod, collapsing back onto the bed with a noticeable sigh. "Thank you," he mumbled, pulling off his glasses so he could massage his eyes with his one good hand. Leo studied his brother closely. All the emotion had washed from Donnie’s face leaving only exhaustion in its place. Leo could see the eyebags, thick and heavy, an exact match for his own back in the day. Who knows how long it had been since Donnie had a good night's sleep.

"I'm sorry you had to see me that way," Donnie finally said. Even his tone was just tired.

"Dee, you've seen me fall apart plenty of times," Leo reminded him.

"Yes but for you it was more justified."

That gave Leo pause, unsure how to even process that statement. What was that even supposed to mean? That Donnie's wasn't justified? That he deserved it! What kind of nonsense was that?! Leo just couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could Donnie, his genius of a brother, not only say something so obviously false but actually believe it! It was baffling! "I- What- How is that-" Leo sucked in a breath, gathering his thoughts, not sure where to even start to dissect Donnie’s logic. "Okay, back up. Explain to me how exactly what happened to me was 'justified' compared to you."

"You almost died." Donnie said it like it was obvious. Like it was a fact.

"You weren't exactly living it up when we found you, Don," Leo reminded him.

Donnie sat up in a flash. "True but I wasn't at risk of dying. Bishop made it quite clear he intended to keep me alive. You, on the other hand, nearly lost your life! You were in a coma for three weeks! You have scars that permanently altered your body! In comparison, I should be doing so much better!"

"And you went through something just as awful, Don!" Leo argued, putting both hands on his brother's shoulders. "Don't turn what happened into a contest of measuring scars, you went through a crappy situation and now you're trying to heal from it, end of story."

Donnie growled in frustration. "But I still should be doing better! What happened is already done! I know that! But the second something goes wrong it's like I'm back there and I can't convince myself I'm not and every little thing sets me off and I just don't know what i'm doing anymore! Nothing makes sense! I don't know how to fix it!" Donnie pressed both fists into the side of his head, the pressure enough Leo feared he would leave bruises. If Donnie had hair he was sure his brother would have ripped it up by the roots already. Instead he just pressed tighter in some vain effort to physically squeeze the thoughts from his head.

Leo gave his brother a sad smile before gripping him by the wrists, pulling his hands away from his skull. Donnie gave him a look of tearful bewilderment but it seemed to refocus him a little. Another flashback, no doubt. "I know, Don. I know it's hard. Believe me I do. But this isn't something you can just fix. It takes time and it takes energy, sometimes more than you feel like you can give. It's like… y'know the metaphor about climbing over the mountain?"

Donnie's nonexistent eyebrows pinched together, giving Leo a puzzled look. "Vaguely," came the skeptic reply.

"Well it's kinda like that, only the hardest part isn't getting to the peak, it's getting knocked back down and still having enough strength to climb back up."

Donnie gave him a long, hard stare. "Your metaphor has several holes in it," he deadpanned.

Leo's face lit up in a blush. "Hey, I'm trying here," he groaned pathetically. "This stuff isn't exactly easy to talk about."

Donnie lowered his gaze, staring at his gloved hand distantly. "Still, I do get what you're trying to say. For me, it's just… not that simple." His eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Everyone is… counting on me! They can't afford to wait for me to get better! I don't have time to fall apart!" A few tears dripped onto his opened palm and he clenched it into a fist and looked away.

Leo gently reached out and cupped Donnie's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles the way Raph had to Leo’s shell that night. "I know it's hard for you. You've always been the type to give and give until there's nothing left to give. But you can't do that now, Donnie. Not with this. You gotta put yourself first this time."

"But Leo I can't just stop-"

"I'm not asking you to stop. I'm asking you to slow down and give yourself the time when you need it. Can you at least do that? For me?"

Donnies breath hitched, coughing as he tried to suppress the sob. He wiped away a few stray tears, nodding silently. "Yeah," he choked out.

Leo felt the tension in his body start to fade. That’s all he wanted to hear. To know that Donnie would listen. That he wouldn’t push himself until he broke. That he wouldn’t give more than he had to spare. That was enough for now. Leo could help with everything else. He would be there. He'd make sure of it. "Good," he whispered. "And it gets easier, for the record. You just gotta take it one day at a time."

Donnie sighed, sliding his glasses back on. "I sincerely hope so. I have a lot of projects to finish and I hate the idea of stalling them every time things get bad."

"But you will, right?" Leo shot him a scolding glare.

Donnie just rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I already said I would. What do you need me to cross my heart, pinkie swear, maybe give it to you in writing?"

Leo couldn't help but smile. This was the brother he was missing. He had changed, grown more skittish, but he was still fundamentally Donnie. In the same way Leo was still Leo. No amount of pain could take that away from them.

"No, that's good enough," Leo said with a shake of his head. "And hey, if you ever need help with all this, just know I'm here for you. Whenever you need it."

Donnie seemed to contemplate this for a moment, slowly opening his mouth to speak. Leo kept his face even but felt hope flutter in his chest all the same. Maybe today was the day his brother would finally talk about Bishop, finally find some relief from the pain building and bubbling inside him. But Donnie seemed to think better of it, mouth snapping shut as he gave a half-hearted nod. "Thanks, I'll … keep that in mind."

Leo masked his disappointment behind an understanding smile. He wasn't ready yet. That was okay. They could take this as slow as Donnie needed. Baby steps.

Instead he moved to slide off the bed, only for warm arms to envelop him from behind. Leo froze and held his breath, worried Donnie might take back the hug and pretend it never happened. But he didn't. Instead, Don clung tighter, pulling Leo as close as they could go until they were pressed shell to shell. Leo slowly turned to try and read his brother's facial expression but Donnie had already buried his head in his shoulder and out of sight. Leo could hear and feel Donnie’s breath shudder as if fighting back tears.

"Please stay." The request was so soft Leo barely heard it. It made his heart shatter and melt at the same time. Despite being taller, Donnie looked so small pressed up against him, and Leo swallowed back the lump in his throat. How long had it been since his younger brother had clung to him like this? Not since he was thrown through that window, Leo realized. The day Donnie's perception of his older brother had changed forever, the day Leo had proven to be fallible. Yet another thing lost to the Shredder's brutality.

Leo gave Don's arms a squeeze. "I will," he reassured softly. "Can I give you a hug?"

Donnie nodded, releasing his grip long enough for Leo to turn towards him before latching on again, pressing himself firmly, almost possessively, against his brother’s shell. The mountains had given way to ocean, the waters stormy and violent, the depths eagerly waiting to swallow them whole. Waves of despair crashed against them, threatening to pull them under, while the icy wind whispered their demise.

Donnie sobbed once and clung to his lifeline with all he was worth and Leo hugged back just as tightly, promising he wouldn't let them drown.

Soon Leo would have to let go. He couldn't leave blood splattered all over the ship, not unless he wanted the others to have a meltdown. But right now, he just wanted to hold his little brother. To know that he was here, that he was safe. He needed that reassurance just as much as Donnie did. There was still a long road ahead for both of them. But in this moment, they were okay. Everything was okay.

And maybe that was enough for now.

Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun with this little side project! It was supposed to be done in a day but then I got stuck on Leo's part and ended up spending a month on it haha! This story was mostly an excuse for my headcannons about Donnie post-kidnapping. That being his germaphobia getting increasingly worse, taking extra long showers, and scratching at his arms without thinking. He also hates the medbay on the ship since it makes him have flashbacks to Bishop. During the writing process I actually remembered Indie's post about Donnie's trauma and was surprised I was right on the nose with a lot of it haha. I also briefly hinted on the fact that Donnie feels inferior to Fugitoid but didn't want to dive too deep since I know Indie will do it much better than I can here. There was a lot of speculation going on for stuff but I'm happy with how it turned out! Still can't wait for the actual comic though haha!

#my writing #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #indie's tmnt #indie's turtles #donatello hamato #leonardo hamato #cw: blood #cw: panic attack

102 notes · View notes

garf-lover96 · 1 month

Text

alright so i wrote it, it's just kind of self indulgent because i use Rowan for basically self insert stuff. content warning for homoerotic wound stitching??....... and just blood (but it's not actually that bad).i've never posted something like this before anywhere so i kind of feel like i'm about to be burnt at the stake lol!!!! also the word count is like almost 2000 words. i kind of just freestyled this but also i watched a few wound stitching videos on youtube

and this was the idea btw, but i changed it a little after

———

He was reckless again. Of course he was. Being reckless is practically in his blood. But being reckless also comes easier when you know that getting hurt won't have lasting consequences. Ever since Julian's healing mark disappeared, he was just a—mostly—regular person again. He should've known better not to continue that little quarrel at the Red Market. Now he was walking back to the magic shop, the numerous slash wounds on his left arm hidden effectively under his coat. His thoughts raced. Making anyone worried about him was decidedly one of his worst nightmares. And now that he has someone waiting for him every evening... That obviously made it even worse. Rowan will be furious. Or devastated... He wasn't sure anymore, given how many mixed reactions he's already gotten after coming back home with any kind of injury.

He had no idea what he'd even say to him. His guilt was so overwhelming that his mind went blank every time he tried to come up with an explanation, an apology.

His breath gets a little heavier by the time the shop is in his eye's reach. Is it from the pain or the anxiety? It's so hard to tell now. He approaches the door slowly, stopping just in front of it. His hand hovers over the knob hesitantly. Come to think of it, maybe just sleeping outside would be a better idea...? No, that'd obviously make Rowan even more worried. Then his worry would turn to frustration and then... He'd have that dejected look on his face. At the very least, if he's lucky enough, maybe Rowan is already asleep and he will have the whole night to come up with something, anything. He remembers his partner complaining about a headache in the morning. It's rather reasonable that he'd want to rest sooner.

He snaps himself out of his momentary zone out session and shakes his head with a sigh. After he opens the door, he notices that there's no light inside. That would mean that Rowan is upstairs already. Maybe Julian can manage to be quiet enough just to reach the bathroom and quickly tend to his wounds? It seems like a better idea than having Rowan fuss over him. He slowly closes the door and then takes off his boots. He'll have to be completely silent. Years of experience in having to sneak around, unnoticed, definitely come in handy in situations like these. He makes an effort to take long, slow steps, leading by his heels. When he reaches the stairs, he makes sure to avoid any creaky spots on the steps. He takes another look around. He has to stop himself from sighing out of relief loudly when he notices the complete darkness around him.

He scurries over to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, then hastily lights a nearby candle. He pulls off his eyepatch, his gloves, tosses them aside and starts peeling his overcoat off carefully. His arm is still bleeding which means that he has to grit his teeth tightly not to make even a single sound. Once he manages to get shirtless, he can assess the damages. A large, leaking gash on his upper arm and a few smaller ones on his forearm. Since he didn't have anything to stop the bleeding with previously, his whole arm has been painted red, down to his fingertips. This will be a nightmare to clean up... The longer he stares at the laceration, the more apparent it becomes that he's going to need stitches. He bites down on his lower lip while looking around the room. There has to be a needle and thread around here somewhere. After searching through some shelves and cupboards he finds what he was looking for, along with bandages for later. He pulls up a nearby stool to start on his task but the moment he sits down, it collapses right under him and he falls back on the floor. Stupid old chair... He can only manage to let out a soft, breathy whine before he hears Rowan from the bedroom.

