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nico-di-genova · 9 days

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In My Mind, You are Safe

Chapter 4

Read on AO3

“Be safe,” Lance says, leaning down into the car enough that Fernando will hear him through his helmet. It is a bit like Deja vu, pulls at the dregs of a memory, Lance’s last moments in his own car that are still muddled.

Fernando glances up at him through his visor, nods, “Be back soon.”

It is a promise, soothes at the anxiety that prickles along Lance’s spine. Fernando is exceedingly careful in the car these days, in all the ways he can be when he’s doing 300 kph, because he knows Lance is sitting in the garage waiting for him.

Lance cannot race anymore, he’s prone to migraines, his right leg can’t withstand the force required to push down the pedal, the g-forces are a threat to his body that he’s so carefully spent a year putting back together. The FIA will not clear him, no matter how much money his father had tried to throw at them. Instead, Felipe has taken up permanent residence on what used to be his side of the garage - permanent until Yuki replaces him next year. The number 18 exists now only on the small decal Fernando has added to his own helmet, beside the victory cross. The gesture had only fueled the rumors about them, Lance being the first person Fernando greets when he gets out of the car now hadn’t helped.

They’re not subtle, but Lance has earned the luxury of not needing to be. Silverstone especially owes him this, considering it has tasted his blood, nearly claimed him like Lance was the sacrificial lamb brought to the alter. This was the race they had been preparing for, mentally, since Fernando first sat Lance down and explained he wasn’t ready to give up driving.

——————————————

There is an itch under his skin, one he can’t quite reach, when he sits behind a wheel - even if it is the leather wrapped wheel of his Aston Martin as he drives Lance to his physio appointment. His grip tightens around the brown leather, his foot presses harder on the pedal, Lance shoots him a look like he understands. Fernando thinks it looks a lot like jealousy.

They don’t talk about it, the F1 sized car that follows them like a backseat companion, the silent elephant in the room. But Fernando knows the further he pushes the gas, the more Lance looks like it physically pains him. He eases off, lets the speedometer drop back down to a safe range, grabs Lance’s hand that had been tensing around the fabric of his sweat pants and squeezes reassuringly.

Lance doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, Fernando can see the tick of his jaw out of the corner of his eye and knows they are close to the breaking point anyway.

———————————

“I want to go back,” Fernando says over dinner, when Lance is chewing a mouthful of roasted veggies and cannot immediately bite back. He tries to be gentle about it, even as he sees Lance’s shoulders tense.

They have been toeing this for months, Fernando snapping because they’ve been stationary in his London home for too long and Lance snapping back because it’s his body that is broken, not Fernando’s, as he likes to point out with spitting frustration. There have been fights, small at first, growing in the past few weeks. Fernando tries not to be mean, but Lance is good at cutting to the bone. They’ve been sleeping in separate rooms.

Lance swallows, stays quiet, his grip on the fork in his hand goes white knuckled. He does not meet Fernando’s eyes, but instead stares down at his plate with resolute defiance.

“I have talked with Lawrence-.”

Lance scoffs, drops the fork so it clatters against the glass top of the dining table. It skitters across the surface before reaching the edge and falling to the ground. Last week it had been Lance’s plate, glass shards exploding across the wood flooring. They’d been fighting about something stupid, the dishes Fernando had left in the sink, a distraction from the conversation Fernando is starting now.

“Lance-.”

“Fuck you,” Lance spits, shoves back from the table with enough force it shifts along the floor, scrapes the hardwood. Lance has been leaving his mark on Fernando’s home like he is trying to prove that he is still there.

“Lance, please-.”

He’s speaking to the retreating back of the man, standing himself because Lance is heading for his room and he wants to stop him before he’s speaking to a locked door.

“Lance-.”

He gets one hand around Lance’s bicep, the fabric of his hoodie, before Lance is jerking away and turning to face him.

“Don’t,” he warns, eyes already dark with the promise of a fight, lips already twisted into a pained scowl. Fernando can see the hurt in his expression, hates that he’s the one to keep putting it there.

“Please, let me explain,” he pleads, reaching for Lance again, needing to soothe the pain from him.

Lance steps back, shakes his head, “Fuck you, Fernando.” His voice is thick, clogged, promises tears even if they haven’t appeared yet.

Fernando swallows back the rising tide of his own.

“You said you wouldn’t go back until I did. You said that.”

“I know-“

“So you’re a fucking liar.”

“No-“

“You talked to my dad. Behind my back. To what? Set up another contract? Was it easier to negotiate now that you could hold caring for me over his head?” Lance wants to hurt him, is trying, stabbing with brutal efficiency because he is tired of being the only one hurting. Fernando gets another hand on him, Lance jerks back away from it like he’s been burned. They’re standing in the living room with their dinner forgotten behind them and Fernando can see the tears forming in Lance’s eyes but he doesn’t know how to stop them anymore.

“I would never Lance, you know this.”

“Do I?”

“Lance-“

“Just stop! Stop. I don’t want to have this conversation with you. Go back to racing, I don’t fucking care. Crash your own car into the wall and then maybe you can join me here again.”

Fernando swallows, blinks, sees Lance’s blood seeping between his fingers in the millisecond of darkness. Lance is still bleeding, and Fernando cannot stop it.

When Lance walks away again Fernando lets him go, jumps at the sound of the door slamming and tries not to think of the way it sounds like an Aston Martin crunching into the concrete.

——————————————

Lance does not go with Fernando to his first race back. Instead, he flies to Montreal and cries in his mother’s arms when she opens the door to him.

He couldn’t drive himself here from the airport, the sun had been too bright and his head had hurt too much and so he’d been forced into the backseat of a tinted SUV and dropped off on his mother’s doorstep. He’s wearing Fernando’s jacket, stolen from his closest as a final fuck you, or maybe a promise that he would be back to return it. It smells like the man, makes the sharp stab in his gut hurt even more. When his mother answers the door he crumples.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she soothes, as Lance sobs in her arms and tries to ignore the throbbing pain in his leg.

Right now Fernando is probably sliding into his race suit. Right now he is thinking of plan A, thinking of winning. Right now he is speaking with Felipe who is driving Lance’s car, with Lance’s team. Lance wonders if Fernando will fuck Felipe too, tell him he’s doing a good job, crash into him and send his whole world spiraling out of control along with his car.

“It hurts,” he cries, unable to tell if he means his body, or his head, or the gaping hole Fernando has left in his chest. It’s all the same at this point, indistinguishable.

———————————

“My son is with his mother,” Lawrence accuses.