"Julian? Are you alright?" Rowan calls, already being heard getting up from the bed and heading for the bathroom door.

Julian's voice gets stuck in his throat. His first instinct is to lie and to try and convince his partner to go back to bed, but he stops himself. This wasn't going to work from the start. Rowan would have always had to find out eventually.

A few soft knocks on the door are heard.

"Can I come in?" he asks, his tone already taking on a worried note.

Julian gets to his feet with a groan and opens the door, just peeking out of it at first.

"I'm sorry." he blurts out the second he makes eye contact with Rowan.

Rowan raises an eyebrow, then pushes the door open. Julian instinctively steps back, already raising his arms up defensively.

"This is not as bad as it looks, dear, I swear-" he starts, but gets cut off when Rowan sees all the blood.

"You told me you were going grocery shopping!" he scolds with a growing disturbed expression on his face.

"I know, I know, there was just... There was a detour and I... I remembered I'm out of leeches... The um, the Red Market..." Julian manages to stutter out in defense but Rowan's eyes are somewhere else now. Namely, they land on the needle and thread that got knocked to the floor when Julian fell.

"Darling, I just didn't want to worry you-"

"Just... Sit down."

"Where...? T-the stool is broken..."

"Then sit down on the floor!"

Julian obeys and sits cross legged on the floor with a deeply embarrassed expression. Rowan kneels down next to him.

"Er... I do need those stitches, Rowan."

"Your hands are shaking."

"W-well, you're not..." Julian exhales nervously "You're not that squeamish, are you?"

Rowan gets the implication and takes a moment to rub the bridge of his nose with a small sigh.

"I don't suppose magic can sterilize needles...?" Julian adds with an awkward chuckle.

"I could heat it up."

Julian nods, "That works."

It doesn't take much time for the equipment to be sterile again. Rowan moves to sit closer to the injury and gets the needle ready.

"You'll have to walk me through it." Rowan utters, still trying to put on a brave face.

Julian tilts his head a little "But you can sew."

"I've never had to sew up a wound!"

"I suppose that's fair..." he acknowledges "But I find it really similar to working with fabric, if that's any comfort."

"It's not."

"Nevermind that... You're familiar with the blanket stitch, right?"

"...Right."

"If you can manage that, the wound should get closed up properly."

Rowan nods and takes a deep breath to ground himself, then makes the first puncture. He can feel the warm blood on his fingers and the sickeningly metallic smell in his nose. The only sounds that can be heard are his and Julian's heavy breathing, and the soft, unnerving squelching sound of Julian's wound being sutured.

Rowan's hands are steady enough but he sniffles from time to time and wipes his eyes into his sleeves. Julian is staring at him all the while, more concerned about his mental state that his own injury. The guilt is already eating him from the inside by the time Rowan's eyes start getting glossy. The sheer embarrassment and remorse hurts infinitely more than the laceration. He starts getting a little teary-eyed himself as Rowan ties that final little knot.

Julian smiles softly as he looks down at the stitch work, hoping to lighten the mood a little already.

"Ha, you honestly missed your calling as a doctor."

He raises his eyes only to be met with Rowan's furious stare.

"...You're still mad" he notes quietly.

"You think?!" Rowan snaps and gets to his feet "You can't keep doing this!"

Julian follows suit but stumbles a little, "I didn't mean for this to happen, I just wasn't thinking."

"Of course you weren't!" Rowan agreed roughly "You know, I was worried from the start, when you started living here. I was hoping you'd make more effort to adjust properly and start actually taking care of yourself now that you finally have the chance. But it's like putting yourself in danger is the default brain function of yours and it won't disappear no matter how hard we both try! And I hate it, Julian, I hate it so much. It's my least favorite thing about you."

Julian can only listen as Rowan unloads all his frustrations. He can't help but agree with his arguments... He doesn't even attempt to get a word in.

"I don't even want to know the details. It'd just make things worse. I already almost lost you several times. I can't imagine what I would do if something serious happened. Not that this isn't serious! Whoever did this, whatever they cut you with, they could've just went for a major organ. And... And you'd just bleed out in some back alley. And I'd probably be the last to know."

Rowan pauses and looks down at the floor. His speech was like a gut punch to Julian, more painful that anything that happened yet. He hesitates before getting closer to Rowan and wrapping his arms around him. Rowan reciprocates immediately, squeezing him as tightly as he can.

"At this rate, you'll make me go gray before thirty..." Rowan weeps into his chest.

"I, for one, would think you look dashing." Julian sniffs awkwardly, holding onto Rowan's shirt "I'm so deeply sorry for making you worried again."

They stand there in silence for a few minutes, attempting to calm down after the endeavor.

If there's an upside to the frequency of those accidents, is that they manage to get a hold of their tears and frustrations quite quickly. After a moment, Julian pulls away a bit and looks into Rowan's eyes.

"You're right, of course... I know my recklessness takes a toll on you too... I promise that from now on there will be no spontaneous detours. If I get into a sticky situation, you'll know where to find me. I'll carry an additional knife with me as well." he adds with a soft chuckle "And I'm sorry for getting the blood on your shirt, just now... I'll buy it back for you."

"It's not completely ruined, I'll just need to soak it overnight... Though a compensation is definitely in order. For the tremendous emotional damages." Rowan sniffs.

"Then I shall take over making dinner for the whole month."

"Sure, that's fine..."

"And I'll buy you a new shirt anyway."

"Alright..."

"And I'll buy a new stool to replace the one I broke."

"Mhm."

"And you can stab me yourself if you'd like."

"...I think you're missing the point here. But if you scare me like that again, I will lightly choke you."

"We have a deal, darling."

———

i would appreciate opinions about this honestly..... and i had fun writing the descriptions the most i think

and this was the writing time + like 30 minutes the previous day

#the arcana #julian devorak #the arcana apprentice #julian devorak x mc #garf lover96 yaps #garf lover96 writes now apparently #memberoflottiescult if you're reading this i'm sending a missile to your address #garf lover96 creation

23 notes · View notes

crystal-crax · 18 days

Text

🆃🅷🅴 🅳🅰🆈 🅷🅴 🆆🅰🆂 🆂🆃🆄🅿🅸🅳

Oikawa Tōru x blunt!reader

Sweet, fluff, one-sided crush

About: Christmas and Valentine's day had made your bond with Oikawa grow even more, but what happens when you both avoid to say the right words?

Your friendship with oikawa had become significantly deeper after the "santa incident".

Of course, it took you at least a week until the teasing would die out, since he would flaunt his gift to everyone who held an ounce of ability to hear

"She gave this to me! It was a christmas gift! Sorry, didn't she get you anything? Did you know she embroidered it herself?! She even wrote my name on it! She says it took her hours!"

The redness in your face always followed yelling at him, but deep down, you loved the fact he had liked your handmade gift so much. Heck, you felt partly good he would show it off so much after all the pinches you had given yourself with the needle when you embellished the small towel with.

It was nice to be close to him, to feel warm and comfortable by his side.

You talked more; about more meaningful stuff. You laughed more; you hadn't had a single awkward silent moment.

If you caught him off guard, you could even tell his eyes would never leave yours.

It's as if the bond that united you two was suddenly tied and tangled even closer.

"You seriously don't know why i'm surprised?!"

Still, Oikawa was still his petulant self and fights like these, were inevitable .

"Are you still going on about that? Just let it go" you answered a bit annoyed and tired, pulling your face closer to your notebook

"How am i supposed to let this go! After i was tricked and betrayed!?" He stood up from his seat, hand on top of his heart to demonstrate his supposed pain and hurt "So you mean you weren't-"

"What the hell is going on here?" A low voice joined the conversation. Iwaizumi was standing before the school's picnic table the two of you were sitting at, holding his backpack with a confused face

"Iwaizumi-" you were about to welcome him to sit by your side, but both your voice and hand were interrupted mid-air by the loud setter

"Iwa! She lied to us! She didn't bake those chocolate cookies she gave us on Valentine's! She tricked us with store-bought love!" Oikawa held his friend by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth; which gained him to be promptly pushed away by his best friend

"Of course, she can't bake for shit" he shrugged the comment of as he sat down with you

"At least try to phrase it better" you said with a sigh of dissappointment

"It's true tho, my mouth still remembers the bitterness of your first attempts" Iwa shivered at the thought of it "I think my tooth has a dent or something"

You laughed a bit at your friend's attitude, not really minding his words (after all, he was definately right, your cookies were awful), yet the nice atmosphere fell down heavily at a certain's boy sight

"She gave you her cookies?"

You raised your eyes at him and bit your lip, almost feeling bad at what you could only assume was your friend look of utter betrayal

"Don't make it a bigger deal than it was" you rolled your eyes gently "He was just passing by my house and caught me baking..."

"Or trying to" Iwa interrupted you with a smile to which you responded with a very friendly gesture of sticking your tongue out

You both laughed at each other, which in fact did not help to stop Oikawa's heart from sinking

"But I wanted to taste your love!" He finally sat down in defeat, hiding his face into his arms

Your eyes met iwa's, asking almost thelepatically what one is supposed to do in this type of moments where the setter seemed to turn back into a toddler; to which he so helpfully answered back with a shrug

"Ignore it" he mouthed, continuing the casual conversation with you as if his best friend wasn't the one pouting by his side

Soon enough, oikawa forgot about the whole thing and joined back into the talk

You had to admit, you were jealous of the understanding and bond they shared; they knew each other so well that they could tell what the other was thinking and how they would react. It was different for you though, and you couldn't shake the thought of oikawa wanting to eat something made by you.

But well, it's not like you hadn't actually tried.

"Did you kill a baker?" He widened his eyes at your face full of flower

Your kitchen table was full of burnt dough as you sat down mindlesdly looking at, quickly standing up at your friend's presence

"Jesus, make some noise while you walk" you sighed "don't make fun of me please, i'm embarassed enough"

"Are these..?" He held a small piece of your failed creations between his fingers

"I wanted to make you guys something" you sat back down, defeated and hiding your shame between your hands "For Valentine's day"

"I feel flattered" he threw the burnt cookie up only to catch it again "but i think there are enough rocks in my yard" he joked

"Hah hah" you rolled your eyes with an annoyed laughter

You heard a loud crunch and raised your gaze up quickly

"Crap! These are rocks" he complained

"Dude! Don't eat that!" You grabbed the cookie back from him

"Are you using cement instead of milk or something?"

"Was i meant to use milk?" You tilted your head, confused and worried

He couldn't help but snicker "You are definately not good at this"

"I know" You sighed "i just wanted to do something myself again...he seemed to like it before" you felt a soft warmth rise to your cheeks, if your face had gotten red, iwaizumi had been nice enough not to tease you about it

"I'm still offended Santa didn't give me anything" he joked "i was a damn good kid all year long"

"Excuse you?" You widened your eyes "I gave you a keychain, a matching keychain, you match me, it's a friendship keychain. We are friends and match"

He snickered again, to which you rolled your eyes at "He won't mind, you know?" Iwaizumi said softly "i'm sure that as long as it's from you, he'll love it"

That had been a big fat lie

You were sitting at the gym's bleachers, looking down at the volleyball team end their training.