Fernando, hair still damp from his shower, skin still flushed from the podium, has the decency to look ashamed. It only makes Lawrence angrier.

“He flew to Canada. Alone.”

“He is cleared to fly, Lawrence-”

“I told you. If you stayed you better mean it. So why is my ex-wife telling me Lance was crying on her doorstep?”

Lawrence can be an intimidating man when he means to be, when Lance isn’t around to make him appear only as a doting father. He makes sure to stand to his full height, tower over Fernando in his temporary office in the Aston Martin motorhome. Claire had told him Lance had only just fallen asleep, after the migraine pills had soaked in enough to make the rest come easier. She’d FaceTimed him while she was lying with Lance in his bed, the brown tufts of Lance’s hair just barely visible from where he was passed out in Claire’s lap. When she spoke, it had been in a berating hush.

Fernando must know about the flight, he doesn’t look shocked to hear Lance is not where he left him.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admits, hangs his head. “Racing, I am good at. It is what I know.”

“Yeah. It’s what Lance knew too.”

Fernando jerks like he’s been punched, looks up at Lawrence with shame and hurt.

“I wanted him to come back. I want him in the car beside me. I thought- I wanted to think he could.”

Both he and Lawrence know it’s a lie, both knew there was no chance of Lance racing again. Delusion could only go so far, and the scar on Lance’s abdomen was too large to ignore. When Fernando had asked for his seat back, Lawrence had given it to him on the condition that Lance agree. Instead, Lance is in Canada and Fernando is alone.

He’s wearing a hoodie that’s too big for him, is clearly one of Lance’s, Lawrence almost demands it back. But he is not cruel, and Fernando is hurting in much the same way his son is.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy,” Lawrence sighs, “he’s stubborn, you’re hardheaded.”

“He is upset I came back,” Fernando mumbles, “I do not blame him.”

“He’s hurt that you could,” Lawrence corrects, places a hand on Fernando’s shoulder. It might be a comfort, or a threat, he isn’t sure which yet.

On the FaceTime Claire had demanded he fix this, while her hand was soothingly working its way through the tangled strands of Lance’s hair. He’s still trying to decide just how he’s going to do that. Fernando has been his friend, someone who he once would have trusted his son’s life with, and now he is the man who has nearly ripped Lance away from him, who Lance loves.

“You have time before the next race?” He asks, less of a question, more of a demand that he make the time.

Fernando thinks it over, nods.

“Book a flight to Montreal.”

——————————————

Lance sleeps a lot now, has little else to do to pass the time. He sleeps because the sheets he’s wrapped up in smell like home, because when his mom sits beside him he feels small and safe, because when he dreams it is the one place he can still be behind the wheel.

He dreams of winning, and wakes to the soured taste of failure. In the end, everyone was right, Lance is not a victor and he will never prove them wrong.

At some point he falls asleep and wakes to Fernando pressing a kiss to his temple, isn’t sure if he’s still dreaming. The scratch of his stubble, the scent of him, like rubber and pine, is strong enough that Lance chases it. His head lifts, his eyes flutter open, and Fernando is staring back at him.

“Nando?” He asks, groggy, reaching a hand blindly for Fernando and finding himself slightly startled when it meets his chin and doesn’t phase through. Sometimes he dreams of chasing Fernando, in the car, or on legs that sometimes don’t support his weight, watching the man slip out of his grasp when he does manage to catch him.

Fernando grabs his hand with his own, leans into Lance’s touch where he’s cradling his cheek. He’s kneeling beside Lance’s bed, in a position that would have Lance aching in two seconds if he tried it. Sometimes it’s funny to remember that Fernando is the older of the two of them. Ironic that Lance is the one who complains of sore joints now.

“Hey, churri,” Fernando greets, smiles softly. In the morning light filtering through Lance’s closed blinds his smile is muted, doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The nickname is sweet, soothes over the cracked edges of Lance’s ripped open chest.

“How was the race?” He asks, as the last bits of sleep keep his mind foggy, makes him forget to be angry. Instead he is focused on how warm Fernando feels, on the fact that he is wearing one of Lance’s favorite hoodies - the one with the string pulled out because Lance had messed with it so much it had become frayed, made more sense just to remove it entirely.

Fernando grimaces, shakes his head, “I will tell you later.”

“Okay.”

“Can I lay here?” He nods at the sliver of empty space on the twin mattress behind Lance.

Lance nods, closes his eyes because his head is starting to ache again and sleep is the only way to stop it. Water too maybe, if he bothered to stay hydrated enough.

Fernando climbs onto the mattress beside him, nuzzles his nose against the nape of Lance’s neck and presses another stubble rough kiss there. His arm wrapped around Lance’s waist is gentle, hand splaying across his scarred abdomen like he’s trying to protect him from further harm.

Lance feels him breathe, the warm press of him along his back. It lulls him quickly back into unconsciousness.

———————————

Lance’s shirt rides up enough in his sleep that when Fernando wakes it’s to the rough edges of his scar against Fernando’s calloused fingers. Gross fascination has him tracing it, all the way up until he meets the end of it just below Lance’s ribs. He can feel the ghost of Lance’s heartbeat here, hear him snoring softly in his sleep. It’s healed now, the wound, which means that Fernando has not seen it since he stopped having to change the bandages. Lance doesn’t like him looking at it, avoids seeing it himself.

They stopped showering together, and they haven’t slept together since Lance’s accident. Fernando blames himself partly for the latter. Despite how much he wants to, he is afraid to hurt Lance further. Instead, he jerks off in the solitude of his room now and bites his hand to stop Lance’s name from spilling out of him.

“You don’t fuck me anymore,” Lance had complained one night, before the fighting had them sleeping separately, and Fernando hadn’t disagreed.

He is scared, afraid of the damage he has already caused, terrified of wreaking more. The scar under his fingers is proof, unfading, permanent, makes him feel sick with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and presses another kiss to Lance’s neck. Lance has told him to stop apologizing, but he doesn’t think he could ever say it enough to absolve himself.

Lance will never race again, and Fernando is already back in the car. Because he is selfish, because he does not know how to sit still, because racing is all he knows and in caring for Lance he is scared he has only hurt him further.

Lance moans in his sleep, shifts back further against Fernando. Fernando holds him, fully, wholly, and hopes it will be enough.

—————————

“If you want me to stop, I will,” he says to Lance later, when they are sitting in the sunroom of Lance’s mother’s house. It’s warm only because of the heater set to high, the snow piling against the windows doing little to help.

Lance, bundled in a blanket and a beanie on the couch beside Fernando, stares at him. Looks hurt for only a second before his brows furrow and it becomes anger.