You heard Iwaizumi march up the stairs, startling you "what? I'm making noise while i walk" he joked

"I thought you said he wouldn't mind" you ignored his quip "He's still pouting"

"Well not even I can tell what the heck goes on inside his mind" He said as he sat down by your side, extending his legs and placing your notebook on top of his face "For all i know, he just enjoys your attention"

"Then how could i ever understand what he wants?" You hid your face between your knees

"Is he actually being petty to you about it?" He asked half-worried "i can make him act better if you need to"

You smiled at his protectiveness, raising your head up "No... Actually, I think i'm the one overthinking it" you sighed "I just wanted him to, you know"

You played nervously with your hair "He seemed really happy when he received them, i just wanted that. I didn't think he would mind if i didn't make them myself. He gets store-bought stuff from his fans all the time"

"Well, you're not a fan, are you?" He took the notebook off his face and placed it on your lap

You bit your lip down, he was right, you were definately not an Oikawa Tooru fan. So why were you so eager to get him to smile for you?

A loud volleyball hitting the wall got you both out of your thoughts, the setter had started his usual ritual of practicing his serve after training.

"Well, that's my cue" Iwaizumi stood up and waved goodbye as he walked down the stairs again, yelling at Oikawa "Don't you even dare start hitting that stupid ball Shittykawa! I want to go home now!"

You smiled as you heard your friends banter, yet you couldn't take the bad feeling off. Why did you want to make him happy so bad?

Little did you know, that was not what Iwa meant.

You gathered your things, smiling at the yelling still going on inside the volleyball court. Once an annoyed Iwa had gotten Oikawa to put all the team's equipment back inside the storage room, you three started your way home

"You know you don't have to stay until the end too" Iwa said to you "You're the one that actually lives away from school"

"Don't say that stuff! I enjoy having our precious friend cheer us on at practice" Oikawa surrounded your shoulders with one arm

You pushed him away inmediately though "You're sweaty" you said

"Are you looking for the record at breaking my heart?" He complained

As you three laughed and joked along the way, soon you reached the point in which you had to separate ways

"Hey" iwaizumi nudged his brown-haired friend with his elbow

"You seriously think i'm letting her take the train home?" He smiled, getting a raised eyebrow from you "i texted my mom as soon as we got out of the gym, we're taking you home"

His soft tone made you blush slightly

"Alright " Iwa raised his shoulders "text me when you get home" he said to you, messing your hair as a goodbye

"Sure mom" you joked, making him roll his eyes before he got inside his house

"What? That's so unfair, he always threatens to kill me when i call him that!" Oikawa said offended

You laughed at his expression, walking by his side to his house

"You know you don't need to take me home everytime, right?" You held your backpack close to your body in a fragile attempt to not sound embarrassed

"You should know by now that there's no way i'm letting you go alone" he smiled sweetely

"Honestly" You sighed, stopping in front of the Oikawa residence "I'm still not sure how your mind works"

He stopped too

You could see the sudden change of attitude in him "you know .."he raised an arm up, placing it at the back of his head "i don't actually care about the cookies not being homemade"

Silence fell for a few seconds between the two of you, your eyes glued to his gaze

"..." You widened your eyes, suprised and annoyed "Then why the heck would you make a big deal of it?!" You gently hit the side of his shoulder and his face suddenly went red. His arm jolted back down, as if your scream had made his often-drifting mind go back to earth

"Well it's -" he nervously placed his arms in front of himself "you're so easy to tease and i-" he sighed "well, it's not as if i was lying, you know? I actually wanted to taste something you made"

You pouted in annoyance "Well i wanted you to" you crossed your arms, avoiding to meet his gaze

You were utterly oblivious to the effect you had on him

His cheeks went red and his hands felt sweaty "Still, anything you give me makes me happy"

Your face felt warm now too, yet you couldn't help but snicker at his expression "You're so annoying"

You both smiled at each other, walking inside his home.

That smile right there, those heartful moments with you was what made him crazy.

Your smile, the way you could go from insulting him to teasing him so easily, and the way you wanted him to be happy about something you had simply given him as a friendship gesture.

He decided to keep inside his actual thoughts, for the sake of your mental peace.

What killed him wasn't that the cookies were store-bought, but that he was actually expecting them to be a long-run confession.

Had he been childish and naive? Sure, but the earlier conversation you both had before was still making his heart and brain confused

"Your cookies were amazing" he smiled as he was sitting down at the picning table with you, "When will you make me more?"

He thought about holding your hand for a second, you were so close to him that he wondered if you would even mind if he decided to break the distance even more

He should, right? It wouldn't be weird or anything, you had been hanging and going out really often nowadays

Yet, before his pinkie could even reach yours:

"What?" You raised your gaze from your notebook "oh crap, dude i didn't bake those" you tilted your head to the side "I bought chocolate for all my friends. I only made the small gift bags i gave them in"

Friends

Jesus, he had definately been stupid

"sorry, what?"

He felt bad for making you worry; but he couldn't help it, you were just so cute.

Besides, he didn't actually meant to make a scene out of it, he just panicked- he wasn't just going to admit to you he had stupidly thought it was a confession from you! Let alone that he had been overly affectionate and clingy for that reason too!

The thought of him going around thinking you were some kind of situationship while you were sweetely been thinking as him as a friend made him felt even more stupid (let alone bad, since he hadn't even bothered to ask you if you viewed him the same way, which made his guilt even bigger).

He had spent all day long deflecting and trying to play it cool.

He wondered if you could ever understand the effect you had on him; he hadn't even known you made those cute gift bags yourself and yet the small token had already earned a special place on his nightstand.

Jesus had he been an idiot.

Well, it was useless to worry about that whole mess up now.

He couldn't let a little slip up make him quiver, he had to start practicing for white day.

After all, he wanted to be the one doing something for you now.

Maybe, if he was lucky enough, you would think the same way he did on Valentine's day; only this time, it wouldn't be a misunderstanding.

🅱🅾🅽🆄🆂

Next monday, you had gathered the courage to bring homemade cookies to school for Oikawa

"Crap" he spit out a piece "You really can't bake for shit"

Naive and stupid Oikawa, let's hope he can start to get used to those punches of yours before white day.

Not that you could make him change his mind anyways.

#hq oikawa #oikawa tōru #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa fluff #blunt!reader #haikyuu #aoba johsai #aoba josai x reader #aoba jōsai

14 notes · View notes

lullabyes22-blog · 7 months

Text

Snippet - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - It's Not Me

Young Silco is fierce.

Young Sevika is fiercer.

But Jericho is fearsome.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Mild NSFW

Snippet:

After a while, Silco felt the hot weight of her stare. When he looked up, she said, "You look like crap, Sil."

"Oh?"

"You don't even notice, do you?" Her eyes raked him up and down. "You're like a wraith. Could cut somebody with those cheekbones."

"A few missed meals. That's all."

"You need a good old-fashioned bender," she said bluntly. "With a big bottle of single-malt. The good stuff. Not the swill they're peddling lately." She took another swallow of gin, and made a face. "Some days, I'd swear it’s battery acid."

"I can’t." Silco swirled his cup absently. "Five rats—" runners"—missing. Five-hundred pounds of chaff—" bullets "—needing to be shipped. A dozen crates of sardines—" rifles "—waiting to be delivered." His fingers tapped out the numbers. "And that's not even half the list. I'll be old and grey before this is done."

Sevika's eyes grew pensive. "Old. Grey. Like Nandi."

"Your sister was barely twenty-seven."

"No. But now she's—" In an urn. With effort, she caught herself. "You remember the lines on her forehead. The way she'd squint. She always said her eyesight was getting worse. It was the smog, she’d say. It's like a sneak-thief. You get so used to the haze, you don't see what it's doing to your body." She rubbed her own eyes. "Sometimes, I feel it too. A tightness here." She tapped between her brows. "Like a thread pulling through a needle."

Silco smiled, barely. "That's a migraine, love."

"It's a pain in the ass." She drained her cup, setting it aside. "But every day, I’m sorry she can't feel it. Can't see the rust on the stairwell. Can't see the cobwebs strung in the hallways. Can't see the gasoline rainbows in the puddles." Her lips pinched at the corners. "She had a rough life. But she still saw beauty in the ugliest things.” A wry aside, “Guess that's why she picked you."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm kidding, Sil." She elbowed him. "You were good for her. Nothing like the louts here."

"She was easy to be good to." His fingertip circled the rim of his cup. "Sometimes I wonder..."

"What?"

He fell quiet, his eyes hooded. "Maybe I wasn't good enough."

"Bullshit. I knew my sister. She didn’t get the life she deserved, but you made her happy. She'd say so, if she could."

Silco nodded. It seemed the thing to do.

Sevika's scrutiny didn't abate. "She'd also say you need some shut-eye. When's the last time you had a decent sleep?"

"When's the last time I had a decent anything?" Silco lifted his cup, and drained the dregs. Bitter in, bitter out. His lips sketched the barest smile. "At least the company's good."

"Company's always good." Sevika took a bite out of the bergamot. Juice twinkled on her chin. Her tongue ran over her lips, an idle provocation. "I could make it better."

Silco's features stilled around the smile. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You can’t be drunk already."

"Please." She dropped back on her elbows, so her breasts stood up between the loose folds of her shawl. Heavy handfuls, the nipples taut against the fabric. Sevika never bothered with binders back then. "I'm dead sober. And I've never needed liquor to speak my mind."

"Not if your mind's—" He stopped, a sharp swallow like a barb. "—what it is."

"And what is it, exactly? Bent? Broken?"

"You've had a skinful of hurt."

"Wouldn't mind a skinful. Or two fistfuls, and a mouthful, for good measure." At his stare: "Sisters aren't like brothers, Sil. We'd tell each other everything. I mean: everything."

"Everything," he echoed, flat. "Or whatever you'd pester Nandi into sharing."

"Same difference." Her grin held a sly curl. "She told me you had hands made for music. Not the kind played on the fiddle. You'd strum her until she nearly sang the building down." She nudged his leg. "That's high praise. My sister was picky as hell. I can count on one hand how many men made it past our threshold. But you..." She laughed, but not merrily. "She'd do everything short of tying you up in a bow to keep you from walking out."

"She didn't need to tie me up." He set the cup aside. "Four years, I never looked elsewhere."

"Yeah, you were a rarity." She tipped her chin. "Maybe that's why I'm asking. ‘Cause I know you're worth the gamble."

He shook his head. "This isn't a game, Sevika."

"You think I'm playing?"

"With my last nerve, yes."

"Am I?" She tugged the neckline of her halter, and for moment he saw a glimpse of areola, deep bronze on the paler breast. "Then why're you still here?"

His skin prickled under his clothes. The heat, the heaviness, the memory. Nandi's breasts, the dark smoothness of her thighs. Silco's own hands, tracing her freckles. His lips following. Nandi, sighing: "Here. Here. Here." A constellation, with him as the shooting star.

Where had he fallen? A thousand miles away with her blood-sister.

Her sister, who'd always been listening through the door. Whose presence was a visceral echo of Nandi's, but whose eyes were different: hard, hungry, never satisfied.

Like him.

"Sil?" Sevika's tone downshifted. "Hey—where are you going?"

"Back to work." He rose, dusting off his lap. "I’ve heard enough."

"Hey, c'mon!" A tug on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm not good at this stuff."

"Good at what?" A bite of temper cracked through his calm. "Toying with Nandi’s leftovers?"

She flinched but held firm. "It's not like that."

"What, then?"

"She's gone. You are too. I never see you anywhere. Days, you're cooped up in the Drop. Nights, you're never at your flat. You're not grieving, Sil. You're running." Her fingers tightened around his sleeve. "I'm just… worried."

"So you thought you'd screw it out of me?" He slipped free of her hold. "I've no time for this, Sevika."

"You NEVER have time!" she exploded, and several diners glanced their way. "Not for me, or anyone! You think you're the only one hurting? There's plenty of us going through the same thing, and you're shutting us all out! If you go down, so does this whole fucking city!" Her breath hitched, once. "I don't know what else to do. How else to get your attention."

Silco's face didn't shift. "My attention isn't for sale."

"And the rest of you?" She gestured angrily. "That's fair game?"

"That's not your business."

"Then whose is it? The slags who pant after you in the Drop? The cutthroats who creep after you in the ginnels? The drecks and the dregs whispering in your ears whenever you pass?" She barked a harsh laugh. "Half of 'em would sell their soul for a chance. The other half already sold theirs. But it's the people who matter you're running from!"

Silco's temper, already frayed from nightly arguments with Vander, tugged at its seams.

"I am trying," he hissed, "to keep everything from falling apart."

"By hiding behind your maps and plans and lists?"

"Better than ash in an urn." His stare went inexorably dark. "Now unless you'd like us all to end up in one, I suggest we drop this."

Sevika fell silent. In the background, Jericho's fry-pan sent up a cloud of sizzling steam. The heat seeped in, threading into Silco's veins. His cup was empty, but his hand stayed clenched around it. The cold cut through the warm haze, a tether to sanity.

He waited for Sevika to speak. To curse him out. To signal the end of this conversation. To do anything but sit there, with that strange expression on her face. Like he'd gutted her.

Finally, she whispered. "Can I kiss you?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Just a kiss." She bit her lip. "That’s all."

"Why?"

"Because." The red shawl slid down her bare shoulder. "Because I haven't kissed anyone since she died."

"You'll find your pick of punters."

"I don't want punters!"

"Then find a sweetheart. A regular. Someone to—"

"To what? Fill the gap?” She tossed her head, miserably defiant. “Already got a hundred gaps in me. Got a hole the size of the fucking sun. And the worst part is, everyone keeps trying to fill it. With booze. With drugs. With empty promises. It’s all bullshit! I try to eat, and nothing stays down. I try to sleep, and all I see is blood. I try to breathe, and all I feel is—is—" She hauled in a sharp breath. "I miss her, Sil. Every fucking minute. I can't take it anymore! I need a fix. Something. Anything!"

Silco was silent. For a moment, all he could see was the corpse on the steel table. The ash in the urn. The blood on his knife.

The dark, and what lay inside.

"It's not me." His voice echoed back at him; hollow. Like he was on ether. "Whatever's your fix, Sevika. It's not me."

He turned on his heel. He was ready to escape into the night. Down into the labyrinth of his own creation. Anything to flee the pain in Sevika's eyes. All his deepest hurts were mirrored there. Two orphans, born in a city built on odds. And the odds were rigged against them.

Rigged forever—unless they broke free.

He started to walk off. The half-full pitcher bounced hard off his shoulder with a metallic clang. Gin sprayed everywhere. He spun, and Sevika was right before him: tall as a Valkyrie, her eyes full of fire. Seizing a fistful of his collar, she shoved him against the table.

"You selfish rat! You'd leave me to go cold-turkey, wouldn't you? Leave me to rot, with nothing but the nightmares in my head? All for what? Because I'm not HER?" She shook him. "Well, fuck that! I've lost my sister! I won't lose you, too! You can kiss me, or hit me, or do whatever you want to me! But don't fucking walk away from me. Not after—"

Whatever she said next was lost. Jericho's bristling silhouette arrested them both. A butcher knife was brandished in his fist.

"W̶̼͒̆ḧ̴̼͚́a̴͈͌t̶̼̻̄̈́'̵̫̌s̵͇͚͛ ̷̫͒̿t̷͎̺̉̕ḧ̶̖̹́e̶̥̜̾ ̷̖͒͊ŕ̵̪̯̑ǘ̷̙c̸͕̙̓̚k̴̞̭̀͆u̸͔̒͝s̸̪̜̐?̸̡̑ͅ?"

Sevika and Silco traded a glance. Instinctively, Silco encircled Sevika and put her behind him. He took a step forward. "My fault. Always making the girls cry."

The hulking chef's eyes slitted. "M̴̛̩͈̋͒o̴͙͎̻̝͈͐v̸̭͖̠̭̌͆͐̎ě̸͕̥̘͓͚̂.̶̡̛͖̹̙͂̓͆̀ ̴͙̰̆̌S̸̘̐́̔h̸͓͍̉̒̇̈́̈e̴͎̤͕͙͂́̀̓̃'̵͎̞̞̇̒͠s̷̩̜͚̅̓͋ ̷̺͚̰̍͝g̴̛͔̅̒͆̋o̵̟̳̥̿̚t̴͓͍̙̟͙́͆̈́͗ ̴̯̤͙̬̑̚t̸̡̼͉̥̤̋́̀͐o̷͓̻̲̓ ̴̳̓́̂̊͝p̷̡͇̑̿͒̈́a̵̟̺͒͐̃ẏ̵͍͈̃̽̍̑."

Silco raised his palms. "Put it on my tab. All of it. You know I'm good."

"Y̵͖͗͋̍͊o̸͍͕̫̯̣̔u̷̙̟͕̤͂̿͋'̵̪̪̗̃̌ͅr̸̪̬̺̣͑͑̍͘ĕ̶̬̿̀ ̴̧̰̹̕͜s̴̨͙̫̝̅̀ĉ̵͎͗͂͝ȃ̴̡̙̣̆̅͐͌r̷̡̊͂́ǐ̸̼͔̉͛͝n̷̡͍̱̫̆g̶̯͚͔̠̏̽̈ ̵̡͑̏̎̅̕m̸̨͈͕͐̊̋̈́̓ÿ̵̩̲͖̙́ ̴̛̫̱̬̑̈́c̸̛̜͝u̵̢̻͍̭̔ș̴̫̀ͅẗ̶̹͕̥̰̖͑͠o̸͕̗͍̔ͅm̴̙̖̿́e̷͉͇̺̖̠̿̄̓̈́ŗ̶̉̆͑ş̵̲̬̾͛͌͂͝ ̶̣̮̺̋̇͊͝o̷͈̱̟͛f̴̮̀̀f̸̬̼͇́̿͆̂̉.̴͔͓̐̅̀̃͜͜͜͠"

"It's over. It won't happen again." Silco dug into his pocket, and pressed a few coins into the Vastayan’s hand. "For the pitcher."

Jericho's maw was still bridling. But coin smoothed the creases. "Ṱ̵̢̼́̄͝͝r̷̰̩̒̋o̴͚̾u̷̢͑̔ḇ̶̱̹̓͑͆́ĺ̷̹̚ȇ̷͍̣̱m̷̱͋̀̚ȧ̴͓̭̤̈́͘k̷̺̖̹̎̕e̶̪͖̠͎͆̑͛r̴̛͚̰͜s̵͖͕͙̫̔͌.̴̜̝͔̓̏͜ ̸̯̜͗̅̏͜͝B̵͔̾͑́o̵̳͈̯̜̐͋̇t̵̢͔̗̆h̶̩̜̫͗̒ ̴̰̺̇̓̒o̸̳͉͓̻̔́f̸̯̪̊̿̀ ̶̮̰͈͕̿y̵̨̘̅͂͝o̶͔̍͗̈́̾u̶̥͇͐̆͐.̷"

"We'll be off."

#arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane sevika #sevika #silco x sevika #sevilco #arcane jericho #snippet #young silco #young sevika

48 notes · View notes

halogalopaghost · 10 months

Text

As It Never Will Be

read on AO3

“What is this, some kinda game? Like hide’n seek or somethin’?”

Raph chuckles ruefully. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Donatello sits down. In the middle of the lair, surrounded by his family, he sits down before he can fall.

They're all on top of him instantly, Leo kneeling beside him while Splinter puts a warm paw on his head, and they're all trying to talk to him. Donnie can’t hear them through the high-pitched whine buzzing through his skull, everything around him is all blurred and muffled. And he can't breathe—why can't he breathe?

“—Donnie, Donnie please—” Leo, beside him, shakes his shoulder. The world tilts to the left.

“—bruised, he needs to—”

“—son?”

“Can you hear me? Donatello—”

“Bro, take a breath!”

It's Mikey’s voice that cuts through the fog. The flash of orange in his peripheral vision—so bright and happy, not a single stain in sight—snaps him out of it. Suddenly he’s groping for Mikey, grabbing his arm—both arms, and just releasing control of his own body. He feels the lurch as his full weight falls against his baby brother, but there are so many other hands on the both of them, they don't fall.

“Donnie,” Mikey murmurs, stroking his brother’s head, “buddy, you're kinda freakin’ us out here dude.”

He closes his eyes, which are suddenly burning for some reason. Why are his eyes burning? “Eight days,” he murmurs. He can't even feel his mouth moving.

“What?”

He hooks his shaking fingers onto the edge of Mikey’s plastron, memorizing the feel of the waxy smoothness and trying to replace it with the memory of the jagged, dulled scutes he last touched. “ Eight days , not ten minutes.” He gasps for breath, but his chest still feels too tight. Did the air in the lair get thicker while they were gone? Terror grips him as he wonders—is this even the right reality? Is this his earth?

He can hear them talking now, their voices are clearer, but he’s panting too hard to try to respond. His head is spinning, and he hasn't had anything to eat but small dry rations for days, and he can still feel The Shredder’s blood on his skin. He can feel it .

“Mikey, we’re going to the lab, come on,” Leo says in the most Leo-like way possible. God, it’s good to hear his pitchy teenage voice again.

His brothers haul him to his feet and practically have to carry him into his own lab, depositing him on the cot against the far wall. His little doctor’s station is there, with his magnifying lamp and sterile gauze and needles and antibiotics—stuff he would have killed for two days ago, when he saw to rebel after rebel with infections or burns or skin torn from bone—

“Donnie, what's hurt?” Leo asks urgently, hands hovering over his brother.

He takes in a thin, gasping breath, but hot tears are still coming down his cheeks and he still can't speak past the lump in his throat or that dull ache in his chest. Oh, is he having a heart attack?

Raph shoulders his way into the space beside Leo. Donnie’s vision goes double, giving him four brothers instead of two. “He ain't hurt, he’s havin’ a panic attack. Donnie, try to breathe with me.” He kneels and takes one of his brother’s hands, placing it on his own chest while taking deep and exaggerated breaths.