“What?”

“I’ll retire, if you want me to, I will do it,” he means it as a gesture of trust, as proof that he does not want to lose what they have. Even if not being in the car would make him a little crazy, even if he would always yearn for it.

Lance stares at him. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself, ducks down further into the fabric. It’s the comforter pulled from his bed, dark blue with grey stitching. Fernando wonders if it’s the same bedding he slept under as a teenager. Wonders if this is what Lance might have looked like when he occupied this space as a child.

“You mean more, Lance. More than racing, you know this.”

He isn’t sure what to expect but Lance’s response of, “Go fuck yourself, Nando,” certainly wasn’t at the top of his list.

“You don’t get to put this on me. Retire if you want, but don’t blame me for it.”

“That is not what I meant-“

“Yes it is, of course it is, because you don’t want to stop. You know you don’t. You just want me to tell you to and I’m not going to trap you here. I won’t be responsible for that.”

Fernando watches him, watches as the dim sunlight through the clouds catches the shine of tears in his eyes. Watches as Lance pulls the blanket impossibly tighter, like he’s trying to vanish inside of It. He wants to reach out, pull Lance to him, but is scared to shatter the feeble ground they’re resting on. Too many conversations between them have turned to arguments these past few weeks.

“Because it fucking sucks, man,” Lance sniffles, wipes at his eyes with the fabric of the comforter, “being on the other end, knowing you’re done. I won’t do that to you.”

But I did it to you, Fernando thinks. I did this.

Lance’s blood will not wash off his hands, will not stop dripping through his fingers. He is pressing as hard as he can and Lance is still looking up at him with fear blown eyes and a silent plea. He is mouthing Fernando’s name and all that is coming up is crimson that stains his lips.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers into the quiet space of the sunroom. More of you because so much has already been taken by Fernando’s own hands.

“I won’t tell you to retire. Please don’t make me.”

“What do we do then?”

Lance shrugs, muffles his response against the comforter he folds further into, “I don’t know.”

———————————

Fernando races in Jeddah and Lance stays in Canada. His mind is scattered, unfocused, thinking of a kiss in the fresh snowfall that had felt like goodbye. Which is maybe why he taps the wall on lap 6 and ends his race in the barriers of turn 23.

Lance is the first missed call on his phone when he gets back to the garage. He calls him back immediately.

“Are you okay?” Lance asks, answering after two rings, sounding panicked in a way that is new. Fernando hates it, hates how he can hear the hitch in Lance’s voice.

“I’m fine, cariño, don’t worry. It was small.”

Lance sighs, shaky across the line, “you’re sure?”

“Already cleared by medical. About to go to the media pen now.”

Lance should know this, if he’d been watching as he so clearly had he would have seen how insignificant of a crash it was. Barely anything.

“But the wheel snapped hard, your hands-“

“Lance, I am okay. Promise.”

A bit sore maybe, from the straps digging into his chest, but no more than he’s already used to. Lance still sounds worried, his breath still hitching.

“Lance?”

“Sorry- fuck. Sorry,” he sniffles and it’s a wet sound, thick with snot.

“Baby,” Fernando soothes, feels the familiar guilt at the back of his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what’s happening,” Lance continues, breathing worsening. “I thought- it was- I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Lancito. You’re okay. Breathe baby, is okay.”

He’s standing with his race suit around his hips in the garage, hadn’t even made it to the privacy of his drivers room because he didn’t think this would be much of a phone call at all. His handler is standing in the back trying to flag him down for the media duties he’s probably currently missing. Lingering engineers keep shooting him confused looks. Lance is panicking on the other end of the line though, safe in Canada wrapped in the security of his childhood blanket and it still isn’t enough to quell his choked breathing.

“Lance. Listen to me. Please. I am okay.”

“O-okay.”

“Completely fine. Some bruising maybe, but is all.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want me to come home, you can see yourself?”

Home meaning to Lance, he doesn’t care whose house it is, as long as it’s Lance who’s opening the door for him.

There’s static on the other end of the line, Lance’s muffled hyperventilating and then, “Y-yeah. Yes, please.”

“Okay, let me finish up here and I’ll get on the next flight. It’s alright. All okay.”

“Okay,” Lance repeats.

Fernando thinks of blood, Lance who’d been choking on it, how Lance wouldn’t have been there to pull him from the wreckage if that’s what it had come to. He wonders if Lance is thinking the same thing.

“Breathe,” he commands one last time, waits until he can hear Lance drawing air into his lungs, and then promises to be home soon. In the media pen he is short, curt, excuses himself with a speed that is unlike him off the track and then rushes back to his drivers room to change. His assistant has already booked him a flight and sent the details to Lance, all handled while Fernando was explaining to SkySports how he had ended his race in the wall.

He thinks about retiring on the plane, has a text to Lawrence drafted, but can’t bring himself to hit send. After all, the crash hasn’t scared him, just made him hungry for the chance to do better in the next race.

————————

Lance doesn’t remember his crash, not outside of the YouTube footage and Fernando’s own account. He doesn’t remember being scared, feeling his body failing him as he bled out steadily on the gravel. But he maybe feels the ghost of it when Fernando crashes.

He tastes copper at the back of his throat, far enough back that it can’t be blamed on split skin when he bites at his bottom lip too hard. They replay the crash, slow it down to discuss the details and Lance feels sick.

He calls Fernando, even though he knows the man is still in the car, only just climbing out of it, and swallows down vomit when it goes to voicemail.

It’s only the front wing that’s damaged, buried in the tire wall. And Lance can see that, but he can’t stop shaking anyway.

His mother sits with him, holds his hand while Lance tries to breathe around his tears. It is perhaps the most vulnerable he’s been with her since he was a child, with anyone, usually trying to hide away on his own before he breaks down. But the panic coursing its way through him glues him to the couch and then keeps him there long after he’s off the phone with Fernando.

He drifts in and out of sleep, takes pills that are offered to him and sips water from a glass with shaky hands when it’s pressed to his lips. At some point someone brings him food, crackers and fruit that he picks at numbly before growing disinterested and falling back asleep.

When he wakes up next it’s with a pounding headache and to the darkness of night. His phone is the only light, bright and harsh, making him squint as he paws for it on the coffee table.

There are two missed calls and six texts from Fernando, the last of which reads ‘here’ and sent two minutes ago.

Lance, barefoot and in a thin sleep shirt, stumbles to the front door with blind relief. Throws it open, despite the snow and the harsh wind, and then flings himself into Fernando’s arms.

“See,” Fernando soothes, cradles the back of Lances head, “All okay.”