That matches up, he thinks as he gasps for breath. Accelerated heart rate, chest pain, shortness of breath, all classic symptoms of a panic attack. But no amount of logic can stop his body now, auto-pilot has taken over and he can’t stop the short, wheezing breaths that are quickly making him more and more lightheaded.

“Just breathe, Don,” Raph urges.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers being years younger and teaching Raphael how to do this when their roles were reversed. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries, really tries to synchronize his breathing with Raphael’s, but he can barely take in any air at all.

“Can't—” he gasps, shaking his head. “Can't, Raph—”

He feels Splinter’s paw rest heavily on his forehead, thumb smoothing the creases in his temple, and senses, rather than hears, his Master’s soothing words. “ My son. Whatever you have seen, it is no more. You are home, you are safe. Let your mind and body be at rest .”

The world around him goes dark.

“His chest is bruised, he has four lacerations on his right leg that probably need stitches, he’s got other cuts and bruises everywhere , and I think he might have a concussion. I—I can't tell, Sensei. Usually I would ask him…”

“I know, my son. Look! He is waking up.”

Donnie’s head is pounding like a three year old with a drum kit and his eyes are crusted shut, like he’s been sick or crying, but he can’t quite remember when he fell asleep. He forces his eyes open anyway. He wants—no, he needs to see his family.

Only Leo and Splinter are there, sitting side by side at the cot. They both have their hands on him at once—Leo on his chest, gently applying pressure so he can’t get up, and Sensei holding his hand. He lifts the other hand to rub his eyes and nearly hits himself in the face with the IV tube they affixed there. He glares at it. “How long was I out?”

“About twenty minutes,” Leo says softly. “You're a bit dehydrated, so…”

Damn. At first, he felt like he slept for days.

“Are you alright? You really scared the shell out of us, Don.”

He stares at Leo for a long moment, then laughs. The giggle burbles out of his throat suddenly, hysterical even to his own ears. The last time he heard Leo swear, his voice was thirty years older and he didn't say shell .

“I'm—I'm okay,” he stammers out, trying to hold the hysterics in his chest. If he laughs again, he might just burst into tears afterward. “Where’s Mikey and Raph?” He swallows thickly. “I need—I need to see them, Leo. I need to see you all side by side.”

Leo moves to stand, but Splinter beats him to it. He pats each of his sons’ hands, then excuses himself.

Leo scoots into Sensei’s chair, closer to his brother. His hand still hasn't strayed from Donnie’s chest. “I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but—”

“I don't.” That giddy feeling from just a moment ago is gone, and the hollow that it leaves behind might collapse into itself like a dying star if he has to say another word about it. He lays his head back against the pillow and fixes his eyes on a blank patch of brick wall somewhere behind Leo, suddenly drained of any ability to pretend.

He nods. “Okay. That's…that's okay.”

It's gonna kill Leo until he knows, because he thinks he always has to know everything. But Donnie is unequivocally certain that Leo doesn't want to know what he saw over the last few days. Hell, Donnie wishes he could unsee it himself.

“Bro!” Mikey enters with two plates of pizza. They ordered it just before everything went down days ago—hours ago?—so it’s hot and fresh and the sight of it makes his mouth water instantly. “Thought you might be hungry, who knows what they were feeding you…wherever you went.”

Leo throws a look over his shoulder as Mikey sidles into the seat beside him. It shuts him up pretty quick.

“Thanks.” He takes the plate and lifts the slice to take a bite, but the smell of the grease and cheese suddenly sends a wave of nausea over him. Mikey has a point—he hasn’t eaten much in the last few days, so maybe he should start with something milder.

He sets it aside and swings his legs over the side of the cot, aware of Leo’s watchful eye. He reaches out and puts his hands on Mikey’s biceps, gripping them firmly. He knows it's weird, he can plainly see how they're both looking at him, but he just has to convince himself that it's real , and he's home, and maybe it was all just a nightmare after all.

“You sure you're feeling alright?” Mikey asks, mouth full of pizza.

He pulls his little brother into a bone-crushing hug, smiling at the surprised squeak. He doesn't bother answering the question.

“Hey, don't go crushin’ Mikey without letting me in on the fun,” Raph says as he shuffles in.

Don parts from Mikey just in time to see Leo reach up and wipe a smudge of pizza sauce off Raph’s chin, only for Raph to glare down at him with an energy of do it again, I dare you .

As soon as Raph is sitting (and thus within arm’s reach), Donnie reaches out and snatches the bandanas from his and Leo’s heads. He just looks at them for a long moment—eyes intact and seeing, faces free of scars and age spots and sunken frowns. Sixteen years old, voices still a little pitchy, not yet grown to their full height.

“The hell are you lookin’ at, brainiac?” Raph snatches his mask back. “Exactly how hard did they hit ya on the head?”

Yeah. He's home alright.

Leo breaks the uncomfortable silence by standing up and dragging the med cart closer. He starts ripping open sterile packages and setting out things for sutures to tend to his and his brothers’ wounds. Luckily, it looks like Mikey and Raph were more or less unharmed. The other two weren’t quite as lucky, though Don is sure he looks the worst by far.

“Okay so I know it was bad and everything, but the place I went was kinda awesome,” Mikey gushes. “We were superheroes! But like, it wasn’t really us or something, none of them went by the same names as us. It was spooky, dude.”

“Mikey, we’re giant turtles that practice ninjutsu, how much closer to ‘superhero’ do we really need to be?”

“Uhhh, I dunno, Raph, can you change size and shape at will? Can you fly? Huh ?”

Donnie sits back against the pillows while Leo gently positions his leg to do the stitches. Just a pinch of local anesthetic, exactly like he taught them, and he’s ready to go.

“Pfft, doesn't matter, I got to race across multiple hostile planets on a bike the size of the battle shell.”

“No way! Did you win?”

“‘Course I won!”

“That must be awesome for you dude, since you lost the Battle Nexus so hard .”

Donnie smiles idly at his brothers as the youngest receives a vicious noogie.

“I went to Usagi’s world,” Leo says quietly, not looking up from his task. Donnie barely hears him over the other two bickering.

“Oh, that’s…nice, I’m glad you were among friends.”

He chuckles. “It was weird, being in a world where anthropomorphic animals are the norm. I walked through cities in broad daylight.”

Donnie only hums in response.

Leo doesn’t look up until he’s finishing off the stitches on the first of three cuts that would receive them. Don doesn’t meet his eyes, just pretends he can’t see him at all. The look Leo gives him is a knowing and expectant one—usually this is how they have hard conversations, one exchange of information at a time. But Donnie isn’t interested in that bargain. Not this time.

“You think we’ll ever see Draco again?” Mikey asks.

“Nah, that lizard’s done for. Though I woulda liked to get in a few hits first,” Raph grumbles. “Make the world’s ugliest snakeskin boots.”

“And Lord Simultaneous just recreated the Daimyo's son! Talk about a bad idea.”

“Maybe not,” Leo says with a shrug. “He’ll have a chance to do things over, and he’ll know what to watch for this time. People aren't inherently evil.”

Mikey shrugs it off. “What about you Donnie? What crazy shenanigans did you get up to?”

“Oh. It was…” he tries to formulate a lie that isn’t too far from the truth, but boring enough that they won’t ask for more details. “It was basically the same as here,” he shrugs. “I manifested in the lair, met you guys…”

“Boo, lame,” Mikey pouts. But Donnie catches the look that he gives him—he’s reminded that Mikey has always been more perceptive than they gave him credit for.

Donnie barely manages to beg off sleeping in the lab—Leo wants them to take shifts through the night, sitting at his bedside and observing him, but Donnie insists that they all need rest in their own beds after whatever-the-shell-it-is that happened to them in the last few days. (Minutes? Hours? He’s still not sure, and at this point he doesn’t care either.) He desperately wants to sleep in his own familiar room and listen to the groaning water pipes in the wall behind his bed, with Raph snoring just next door. He craves that normalcy like oxygen.

Leo seems especially loath to leave him alone as he lingers in the doorway of his bedroom later on. He watched Don like a hawk all evening as he forced down some Gatorate and a few stray pizza crusts, and now he apparently wants to watch him sleep too.

“Leo, I’m fine,” he insists. And he really is, tucked into his warm bed and truly comfortable for the first time in days.

His eldest brother still hesitated, gripping the door and staring uncertainly into the dark room. “Are you sure you don’t want someone to stay with you?”

“ Leo .”

“Okay, okay,” he sighs. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you in the morning.” He pulls the door to behind him, leaving a thin sliver of light across the floor and up onto the wall. Someone flicks off the hall light, and then that disappears too.

Honestly, Don is one hundred percent down for any and all of his brothers piling into his bed for the night, but admitting that to Leo would just raise more red flags on his already-sensitive radar, and he simply did not have the energy to deal with that tonight. So he lay in bed alone, pillows and blankets all tucked in around him the way he likes, glow in the dark constellations wishing him goodnight from the low ceiling, and tries to sleep. And tries.

And tries.

As time goes on, it becomes increasingly obvious that he just isn’t going to be sleeping tonight. Every time he begins to drift off, he sees flashes of his brothers from the future; blood, scars, the horrible things they said to each other, Master Splinter’s grave in the park, the way Mikey would occasionally grip the stub of his arm and faintly grimace like he was in pain—

Enough of that, he needs to get up.

Don rolls out of bed decisively, coming up a little wobbly on his feet. He doesn't have a concussion, that much he’s sure of, so he shouldn’t feel this unsteady. Maybe it’s just the too-quick pumping of his heart inside his shell, screaming like a steam engine about to fly off the rails, or the fact that he still can’t draw a full breath without feeling the tug of panic in the pit of his stomach. No matter what it is, he can’t just lay in bed like this. He needs to do something.

He pads out into the hallway and takes the stairs down one at a time, mindful of the stitches all up and down his right leg straining against the movement of his muscle and skin. In the dark, it’s easy to imagine his home as he’d briefly seen it in that other reality: broken, scorched, empty. Utterly devoid of life. He has to remind himself that Mikey’s ripsaw snores are real, and the flickering light of Master Splinter’s one ever-lit candle from behind the screen of his door are real, and he isn’t alone, and his brothers are safe, and he is safe.

But The Shredder isn’t dead.

He has a feeling that the fact is going to haunt him for a while—even more than usual, anyway—maybe until Saki really is dead. Next time he faces The Shredder (and there will be a next time), he won’t be making any assumptions about whether he’s dead or alive. He wants whatever the Utrom equivalent of asystole is, to see him bleed out then burnt up until there isn’t a single atom of him left to identify. Because even if those turtles weren’t really his brothers, that Shredder was the very same that he’s faced again and again—the same one that has tormented and abused his family again and again. And he’ll have his preemptive revenge, that is no question.