————————

“I will retire at the end of the year,” Fernando promises, once they’re back indoors and warming themselves by the fire started by the staff and left running for Lance’s benefit.

They’re curled up on the couch, Lance having stripped Fernando of his shirt so he can inspect the bruises left behind by the straps of the car. Fernando sits with his back sinking into the plush pillows beneath him and Lance sits straddling his lap. He’d buried his face in the crook of Fernando’s neck after inspecting him, ensuring the bruises were just that, and then cried silently while Fernando traced patterns along the ridges of his spine. And then they’d stayed like that because Lance had gone slack against him and his breathing had evened out.

“Give me the year, yes? And then I am done.”

He’d thought about it on the ride from the airport to here, fingers picking at the edge of his phone and biting the inside of his cheek. He’d weighed the cost of his career against the cost of losing Lance and found that F1 would never win in the end. Besides, there was always endurance racing, other series he could entertain himself with. Other things Lance could maybe even take part in. He’s thinking about taking Lance karting, loops around a track, just the two of them, where Lance can maybe start to build back toward something. Because he knows Lance is the same as him, deep down, misses the feel of a wheel in his hand in the same way Fernando had during his brief breaks. When you are raised on it, when it is the only thing you know, you grow to miss the taste of it.

Even if the taste has gone sour with fear.

“One more year?” Lance asks, chapped lips moving against the soft part of Fernando’s neck, “That’s what you want?”

“I want you, Lance. That’s it. It is not the same if you’re not there.” Which is true, Felipe does not race the same, is not as sensitive to the finer bits of the car, does not have the same easy presence that Lance had. It all feels wrong, not at all like the team Fernando had signed on to, even most of Felipe’s engineers are new. And sure, their results are better, but only barely. Lance could drive the car to its limit, Felipe is still too reserved.

The grid is changing as a whole too, enough that Fernando finds himself searching for familiar faces in a sea of strangers. But being here with Lance is easy, feels right, even if the man is heavy against him and the weight of him is making the bruises on his chest ache.

He would hurt for Lance, do anything for Lance, knows that it isn’t the car he wants to be with in ten years time, but the man in his lap. Lance has been here just as long as racing has almost, once as a child who had clung to his father and looked at Fernando with adoration, now as someone who Fernando would consider an equal. He means just as much as a championship might, more maybe.

“It’s you. Always you, okay?”

The car can crash, Fernando will always pull Lance out.

————————

Lawerence has been working his whole life to make Lance smile, and yet it is still Fernando that manages it so easily. Fernando who wins in Silverstone, who stands on the top step of the podium and showers first Max and Charles in champagne, and then turns to douse the crowd below him. It is Lance he aims for, stood beside Lawerence and beaming up at Fernando as the champagne spray showers them in sticky drops.

Lawrence watches his son, the way he cheers Fernando’s name with the crowd, the way he’s sporting Fernando’s team cap backwards on his head, the new one, with the 18 embroidered along Alonso’s number. Because it is not just himself the man is racing for this year, but Lance as well.

The FIA hadn’t wanted to allow the duel numbers at first, but while Lawerence could not buy Lance his health back, he could do this. So 18 finishes next to 14 on the podium, because both numbers are present on Fernando’s suit as well. It is Fernando who will earn the points, but it is Lance who Fernando celebrates.

Lance laughs beside him, and Lawrence cherishes the sound, lets it replace the fading memory of a heart monitor and silence. He lets the champagne soak into his suit, watches it coat Lance’s hoodie and Fernando, and he envisions it soaking away the blood that was spilled here a year ago. Envisions crimson giving way to sweet champagne and the audible sound of Lance calling Fernando’s name.

Fernando is no longer hooking a finger around Lance’s pinkie, praying he wakes up, afraid to touch any other part of him, instead he has slid a metal band onto his ring finger and it glints in the sunlight.

It is nearly as bright as Lance’s smile.

#it is done :)#also this too was written on my notes app #stuck at my parents without my laptop so this is the result #I actually am very proud of this #reviews very much appreciated because this one took a lot out of me tbh #strollonso #strollonso fic #formula 1 #lance stroll #fernando alonso

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dotpyenji · 3 months

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if you like chelle, please read raywall by PinkHydrangea on ao3. i am no longer asking

#dragalia lost #dragalia #chelle #chelle dragalia #chelle dragalia lost #Honestly i drew this for two reasons #1. I wanted to see jow fast I could draw if I didnt slave over the lineart #(unfortunately this still took me two hours. better than the three+ i wouldve had if i refined the lineart #but still)#and 2. I wanted to shill a fic that I feel is really underrated #PinkHydrangea's Raywall is so......so good. I dont even read multichap fics #but i gave this one a chance and i was like Dude.#This is really good.#then i looked at the no. of kudos it had and i was like Dude #This is not enough kudos #Theres a lot of fic out there that doesnt have enough kudos to be fair #(revelationwing's Origa fics are both so #so underrated too like wdym this masterpiece only has 6 kudos.#what the fuck.)#but raywall's lack of attention feels especially egregious #like isnt chelle Popular?? hello?? please #anyway #if you're still reading this little spiel #go read the link in the pic description #...and also look up revelationwing's fics if u have the time those are good too.#tbh i should really compile my dl fic reccs i just keep forgetting #theres some that feel too general for me to bookmark but are overall Pretty Damn Good

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oftenlyshitposting · 7 months

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wolfwren vampire/werewolf au | mini fic

sabine, as a juvenile vampire, used to wonder what it was like to interact with other supernaturals. back at the stonewalled confinements of the wren bastion, sabine is more used to briefly interacting with other vampires; mostly the staffs or other members of clan wren, distant relatives and whatsoever.

occasionally, a band of merlin would visit the bastion, bringing vials of potions and elixirs to supply the majik ritualists or to perform some kind of blood majik ritual that the clan wren has always done. but, merlins are typically still human. they've just been blessed and often transformed through their majiks into in-between creatures.

sabine always wonder what it'd be like to meet other actual supernaturals; something that she and tristan used to wonder about together. tristan had always wanted to meet the elusive woodland elves, he's fascinated by their connection to nature and how nature appear to follow their will.

personally, sabine wonders about werewolves.

sabine knows that despite being civil with each other, werewolves and vampires aren't exactly the best of kins amongst supernaturals. werewolves are much more tribal and nomadic than vampires; they also often does not regard blood lineage, unlike vampires who must stay pure in order to keep their full vampirical blood majik powers.

sabine often envy that; to not be so tied to blood lineage and to not be demanded to bore full-blooded borns to be considered as a someone. the downfall of living in the wren bastion was that everyone knows she is the humanborn vampire; the disgrace of clan wren and house vizsla.

that was decades ago, sabine fled the bastion so many years ago to live far, far away from them.

now, sabine wonders less and less about interacting with werewolves; borderline regretting everything.

for the past few weeks, sabine has been travelling with this... enigmatically annoying rogue werewolf; shin hati. the rogue werewolf had stormed into her cottage one rainy night, in her true form nonetheless. if her materialising in her living area didn't baffle sabine, the sudden barrage of hunters arriving certainly did.

the werewolf had been chased by these suspiciously strong hunters, only managed to maim half of their party. sabine had to reluctantly aid the wolf at fighting them off because if she didn't, the hunters would've slain her and eventually came to slaughter sabine too.

six hunters came, and five of them were slaughtered by the wolf's and sabine's claws as the monster within sabine fed from their dying carcass. one of them miraculously managed to escape with half of his limbs still in tact to his body. sabine's cottage was a mess, and so was the wolf's true form. the first thing sabine instantly noticed was the scent of rotting flesh under the wolf's thick mane, and the black spreading under her skin. she'd been poisoned with a type of lichen; the slow and painful kind.

"wolf, you need to return to your human form," sabine commanded, earning a glare from the injured shifter in front of her. sabine held her head high against the werewolf. "you are injured. i can help."

the wolf's voice was gruff and harsh as she coughs out blood, "i do not need your help, bloodsucker."

sabine rolled her eyes, ignoring the insult as she went to her cabinet to grab her healing vials and a long iron rod which she tossed into her fireplace. with her back facing the wolf, she then spoke, "you've been poisoned with lichen. it will rot your flesh before you see the first light of dawn." sabine turns, her gaze sharp and serious. "unless you let me help you."

the wolf's glare was unyielding and unbroken, and in the dim of the stormy night with only her fireplace lighting up her cottage, sabine almost felt fear from looking into the wolf's vermilion eyes. her glare was broken when the wolf winced in agony, and sabine's eyes shift to her wound to see that it's beginning to rot further.

"wolf, come on," sabine almost pleaded, unsettled by the scent of rotting flesh, "you're dying. let me help you. you won't be indebted."

sabine watches as the wolf appeared to waver and argue with herself. she finally relented, shifting slowly back to her human form. sabine watch as her fur began to shrink, and pale ivory skin of a human replaces it, along with her height shrinking to that of a human posture. werewolf transformations are something sabine had never seen before, let alone one from a true wolf.

the wolf is now a regular human, a woman who looked physically around sabine's age. bone-white textured hair falls short just above her broad yet slender shoulder, her skin pale from the injury if sabine had to guess. she's taller than sabine, slightly. she looks... young.

the wolf spoke, voice less gruff, but still harsh, "make it quick."

sabine instructed the wolf to sit next to the fireplace. with a more proper lighting, sabine can now assess the injury. the main injury comes from some kind of stab wound on her shoulder, which was where the lichen poison spread from. the flesh in the stab wound is rotting beyond repair, and sabine already knew she had to cauterize it to prevent the poison from spreading further. she grabs the iron rod, the metal end burns in an angry glowering orange.

"i'll need to burn the lichen from your flesh," sabine carefully says, furthermore warning the wolf, "this will be painful."

"just do it."

sabine nodded, sprinkling a black ash powder on the burning metal, before pressing the searing iron into the wolf's flesh. the wolf's eyes bolted into a rabid glare as she let out a bloodcurling howl of agony, skin and flesh sizzling. the wolf's eyes then shuts tightly as her face contorts miserably, teeth gritting and a restrained groan slips past. sabine knows the lichen is slowly burned out, and just as she knows its all gone from the wolf's skin and flesh, she pulls the now cooling rod away from the shapeshifter's wound.

the wolf's body seized violently, a sheen of sweat covering her skin. her breaths are laboured, borderline heaving. sabine worked quickly, spreading a mix of herbs to counter the poison, then dabbing a cloth with a healing ointment from a green vial and covers the wound with the cloth. she grabs another vial, uncorking it and brings it to the wolf's pale lips.

"drink," sabine gently instructed, her voice barely above a whisper as she guides the vial's rim to the wolf's mouth. she carefully tilts the vial to allow the contents to pour into the wolf's mouth and down her throat. sabine was meticulous to support the wolf's head as to not choke her as she drinks in the potion.

the wolf coughs, "it tastes like a goblin's fresh shit."

sabine huffs a brief amused snort, but didn't comment on it. she went to grab a thread and needle, briefly sanitising the needle over the fire. she began stitching the wolf's wound close, making sure she works quickly to spare the wolf from further pain. the wolf grimaces as sabine stitches her, breathing in sporadic sharp breaths.

"breathe slowly, wolf." sabine places a palm against the wolf's bare chest, right on where her heart is. she finishes stitching the wound, putting away the needle.

the wolf's eyes found sabine's, and now that she isn't in her wolf form, sabine finally noticed the wolf's human eye colour. they were the same shade as the ocean under her cliff; brilliant greenish blue, captivating and hauntingly serene. at that moment, sabine knew she could drown and get herself lost in this rogue werewolf's eyes the same way she always gets lost gazing into the ocean.

sabine didn't even realise her palm was still firmly placed on the wolf's chest, until the wolf's hand grabbed hers. their eyes broke away from each others', and sabine instantly withdrew her hand, mildly flustered now that the vampire realised that the wolf's upper body is mostly naked. to hide her flushed cheeks, sabine opts to grab a loose shirt and a blanket from her room. the wolf's eyes are continuously fixed on sabine's retreating form.

"here, put this on," sabine hands the shapeshifter the tan coloured shirt, eyes averting from her naked figure.

the wolf tilts her head, coupled with a faint smirk, somewhat teasing. "you do not enjoy looking at a naked woman?"

sabine groans softly. "just put it on, will you? you might get cold."

the wolf, to sabine's mild peeve, laughed somewhat mockingly. "never met a prudish vampire before. aren't the lot of you seductive?"

sabine scoffs, but decided to return the wolf's humour. "all i'm hearing is you think vampires are irresistible."

the wolf's face soured, scowling in a manner sabine dared to guess into disgust. she puts on the shirt, finally covering her naked chest and her wound. sabine sighs curtly in relief, no longer having to dart her eyes around to avoid looking at the other woman's chest.

"so, wolf–"

"i have a name, you know," the wolf interrupted, her tone amusingly flat.