As he reaches the threshold of his lab, the comforting whir of computer fans and the blinking lights on various equipment greeting him like a warm blanket, and he’s absently surprised to hear Mikey’s voice in his head instead of their father’s. “ Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering,” says Mikey’s uncanny Master Yoda impression in his head. It used to drive all three brothers crazy that the Jedi code sometimes matched up so perfectly with principles of bushido; Mikey could spout Star Wars nonsense and Sensei, none the wiser, would simply nod along with him and tell the three that they should be more mindful like their brother. Of course, that had long since passed when Leo practically forced their father to marathon the entire Star Wars hexalogy for the sake of everyone’s sanity.

The memory brings a smile to Don’s face. He won’t let anger consume him like it had with Darth Vader—or indeed with The Shredder himself. He’s going to be intentional about involving his brothers every step of the way and make sure they’re all united and equally prepared when the time comes. If he’s learned anything in the last week-and-some-change, it’s that no one of them could take on Shredder without all three of the others.

He leans into the doorway of the lab for a moment, just breathing in the familiar smell of motor oil and hot CPUs and trying to relax his tense body. Honestly, now that he’s gotten up, he feels more tired than he had when he was in bed. Maybe he just needed the change of scenery; a cognitive shakeup. Whatever caused the change, his body suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred tons, and he’s overcome with an all-consuming need to lie down. He easily crosses the lab in the dark and finds the soft edge of the cot against the wall. He lays down on his plastron and pillows his head on his arms. The moment his eyes close, the sleep which had so evaded him swallows him whole.

Mikey kept staring at him, eyes narrowed and suspicious, the whole way to the rebel base. Donnie thought about addressing it a few times, but quite frankly, he didn’t know how to address this older, cynical version of his brother. He hadn’t seen him smile once, or even crack a joke, or make an obscene gesture. This Mikey was covered in scars, missing an arm, and utterly suspicious of Don.

And looking at the world around them, Don couldn’t blame him.

Mike stopped short at a street corner. Donnie rushed to melt into the shadows of an alley anxiously, assuming his brother had spotted something or someone coming around the way. Instead, Mikey just stood there and kept staring at him with those shrewd, narrowed eyes. He’d be lying if he said it didn't feel a little threatening.

“Mikey?”

“How old are you?”

“Uh—sixteen.”

Mikey’s expression went completely blank, shrewd gaze gone into a faraway stare.

He moved to take a step forward, then falters and stops. “I told you Mikey, I didn’t abandon you guys. Something happened . I haven’t—I mean, I didn’t live through the last thirty years.”

Mikey leaned heavily into the crumbling brick facade of the building Don had his shell pressed against, staring wide-eyed at the ground.

Donnie had a hundred questions he could’ve filled the silence with. First and foremost, he wanted to ask how the heck old he thought he was, half a head shorter than his younger-but-older brother as he was, but he thinks better of it. There was no good way to frame a question like that, and Mikey was clearly reeling.

“So you, what…time traveled here? Is Renet involved in this?”

Donnie almost laughed. “I wish, Mikey. It was Draco and the Daimyo’s son.”

Mikey uttered a string of colorful profanity. Well that, at least, was more like the Mikey he knew. “We spent all that time looking for you, we were all so angry with you…”

That stung. That his family could ever think him capable of outright abandoning them like that... He had to remind himself what this Mikey had been through, and the extremes that it must have taken for them to arrive at that conclusion.

“I’m not sure that I’m really…from this timeline,” he added hesitantly, voice small and uncertain.

Mikey straightened out. “Doesn’t matter. I just needed to know you weren’t…some kind of trick of The Shredder’s. I couldn’t live with myself if I led them right to the base, after everything. Come on, we have to get in before sunrise.”

Fuck, fuck , there’s blood running down the side of his face, and his hands are pinned, what happened? He vaguely hears the cries of a brother in the distance, but which one? Which brother, and where, and does he have enough strength to save them?

He groans and tries to gather himself, tries to force himself to think through the fog in his head. He feels paralyzed and stiff—something must have hit him in the head. But he can’t hear his brothers anymore, he’s alone now, and his entire body is slick with blood.

No, something seems wrong about that.

He peels his eyes open, almost forcing them, and slowly, slowly comes down from the false adrenaline high. He’s in his lab still, on the infirmary cot instead of the unidentified rocky terrain he’d seen behind closed lids, but he is definitely damp, that much is real. His hands, pinned beneath his plastron, are vaguely prickly and numb. He moans again, more conscious of it this time, and rolls himself onto his side. The prickling floods full force into his fingers as blood rushes to fill the oxygen-deprived tissues and his nerves respond in kind. His entire body buzzes in the dark.

He lurches to his feet and sways dangerously, righting himself at the last moment on his rolling medical cart. Something crashes to the floor and takes a few other items down with it, but the sound barely registers to him. He’s still wet, and in the dark he really can’t tell if it’s blood or not. As he stumbles out of the lab, he has one hazy goal in mind: shower.

Don feels drunk on his own exhaustion and the leftover panic from the dreams he can barely grasp. He gropes for walls to support himself as he makes his way around the lair the long way, slowly skirting the edge until he comes to the stairs. He ascends them just as carefully as he’d descended them earlier. (How much earlier? His foggy mind hopes it was enough that he won’t have to go back to sleep, that maybe he’ll shower and feel rested enough to face the day, but the silent darkness of the lair betrays that hope.)

He doesn’t even turn the light on in the bathroom, just goes by the nightlight and touch as he opens the hot water tap and steps underneath before it’s even warm. The pipes in the wall shudder alongside him until they finally open blessedly hot water over his skin, scalding away what he now recognizes only as sweat from a restless, nightmare-filled sleep. His heart pounds in his ears over the rush of the water.

In the darkness, he rests his hands on his knees and rests his shell against the tiled shower wall. Vaguely, the logical part of his brain is aware of what’s happening: he’s tripoding—the medical shorthand for the posture a patient commonly assumes when experiencing mild to severe respiratory distress. He’s seen his father, his brothers, and his friends do it after a battle or a particularly brisk run, and he’s seen his brothers do it the few times when panic overtook them. He can feel his neck straining as he breathes, notes the peripheral muscle involvement to his list of symptoms. His heart rate…was still less than ideal, but it never really slowed down since he got home from that nightmare earlier in the day.

Simply put, he’s having another panic attack. Alone, in the shower, in the dead of the night. He drags in steamy breath and forces it back out too quickly, shaking under the scalding water. He doesn't understand—he held it together so well with those alternate versions of his brothers, kept cool and level headed and led them to victory, no matter how pyrrhic it may have been. And now, even though he intellectually knows what’s happening and has experienced this sort of post-trauma breakdown before, he doesn’t understand why it’s happening to him . Can’t he just catch a break for once? Can’t he just sleep through the night, suffer through whatever nightmares his traitorous subconscious deals him, and move on like the rest of his brothers? Does he really have to be such a crybaby about it?

He pounds his fist into the tile, grits his teeth together as it gives and cracks beneath his fist, then sinks to his knees in the shower stall. Even if he has to tape his eyelids open, he won’t be risking sleep again tonight.

Mikey, usually the earliest to rise out of all of them, looks positively shocked when he catches sight of Donnie sitting at the kitchen table at zero-dark-thirty, coffee mug and book laid out in front of him. If Leo and Raph are equally surprised to see him up and about when they file in, they don’t show it.

Sensei suggested the night before that they skip the day’s training, giving everyone a chance to rest and reorient themselves in their home. Donnie had a sneaking suspicion that it was solely for his benefit though, as his brothers appeared more or less unaffected by their adventures, and he just isn't going to take any of the misplaced sympathy. Just before the clock strikes seven, their normal gathering time, Don stands up and pointedly enters the dojo. He supposes Sensei really meant it about taking the day off—no one has lit the candles nor dragged out the sparring mats, so he sets to the task himself.

He hears the telltale dull thunk of a shell hitting the wooden frame of the dojo door and pointedly ignores it.

Raphael clears his throat loudly. “Don,” he starts evenly, “whatcha doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he mumbles in reply.

Raph doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he waits until Donnie has dragged the first mat into the center of the room and stands panting over top of it, shell still toward his brother.

“Looks like yer being more stubborn than Leo. Which I’d usually commend, but you look like shit.”

Don wipes a thin sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, pretending that it wasn’t shaking, then turns to face his brother. “Gee, thanks. Are you gonna help me or not?”

Raph, arms crossed over his chest, shrugs. “Nah, I’ll letcha wear yourself out.”

Donnie rolls his eyes and goes for the next mat, pulling it from its place leaning against the brick sewer wall to rest on the ground, then dragging it into place. It doesn’t usually take any effort at all for him to do this, but today it feels like he’s trying to drag an entire continent across the dojo. Fcine, so he hadn’t gotten the best rest or nutrition while he was in that godforsaken future, but he can’t begin to recondition his body until the dojo is set up and his Sensei has stopped babying him.

When he finally pulls it into place, arms trembling, he centers himself on the mat and sinks into a lotus pose with less grace than he’d have liked. He holds no delusions that he’ll be able to meditate like this, but he wishes his brothers would at least sit down with him so that he could pretend to join them and have that deep-meditation connection.

Eyes closed, Donnie listens to Raph close the dojo door, heave a great sigh, and assume a matching pose beside him, knees just barely touching.

“You look like shit,” he repeats. “What happened, Don?”

He flinches. “I spent a week in an alternate reality. It was just—tiring, is all. I’m fine.”

“Bull-fuckin’-shit you’re fine, you look like ya lost fifteen pounds and ten years off your life. I don’t need all the gritty details, but I like t’think you trust me enough with the gist of it.”

“It’s not about trusting you,” Donnie snaps, opening his eyes and jerking his knee away from Raph’s. “I just don’t want to talk about it. Is that a crime?”

He wants Raph to rise to the challenge, meet his anger in kind and start a fight. He wants someone to yell at and blame and be angry at instead of the hollowed-out, bone-deep exhaustion in his chest. But his brother’s gaze doesn’t harden, and his hands don’t ball into fists. Damn him for having compassion, damn Leo for helping him get his anger under control, damn him for losing an eye, damn him for his recklessness that will eventually get him killed.

Raph’s face softens instead. “I heard ya bumpin’ around last night. Did you sleep at all?”

Donnie searches his brother’s eyes for a hint of mockery, a thread of wayward anger he can pull at and unravel, but all he sees is a reserve of compassion that Raphael keeps on tap just for him. He wants to scream, wants to hit something, wants to rip his metaphorical hair out and go apeshit, but he’s the smart one. The level-headed one, the one holding everything together, the one that they look to for strength when things are uncertain. He can’t waver, he can’t let them know their potential future, he can’t let them know how horrible it could be if he fucks up even a little bit.

Raph reaches toward him, and when Don flinches away, he drops his hand into his lap instead. “When you decide you wanna talk, I’ll be around.” He waits a moment, watches as Donnie shifts his gaze to the mat and tries to keep his breathing level. Eventually, he leaves and closes the dojo doors behind him.

Don lays down on the mat and buries his face in his hands.

“Wait, so you aren’t our Donnie?”

In the basement of the rebel hideout, after two days of waiting, Donatello finally had this battered version of his brothers together in one place. They sat around a battery-powered lantern and talked in hushed tones so as not to wake the infirmary of rebels sleeping on the far side of the room, and the harsh shadows cast at harsher angles made his brothers’ weathered faces look truly foreign.