"i didn't hear you mention it."

the wolf shrugs. "my name is shin. shin hati."

shin. sabine thinks the name suits her, and having a name to assign such a memorable face definitely helps her mental records better. she smiles, "you can call me sabine."

shin tilts her head, curious. her pale brows dip to a furrow. "i had assumed you were a member of one of the large houses."

sabine dreaded this, but chose to play it off. she crosses her arms in front of her, questioning. "now, what makes you say so?"

"you carry a regal energy within you. i can tell."

"good to know you smell aristocracy in me," sabine sarcastically jeered, rolling her eyes.

shin threw her an unimpressed look. "you are not as funny as you think." she then admits, "you are confusing. i smell human blood in you, but you are certainly of a large house. what are you? a kryze?"

"no. but, you're right about the human part."

shin's eyes widen, only for a fraction of a second, but it wasn't quick enough that sabine would miss it. "you were turned?"

sabine deadpans. "quite nosy, aren't you?" when shin stays static, the vampire shrugs it off, not really in the mood to tell her whole background. "yes, i was turned. i was humanborn, my father was human, while my mother was a countess."

"a countess? so you are a highborn."

the vampire shrugs, starting to grow uncomfortable. sabine opts to get up from her seat by the fireplace, grabbing a bottle of wine from her cabinet. she takes only one cup, unsure if shin wants to drink. she still feels shin's eyes on her back as she pours her wine.

"you smell like a vizsla. i met some of them a few moons ago, they have a very distinctive smell." shin's tone is mocking as she mentions house vizsla, but sabine can hear her figuring out the pieces slowly. "you belong to clan wren."

sabine sighs into her cup as shin delivers the final culmination of her thoughts. this was one of the reasons why sabine often avoids meeting with supernaturals despite her personal want to interact with them. the wren blood is still so strong within her, that supernaturals can still sense it even if she hasn't even tapped into her lineage's powers for years. sabine nods meekly, not bothered to deny shin's allegation.

"i was. not anymore."

shin's eyes flashed with something briefly. "how long have you been living here?"

"a few decades," sabine replied curtly, frowning in confusion, "why?"

"well, one hunter escaped," shin stated, in a matter-of-fact manner, as she drew her knee close to her body and leans one of her arms over, "and i am willing to bet my head, he will return with a larger band for retribution."

"whose fault was that?" sabine retorted, annoyed.

"i know, wren, not the point." shin's tone was bitter as she hissed out sabine's clan, not appreciating sabine's attitude. "i am going to leave by sun up. my travel is due north. i suggest you to leave this place as well by tomorrow eve."

sabine sighed, knowing that fact already from the moment they slaughtered the hunting party. to leave this cottage and move again had never been an option sabine thought about for the past few peaceful decades, but living the nomadic life isn't something new for her. and if she has a travel companion, things should be easier than alone.

"okay, wolf. we can leave by sunrise."

shin frowned. "sun up? do you have a death wish? you will burn and die."

sabine laughs. "i do appreciate your concern, wolf." the vampire smirks when shin grumble at sabine's lack of name usage, evident from the dipping of her brows when sabine only calls her 'wolf' instead of her name. "but, i'm not a full blooded born, remember? as long as i wear thick shades, the sun won't kill me."

shin eyes her, brows still slightly furrowed. if sabine had to guess, she looked like she's debating with herself. again. the vampire wonders if that's an actual werewolf thing, or if that is just a shin specific quirk.

"you speak as if we will journey together."

"you're due north. i've got nowhere to go." sabine shrugs as she points out the obvious. "i might as well just join you until we have to part ways."

shin crosses her arms. "what makes you think i am willing to take you with me, wren?"

sabine steps closer towards shin, feeling something awakening inside her the closer she gets to the werewolf. shin is looking up at her from the floor, gaze hard and unbroken; it makes sabine feel drawn magnetically to her.

"didn't you say vampires are irresistible, wolf?"

shin growls, lunging towards sabine to grab both of her wrists and pins the vampire down to the floor. sabine shot an amused, almost teasing, smirk back at shin when she bared her fangs at sabine.

"do not test me, wren. i will not take you with me." shin snarls at sabine, gripping on her wrists to further cement her point. it mildly irked her when she watches sabine's unfazed reaction.

sabine catches shin by surprise as she flips the werewolf over to her back, this time pinning shin by the neck as she anchors her weight down on shin. she couldn't exactly understand why she felt the need to be aggressive and dominating with shin, but she revels in the shock and frustration on shin's face.

"i don't care if you'd take me or not," sabine hisses as her grip on shin's neck tightens, leaning forward to lower her face closer towards the werewolf's, whispering, "i'm going with you. end of discussion."

shin's breaths are laboured in gasps, surprised by sabine's display of strength over her. she gasped a large intake of air when sabine released her grip of her neck, shooting a venomous glare at the vampire sitting on top of her.

"get off of me," shin growled, pushing her torso off the floor. she shot sabine a disgusted glare when the vampire winked flirtatiously at her. sabine watches as the werewolf groans reluctantly, "fine. but, if you slow me down, i will chain you to a stake at midday and leave you to burn."

"promise?"

shin's eyes turned vermilion as she barks, quite literally. sabine laughs, she hadn't known shin is rather exciting to rile up and tease. the pointed tips of shin's ears are dusted pink, a rather jarring contrast to her werewolf alpha eyes.

they didn't speak much afterwards the whole night as sabine goes to catch a brief sleep in her couch, whereas shin continued feeding the fireplace with more wood to burn. sabine had told shin to eat whatever choice of cured meats in her cabinet before she slept, and shin had helped herself wolfing down a large smoked vennison leg by the fire.

by sun up, they were already long gone from the now empty cottage. sabine had burned all of her trinkets down to erase any trace or proof that someone had lived in this cottage for decades. shin suggested they burn down the cottage, but sabine vetoed, reasoning that the building can still be used as a shelter.

they travelled further up north where the climate has gone colder and dryer for the past few weeks, sparing sabine's hypersensitive eyes and skin from the blazing southern sun. they had run into a few other supernaturals; namely a number of stray vampires, small packs of werewolves, a few goblins, and a single merlin living deep in the redwood forest.

sabine observed shin's behaviour and personality deeper as they travel, studying the werewolf. most of the time, shin prefers to stay in her true wolf form as opposed to her human or werewolf form because it allows her to travel further and faster. however, her true form is a beast by nature and required a lot of energy, which substantially demands her to consume more food for energy.

shin doesn't speak much about her past, not unlike sabine, but sabine had guessed that shin's history isn't too different from her own. the rogue werewolf mentioned briefly about her master; the alpha wolf who turned and took her under his tail. shin would have a flash of fondness skirting across her expression as she speak of him, but it would soon be replaced with the seething hatred sabine had grown accustomed to seeing.

in a way, it reminds sabine of her own mother.

"why did you run away from your clan's ancient seat?" shin curiously asked, leaning against the wall of the cave they are camping in; the crackle of the fire between them was the only consistent noise. the werewolf is holding a leatherskin bottle of mead by it's throat, aquamarine eyes fixed on sabine.

sabine chews on her stewed meat, slow and avoidant of shin's question and piercing gaze. she sets her bowl down, huffing contemplatively. "why should i stay in a castle full of vampires who disregarded my existence as a humanborn? a disgrace, as they said."

"is your mother not the countess? is she not the head of your clan?"

"yes, she is. was. i'm not sure."

shin's brow quirked. "did she not ever punish the vampires who held no respect for you?"

"it's not that simple, shin," sabine sighed. "i'm a very rare case of a humanborn, especially in clan wren. my mother was in the hottest seat of the clan, and if she acted brutishly, she will be deposed."

shin's face was stony, but sabine can sense her pity and frustration. sabine doesn't comment on it. shin took another few gulps of her mead, and if sabine dared to guess, her mind is running a few hundred thoughts at the same time.

"you are a powerful creature for a humanborn," shin spoke slowly over the crackle of the fire between them, voice level as always, "and yet, i have never seen you feed on human blood for the past few weeks we travelled. you starved yourself, and you have been burying your other half."

"astute observation." sabine ignored shin's elusive compliment for the monster half within her with a sarcastic comment. she almost grinned when shin rolled her eyes, undoubtedly vexed.

"that makes you a fool."

sabine glares at shin. "thanks."

"you may hate your monster half, but you must remember that it is a part of you. it should serve you as your strength, instead of your demise." shin's voice was sagacious yet gentle as she speaks; as if she had learned it for years. she takes another swig of her mead, before finalising with, "remember that it will stay as your foe, until you treat it as your friend."

shin's words echoed in sabine's mind the whole night, as she stays up in watch as her werewolf companion sleeps. it does make sense that she views her vampiric half as an illness for as long as she's been turned; seeing it as a curse she must rid instead of a power she could embrace.

when the first light of dawn began to rise, sabine had grown drowsy as she tucks herself into her black cowl's hood and shifts deeper into the cave. shin awoke half an hour after, stretching out the cave in her werewolf form and took off sprinting, sabine presumed to go hunting.

sabine had her very first experience in a full blue moon the next week with shin; and it is unlike what she heard. she knows that the werewolves drew more of their power from the moon, especially during full moons. she heard that blood moons exaggerates the werewolves' aggression and hunting need, just as how vampires are affected strongly by the phase.

full blue moons are when werewolves, specifically alpha werewolves such as shin, are at their peaks.

shin had already shifted into her werewolf form when the moon began to rise; sitting at the patio of the unoccupied wooden cabin they found in the middle of the great northern pineforest. sabine watches from inside; shin was sitting cross-legged with her back strictly upright, basking under the moonlight.

"you can come join me, wren," shin calls to her from outside, eyes closed and still moonshining.

the full moon had grown larger and much bluer, bathing shin under it's bluish shine. shin's eyes are open now as she looks at sabine, who remained by the window. the werewolf's body language is inviting, but not demanding at all. sabine couldn't tear her eyes away from shin's; bright vermilion bathed under soft blue of the moon that makes her eyes purplish.

shin appears almost exalting in sabine's eyes.

when the moonrise reaches it's peak, shin was already in her true wolf form. she soaked all of the blue moon's light and energy, appearing larger and regal. her bone-white fur flows beautifully in waves; almost jarring in contrast to her vermilion eyes and knife-sharp canines in her mouth.

sabine isn't entirely sure if blue moons are supposed to enhance all werewolves' beauty or if this is just a shin specific feature that she's just lucky to see, but sabine is sure travelling with shin had satisfied the curiousity of werewolves from her youth. shin may have not spoke much, but sabine only needed to observe her to learn from the alpha werewolf.

shin begins to slowly shift back into her human form as the blue moon sets slowly from the horizon, returning to it's regular yellowish hue. sabine was still watching her from inside the cabin, leaning outside through the window, growing slightly drowsy.

"the blue moon is affecting you too, isn't it?"

sabine blinks as she registers shin's voice. the werewolf is still sat in her place, but her body is now fully facing towards sabine and her eyes are much too soft that it unnerved sabine out of unfamiliarity.

"i'm getting sleepier," sabine replied, her voice only above a whisper.

shin rises to approach sabine, kneeling in front of the vampire, observing her for a good minute. her eyes narrowed, a mix of confusion and frustration. "you have not fed. i reckon it's already been five days since you last fed on blood."

sabine's brow quirked, dismissive. "you notice we haven't run into any hunters or passed any towns.

"there is a town on the foot of this forest." shin raised her head towards the sky, nose catching whiffs of... something. she then grimaces, seemingly disgusted. "the town is a hub of low-lives. a den for filthy criminals and offenders."

sabine mirrors shin's disgust, scowling. "i would rather burn in the sun."

shin groans, husked and exasperated. "wren, please."

"no. i don't want to feed on disgusting lowlife criminals." sabine was unmoving in her spot, refusing to feed despite the monster inside already growling incessantly for her next meal.

"you are unbelievable."

shin glares at sabine who stays dismissive, head lulling into her arms and eyes slowly shut in drowsiness. sabine's skin is so much paler, and her eyes are starting to sink in; a telltale sign of exhaustion and lack of blood feeding.

when shin spoke, sabine didn't expect her to say: "fine, you can feed on me tonight."

sabine's eyes bolted open, scandalised. "pardon?"

shin jumps inside the cabin through the window sabine was leaning out from, to sit across of the half-blooded vampire. the somnolence in sabine's systems were instantly thrown out as shin began untucking her tan shirt and holds her hair up to reveal most of her neck down to her collarbones.

"you have to feed, sabine," shin's voice was so much softer than usual, neck tilted to the side. the way her name rolled out of shin's tongue sent warmth down sabine's abdomen, and it doesn't help calming her flushed cheeks.

"i-i... i'm not gonna feed from you, shin!"

shin clicks her tongue, vexed. "just get on with it."

"no!"