“Well, not exactly,” he said slowly. “I think your Donatello and I are one and the same, but this timeline seems to be a result of my disappearance at Draco’s and the Daimyo’s son’s hands,” he mused. “If you—that is, the younger version of you—are able to put me back in my own time and place, this all may not come to pass at all.”

The three turtles around him, simultaneously his brothers and not his brothers at all, let out a collective sigh that sounded like relief.

“But that’s a lot of maybes, and since you all have no clue what happened to me in this timeline...it’s far from the only possibility, or even the most likely one.”

Leo reached under his dark glasses and scratched at a scar. “If there’s a chance that you could go back to your own timeline, then you need to stay here. Whatever you’ve cooked up in that brain of yours, we can do it ourselves, the three of us, and leave you out of it. You’re of more use to your brothers than...us,” he said awkwardly.

What he meant was if you die here, now, that cements this future, and we don’t want that. Donnie didn’t want that either, but there was nothing to say that this wasn’t already cemented. If his brothers, or Lord Simultaneous, or Draco or whoever was going to pull him back into his own timeline, it would make the most sense to do it at the moment when he showed up. Honestly, there were a thousand different possibilities and Don didn’t have the time or brainspace to do the necessary calculations to rule some of them out. What mattered was that he was prepared to face this reality as the only true future and do whatever it took to save his brothers, these brothers, even if that meant death.

“I’ll be careful,” he said, trying to brush it off. But the Leo of the past wasn’t that gullible, and this elder Leo for sure was not.

“Yeah, sorry Don, that’s not gonna fly,” Raph grumbled out, beating Leo to the punch. Leo’s words died on his lips. “Losin’ you once was bad enough,” he adds, voice cracking at the end.

The foursome grew silent, each willing the other to speak first. Finally, it was Mikey who broke the silence with a harsh laugh.

“Seriously, he’s here after thirty years, offering us a solution on a silver platter, and you’re gonna turn him down on the off chance he can prevent this altogether? This is our chance , guys.”

“Our last chance almost cost you your life, Mike,” Raphael snaps. “And it did cost ya an arm. We’re not draggin’ him into this.”

“Hey, don’t I get a say here? You’re not dragging me into anything, it’s literally my plan .”

Leo held up a hand to silence the argument, and to Donnie’s surprise, the other two actually listened. Even after all this time. “Donatello, I won’t let you put yourself in harm’s way. I failed to protect you once, and I will not make that mistake again. You can go, but you’re going to stay inside the tunneller.”

Donnie bristled, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d spent the last two days, while he and Mikey waited around for him and Raphael to show up, treating the wounded and ill. He’d sewn more stitches than he could count—so many that his fingers were sore and stiff—and held more than one hand while its owner passed into the next world. He helped April dig graves while Mikey stood by watching, physically unable to wield a shovel to help. He watched his brother sleep, whimpering in pain and pleading with invisible enemies in his dreams. He might be thirty years younger than them, but he’d done enough damn growing up in the last forty eight hours to at least make his own decision.

“Let me get this straight. Leo, you’re assuming that I’m not your Donatello?”

Leo hesitated, clearly trying to follow his brother’s train of thought. “Yes,” he said hesitantly.

“Good. Then you’re not my Leo, and I don’t have to follow your orders. I’m going, and that’s the end of it. You guys need me.”

Mikey, sitting between Leo and Raph on Raph’s blind side, grinned and gave Donnie a wink. It was the first bit of the Mikey he knew that he’d seen in two days.

Leo opened his mouth to speak, a finger raised, and Raph once again beat him to it with a harsh, grating laugh that sounded more like silverware in a garbage disposal than his own brother.

“I always knew ya had more balls than brains, just like the rest of us.” Raph sighed and cuffed him on the shoulder affectionately. “Let’s hear the rest of the plan, you little maniac.”

Donnie couldn’t help it—despite the gloom and terror and hopelessness around him, he smiled. And for the first time in who knows how long, so did all three of his brothers.

He wakes in a sticky sweat for the third time in one night, on the living room couch this time. He tried replicating the success of last night’s nap by trying the cot in his lab first, then the couch, but he keeps having the same results no matter where he falls asleep: visions of blood, of swords, of the Shredder’s angry pink face, of the angry pink gore that spilled out of it as the crystal drill bore into him—

Enough to keep him awake again.

He sits up, panting, and freezes completely when he sees a shadow of a figure across the dark lair. He has the nearest thing in his hands in an instant, which just so happens to be the oversized, unlosable TV remote that Master Splinter scavenged after the third time Mikey misplaced the old one. It makes a poor replacement for his staff, but a stick is a stick, and he’s got killer aim.

“Whoa, I come in peace,” Mikey stage-whispers.

Don’s entire body sags back into the pillows, tossing the remote aside. He lets out a dizzying sigh and resumes his labored breathing, hand over his eyes. “You scared the shell outta me, Mikey.”

“Duh, Captain Obvious.” Mikey comes closer, the soft plap-plap of his feet on the stone floor a comforting metronome. “You okay bro? You were having some killer nightmares.”

Don scoots over and makes room for his brother on the couch, gesturing to join him. He obliges, lazily throwing an arm around his brother’s shoulders. Ah, so he isn’t hiding the distress very well. He never could hide much from Mikey, anyway.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “The usual stuff.”

“Shredder?”

A ghost of an ironic smile flits across Don’s face. “Yeah.”

Mikey’s quiet for a while while Don gets his breathing and heart rate under control. It’s easier than it was yesterday night, but still harder than he’d like it to be. He’d never been the praying kind, seeing as he and his brothers were somewhat of an affront to any god that might exist, but he would do damn near anything to forget those images of his brothers’ battered bodies, covered in blood and the scars of too many years on their own, lungs stilled by his failure. He knows he has many more sleepless nights to come, but the reminder that he doesn't have to face them alone is more than a little comforting.

These brothers aren’t dead, they aren't maimed, they aren’t at odds with each other. At least no more than usual. He shouldn’t push them away—he needs to drag them in closer and make sure they all know how much he loves them.

Stupid Raph, forcing perspective on him and making him see reason. Of all his brothers.

“Donnie?”

“Hm?”

His little brother hesitates, hand idly tracing patterns over Don’s scaly shoulder. “I know you saw something bad, wherever you went. You don’t have to tell me about it, but you’ve been acting funny—like, not ha-ha funny, and what you said about…my arms? It's just been wiggin’ me out, man.”

Wow, he barely remembers saying that. The confusion and sheer emotional gut punch of going from Shredder’s throne room to standing beside his brothers, young and whole again, it was…something else.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Don opens his mouth to dispense an automatic reply as he’s overwhelmed by horrible images of his brothers’ mangled bodies and the sharp smell of their blood in the air, but finds himself stopping short. He didn’t want to talk about it with Leo at first, or with Raph earlier, but Mikey…

Even if it wasn’t this Mikey, a Mikey had been his anchor throughout the whole ordeal. Maybe Donnie going missing was what kickstarted the apocalypse or whatever, but he realizes now with a start that Mikey was the glue that held them all together long enough to get anything done in that dismal future. Maybe their older brothers don't need to know about it just yet, but Don is seized by the sudden realization that Mikey deserves to know.

“It was a future where Shredder won,” he begins quietly. “Not our future, I'm going to make sure of that. But he ruled the entire world and you—you were in hiding. Near the lair, but the lair had been destroyed.” He smiles a little, in spite of it all. “You were a badass . I mean, not that you aren't already, but in the future you were seriously wrecking the Foot’s shit. But you were…well, you only had one arm. The other was gone.”

Mikey mumbles out a dulled “huh” that sounds vaguely horrified, but it’s hard to tell without seeing his expression. “That—uh, that's messed up dude. But everyone else was fine, right?”

Donnie worries his hands together in his lap. “No,” he says hoarsely. “Sensei was…gone. Raph and Leo didn't talk anymore, and Raph was missing an eye, and Leo was blind —” He shudders and takes in a thin, trembling breath. “It was horrible , Mikey, like a horrible nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I helped you take down the Shredder, but it cost you all your lives . I couldn’t save you —”

Mikey pulls him into a hug so suddenly that he lets out a startled cry. With his little brother holding his head to his chest, Donnie finally just can't hold it in anymore. He cries bitterly for the broken future he saw and those brothers that he couldn't save.

“It was my fault,” he cries. “I disappeared and everything fell apart—”

“Hey, hey, bro, it's okay.” Mikey squeezes him gently. “That wasn’t me, or Leo or Raph, those were just some other guys that looked like us. See, I’ve got two good huggin’ arms here! Leo is definitely not blind since he’s been glaring at everything all day, and Raphie is perfectly capable of rolling both his eyes at us. You’re here now, and—I know you’d never leave us. It's okay.”

He hiccups another sob. “It could still happen. If I go missing, or die—”

Mikey pulls him out to arms’ length to look at him. He can barely make out the unusually stern features of his brother’s face in the dark. “Hey, you are not going to die. Don’t even think about it.”

His mouth hangs open for a moment, stunned by his baby brother’s serious tone. Then another wet sob strangles his throat, and he's falling apart all over again. “I'm so scared Mikey, there's nothing to say that isn't exactly what’s going to happen to us.”

Mikey must not know what to say to that, because he just pulls him back in to hold him while he cries. Donnie isn't even sure why he’s crying—it’s all over now, it maybe never even happened, there's no point in dwelling on it now. The tears fall all the same.

“Hey, what's with the ruckus in here? A turtle needs his— Donnie ?” Raph is up and over the second-floor railing and kneeling by the couch in seconds, his hand on Don’s arm as he continues to cry. He just can't stop , no matter how hard he tries.

Leo’s in a second later, a sheathed sword in one hand, the other on the hilt. At the sight of his brothers, he sets it down by the stairs and silently joins them, perched on the edge of the coffee table.

With Raph clinging to his arm and Leo gently stroking the back of his shell, he calms faster than he thought he could. The silent comfort of his brothers—his strong , stubborn, loving brothers—is like a balm on his aching soul. His cheek pressed to Mikey’s plastron, he takes in deep, shuddering breaths and tries to focus on the moment. He’s here now—they all are.

“I'm scared,” he says again, words slightly slurred by his position against Mike.

“It's okay to be scared,” Leo says softly. His hand’s gentle movements on Don’s shell don't cease.

“Yeah, Mikey’s scared all the time,” Raph suggests with a hint of a smile.

“I didn't think I'd ever see you guys again. I didn't—I didn't even know if I was in another reality, or if it was just too late to change things. I still don’t.”

Mikey makes a sad, strangled sound in his throat, and his arms tighten around Donnie. “We’re here, dude, we’re not going anywhere.”

Donnie can tell that Leo and Raph are both barely holding back on a million questions, but he can’t find it in himself to repeat any part of the story now. Now that it’s out of him, he feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest and he can breathe for the first time since the Ultimate Draco vanished him away. He has all three brothers, every part of them, and the next thirty years stretch out in front of him like eons. He knows they’ll get hurt, he knows they’ll have to face Shredder again, but for now just being whole and together is enough. Knowing that his brothers could live with him and this failure, the horrible reality that even though he has the smarts and the skills to match he can’t always save them , soothes something broken inside him that he didn’t even know was there.

“I love you guys,” he mumbles, the words mashed and mangled between the thickness in his throat and his mouth so close to Mikey’s shell.

They’re each quick to respond in kind, hands and arms tangling around him in a warm and confusing embrace of scales and shells and tears from more than one of them.

They sleep in a tangle across the couch and living room carpet that night, all as close to Donatello as they can be. Every time he wakes to a nightmare, at least one of them is there to assure him that he is not alone, the nightmare is over, and he hasn’t failed.

By the time morning rolls around again, warmth has curled up and made a home in Donnie’s chest, replacing the hollow and horrible feeling that had taken respite there ever since he had to look at his brothers’ broken and bloodied corpses. He watches them all sleep—Mikey sitting up at the end of the couch, Raph in Master Splinter’s armchair, Leo sprawled across the carpet with a blanket haphazardly thrown across his legs—with a smile, knowing they’re alive, and they love him, and he loves them. For now, that’s all he needs in the world. The rest of it? They’ll do what they do best, and take it one punch at a time.

#tmnt #tmnt03 #tmnt2k3 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #the ghost writes #turtleposting #fic #my fic #hurt/comfort #sainw #same as it never was

62 notes · View notes

addicted-to-dc · 1 year

Text

Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader X Dick Grayson/Nightwing- Love Toxin (Part 5)

(A/N): I’m gonna start spam posting because APPARENTLY I’ve had stuff written for awhile and it’s never been posted... My bad. - Iz

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Warnings: Angst, mentions of injuries/pain, drugs, needles, etc. (let me know if I’m missing any)

You backed away from Ivy, trying to process what is happening. It was like she kept flipping a switch on you, taking control or finally letting you have control of your own mind. All of your stuff was either damaged in the fall or left behind in the path you took to get here, so calling for any type of help wasn’t an option.

You hated how this made you feel. Every day you felt yourself change, losing some type of human aspect. Fear was the reason why you didn’t tell Bruce, but your anger reinforced the fact. No matter what he did, he couldn’t help you. You’re all alone, stuck with the very woman that turned you into something you shouldn’t be.

Surveying the area, you noticed that the pathway you came from was gone. Your breathing quickened, the fear finally catching up on you as the severity of the situation finally hit you. Ivy finally filled the silence, watching you from the plant she decided to take a seat on.

“Do you know what makes a person insane?”

“What?” you manage to choke out, gasping when a vine forces you to take a seat on it.

“Repeating something over and over again, expecting something different to happen,” she said, answering her own question. “All these years I have never managed to defeat Batman and his group of children, falling into the same routine with no success.”

“What makes this any different?” you ask, the vine finally moving you within a few feet of her.

“You,” she responded, holding your chin in between her fingers. “Having someone from the opposing side never fails to add some… leverage.”

“If you think I will help you-”

“I know you will, especially when you truly understand why I do this,” Ivy interrupted, her grip on you tightening.

At first, it was just emotions flooding your mind. It ranged from sadness to pain, soon evolving into pain wracking your entire body. You were frozen in place despite the physical torture you endured. She finally let go of your chin, the pain dissipating quickly.

“This is only a small portion of what I feel every single day,” Ivy revealed, pain visible in her eyes. “I need you to understand that what I’m doing is to save the planet, no matter the cost. Humans cannot be trusted to take responsibility for their actions.”

In your haze, you couldn’t help but nod. This was never listed in her file, but then again Ivy was never the one to complain about herself. The file only consisted of her crimes, tendencies, and known allies. Well, the file that Bruce let you access. Even though she was a criminal, the very one that mutated you into a plant freak like her, you couldn’t help the sympathy you felt for her. She contstantly feels the pain of the very Earth that humans were killing, and now she was going to make you feel the same.

“I can’t just abandon my family,” you finally stated, flinching when her hand gently grabbed the side of your face.

“Oh, you will,” she smiled sadly. “We all know what happens when Batman doesn’t trust someone.”

“Just let me go,” you begged. “I won’t tell them anything.”

Ivy stood up, her fingers sliding against your face as she walked away, “I know.”

You watched as she walked away, her plants blocking the way as a new path is formed for you. Without hesitation, you ran towards the path and made your way towards what you guessed was the surface. Digging and scraping through the soil, you nearly cried with relief when you felt a gust of wind on your hand. Finally emerging from the dirt, you looked around and noticed that you were surrounded by trees and other plant life. Ivy must have led you to Gotham Park, the mile marker instantly telling you where you were.

Grunting, you finally pulled your whole body out of the dirt. Looking down, you knew if someone saw you they’d think you’re a walking corpse. Plus, in a city like Gotham, it wouldn’t be a shocker. Shaking, you push yourself further into the brush and hope that you would figure out something. You looked yourself over, your nerves calming when your skin was still its natural tone. Curling into yourself, you try and calm yourself as you waited for someone to come near you. It felt like forever, but you heard someone on the phone when you finally find the strength to speak.

“Help,” you manage to gasp out, “please.”

The person immediately stops talking, most likely hanging up the phone when they heard you. You look up to see an older woman, her eyes widening at the sight of you.

“Can-can I borrow your phone?” you asked. “My-my family must be worried.”

She could only nod as you dialed Alfred’s phone number, your throat growing soar as you waited for him to pick up.

“Hello, this-”

“Alfred, please come get me,” you interrupted him, your hands starting to tremble. “Gotham Park, please hurry.”

“Of course,” he replies, hanging up the phone.

You give the phone back to the woman, who starts to take her jacket off as she helps you get up. She shushes you as you start to reject the offer, covering you up as she slowly walked you out of the park. She didn’t ask you any questions, only holding onto you tightly as you exited the path. You were thankful that there wasn’t anyone else in sight, not wanting to have to deal with the stares and future consequences. The woman led you to a picnic table, taking your hand in hers as you waited for Alfred.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, thankful that her hand prevented yours from shaking even more.

She responds by squeezing your hand gently, keeping an eye out on the road. You probably waited there for 20 minutes until a familiar car pulled into view. Alfred stepped out of the car as soon as it was parked, quickly making his way over to you.

“Come, let’s get you home,” he said, guiding you to stand. “Thank you, Miss, for helping us.”

“It was no problem at all,” she responded, making sure that you made it to the car without falling.

You immediately tone out the conversation as soon as the car door shuts. Exhaustion plagued you as your eyes became heavy. Giving in, you lay down on the seats and give in to your tiredness. You couldn’t fall asleep, but resting definitely helped with your shock. Even when you were resting you could feel Alfred’s gaze on you from time to time. All you could do was wait as you finally recognized the light hum of the garage opening.

You should be relieved to be back with your family, but Ivy’s words somehow corrupted your trust. Ivy made you hurt them, and there was no way that you could recover from it. The car’s engine lulled you to some type of sleep, a relief that you haven’t gotten in a long time.

You felt cold as Alfred guided you into the manor, away from the sunlight and into the much darker building. He grabbed a blanket on the couch as you passed it, draping over your shoulders as he guided to to the Batcave. It didn’t help much, but you were thankful for the offer.

With what happened today, you weren’t sure if you were ready to see everyone again. You owed them everything, and now you were on your way to be their next enemy on a long list of psychos. There was a lingering feeling that Ivy could be right. There were many ways Bruce could deal with you, and you were there in the past to witness most of them. With every second closer to the cave, the more fear grew deep in your chest. The second your feet touched the cold stone floor Alfred guided you to the showers.

“I will go retrieve some fresh clothes,” he said, hesitating for a moment.

“Did you notify Bruce?” you asked, placing the blanket down.

“Not yet, you need time to process,” Alfred replied, a small smile appearing on his face. “Take your time, I will be back soon.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

He walked away, either to your room or where the nearest set of clothes was located. You finally peeled off the shredded clothes and tossed them aside. Hot water immediately hit your skin as you stepped forward, the dirt finally flowing off of your skin. You did take your time, making sure that every bit of gunk was removed from your hair and skin. By the time that you were done, a fresh set of clothes was waiting for you on a chair in the changing room. You placed them on after drying off, cautiously looking around as you exit into the main area of the cave.

“(Y/N)?”

You froze, turning around to see a bandaged Jason slowly walking towards you. Seeing what you did to him finally made you crack, tears falling down your face as you stared at him.

“Look what I did to you,” you sobbed, backing away from him. “I did this…”

Jason’s stare softened, “That wasn’t you, (Y/N), we both know that.”

“It was still me,” you said, your back hitting the wall behind you. “I don’t want to hurt you again, Jay.”

“You won’t, and even if you do it’s not your fault,” he tried to reassure you, finally close enough to place an arm around you. “Come on, let’s just relax and go sit-”

You grasp his hand as pain flooded your system, the same pain that Ivy made you experience. Collapsing, everything became hazy once again as Jason lifted you from the ground. You felt yourself hit a cot as your body shook. Something was stuck into your arm, and Jason swore when it didn’t work.

“Sorry, (Y/N).”

You heard him dig around until he picked something up, holding down your arm in order to insert another needle. As soon as he pumped the substance into your bloodstream you relaxed, your body going limp as the pain subsided once again.

“(Y/N), Bruce went to find someone to fix this, or at least figure out what’s going on with you,” he explained, holding your hand.

“I didn’t want this,” you mutter, tears falling down your face as you struggled to stay awake.

“I know,” he nodded, wiping away your tears. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Not sure if we can get out of this,” you sputtered. “Ivy… pain from… humans. Can’t get rid of it.”

“Hang on a little longer, he’s almost here,” Jason begged, his grip on your hand tightening. “He’s bringing Swamp Thing, he should be able to help you.”

“Reversing this is impossible…” you whimper, your grip on his hand loosening.

“At least you’ll be alive,” he stated, his breathing quickening when he noticed you were close to losing consciousness. “Just hang on, please.”

By the time Bruce arrived, you were already unconscious. Your skin looked like it was decomposing, your normal shade replaced with a barely green hue. Swamp Thing and Constantine immediately moved to your side, causing Jason to move away.

“Do your thing,” Constantine said to Swamp Thing, placing a hand on your head.

The creature’s hand rested on your chest, his fingers branching around you as he closes his eyes, “This one is lost, the power of the Green forced into unwilling hands.”

Everyone remained silent, worried that a single distraction would ruin his chance of helping you. They all watched as a few minutes passed, his hands finally retracting from you. Your skin slowly returned to a healthy green color, but you remained unconscious.

“Let them rest,” Swamp Thing stated, watching you curiously. “I will watch over this one, there is much to fix.”

“You can reverse it?” Dick asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

“No,” the creature answered, his red eyes never leaving your form. “I can only remove Poison Ivy’s connection and repair the connection with the Green. It will take time to recover, but your friend will not be the same.”

Bruce could only nod as he moved to the Bat Computer, only sitting down to process everything. The boys proceeded to sit around the area, still remaining silent as Swamp Thing picked you up.

“This is not suitable for your friend, they need the Green to guide them, not darkness.”

#batfam x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader

82 notes · View notes