"sabine, for fuck's sake." shin then grabs sabine by her cheeks, forcing the vampire to open her mouth and reveal her fangs and brought her closer to the skin of her own neck. "just feed."

sabine pushed off of shin by her shoulders just before the sharp points of her fangs punctured shin's delicate ivory skin, her breaths laboured as she grows equally irate. her eyes began to flicker from the vampiric ruby-reds and back to her bright brown. she shoved shin's shoulder with her fist, harsher than sabine would've liked.

"are you insane? i could end up killing you!" sabine yells as she tries to control her vampiric half.

"no, you won't. you will only drink my blood, not draw out my wolf powers." shin takes off her shirt, going completely chest naked this time, her stellar blue eyes are steel against sabine's, unbroken. "drink as much as you need. i promise it will not kill me."

sabine was indisposed of the idea to feed on shin's blood. what if she couldn't restrain herself from overly indulging on the feed? wouldn't that kill shin? what if shin couldn't handle the prickling of sabine's fangs? she was about to argue again when shin claws at her own neck, drawing ichor so sweet to sabine's nose that she couldn't resist anymore.

"drink, sabine."

sabine's eyes are already glowing bright ruby and her fangs protruding from her lips as she eyes shin for one final consent, which the werewolf alpha assured with a firm nod. sabine crawled towards shin, sits herself on the werewolf's lap, and began lapping on the dripping blood from the area shin clawed at. sabine places a firm hand on shin's fleshly column.

shin hisses a sharp breath through her teeth when sabine's fangs pricked her skin and deeper into her flesh, as she begin feeding on shin. sabine had never tasted anything sweeter than shin's ichor-flavoured blood; not even the finest honeyed wine in her old cottage's cabinet.

drinking from shin is erotic and sensual.

sabine could hear shin's laboured breaths as she leans their weights on her propped arms behind her back, and she could feel the wolf's arousal echoed in the pooling warmth in sabine's underbelly. her grip on shin's neck tightens as she struggles with her monster to control the feeding.

"fuck, sabine…" shin husked out in a strained moan, the sound was so much sweeter in sabine's ears than her own blood tasted in her mouth.

sabine's tongue laps against the rapidly-healing bite wound on shin's neck, savouring whatever taste left of shin like she had been starved for decades. her eyes remained rubies, half lidded and heavy with so much lust and arousal.

shin's vermilion eyes are mirroring the same as her.

the wolf's thumb pads over sabine's lips, smearing scarlet on the pad of her thumb and on sabine's lips. sabine couldn't help the ecstasy of moans when shin captured her lips with her own in a ravenous kisses; the kind so insatiable with just flesh and must be met with teeth and fangs violently.

shin's blood was mixed with sabine's own from the pricklings of shin's canines against sabine's lips; the taste mingling in their mouths like saccharine, a sinful yet divine ritual between two powerful creatures of the supernaturals. the more they kiss, the less significant oxygen becomes.

"shin…" sabine gasps between kisses that smeared red all over their tongues and lips.

sabine's own hips have begun moving on it's own consciousness against shin, her nails raking deep in shin's back. the wolf groans against their hungry kisses at the welcomed pain, the sound immediately swallowed by sabine's throat.

shin broke away from their kiss, vermilion eyes so clouded with lust and breaths laced with arousal that it made sabine burn from the inside with untamed carnal desire to feed on shin in so many different ways than just drinking her ambrosia-sweet blood.

sabine doesn't even remember how they ended up where they awoke the next morning, entirely stripped to only skin and haphazardly strewn fur blanket over their overlapping limbs. the air had the unmistakable sweet scent of sex and blood, and sabine's memories began to flood back in.

shin had brought her to climaxes so sweet and high, that sabine swore she felt herself combust from each waves of pleasure on the wolf's fingers, mouth, thighs... anywhere that sabine could remember. sabine also remembers the deliciously erotic noises the alpha made as she made her reach such explosive peaks that triggered her own against shin.

when shin began to stir awoke, her lips immediately chased after sabine's, tasting the remnants from last night, granting a lazy smirk against sabine's lips.

"you were right, wren," shin sleepily gasped in between pecks against sabine's lips.

sabine hummed, curious. "about what?" she had to choke back a sharp moan when she feels shin's thigh slotting itself against sabine's sensitive center, teasing her over the edge.

shin has risen up as she crawls backward to spread sabine's thighs wide, peppering her sensitive limbs with a balance of feather-light kisses and knife-sharp grazes of her canines on the silky smooth skin. if sabine was choking back on her moans earlier, she definitely howled out loud moan when she felt shin's tongue on where it makes her almost see stars.

"you vampires are quite irresistible."

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sunsetsandsunshine · 6 months

Text

~ 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙿 𝚈’𝙰𝙻𝙻 🔥⁉️ 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙸𝙽 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽— 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝙰 𝙻𝙾𝚃𝚃𝚃𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝙱𝙲 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚁𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟻,𝟽𝟶𝟿

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡 (𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️)

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️ (𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡)

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖.

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚃*𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙳𝙽𝙸 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜— 𝚢’𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚢 <𝟹)

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𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐— 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚊𝚖, 𝚙𝚕𝚣 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 ❤️🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“No.”

“But Raph—”

“No.”

“But Raphie—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I literally just said no, Mikey.”

“But Raaaaaaphhhh, I’m bored!” The youngest groaned, flopping onto the second oldest’s bed dramatically. The second oldest in question raised an unamused brow, looking up from his comic where his little brother laid in front of him. The red banded turtle sighed, going back to reading his novel calmly and ignoring the younger turtle completely.

Now, if you couldn’t tell by Mikey’s whole demeanor, or the fact that he just stated so…he was bored. VERY bored. EXTREMELY bored.

TREMENDOUSLY bored if you will.

And if the youngest was bored, you’d best believe you’d hear him complaining all day in and all day out until he found something to occupy himself with. And Raph? Well, the young teen personally did not have the time nor patience to deal with all of that today.

Or any day really.

“For the millionth time, Mike— I’m busy. Go bother Don or somethin'.” The hot-head grumbled, flipping through the pages of the comic book he was currently reading. The other rolled his eyes, turning his head to his older brother, “Don’t you think I already did that?” Raph chuckled at the statement. “Oh really? And how’d that go?”

“He threw a beaker at me…but I think it had acid in it—“

Raph visibly shuddered, “Okie-dokie then. Another reason for you to get out of my room. Buh-bye. Sayonara. Thanks for stopping by. Adios amigo.” He demanded, pushing Mikey’s face with his foot but the youngest stubbornly stood his ground. He pushed back with his head until the other eventually gave up, throwing his comic book at him in frustration.

Mikey got up from the bed, annoyingly whining again.

“Just do an activity with me or something…! He huffed, shaking Raph by the shoulders back and forth. “I can show you the way out of my room! That can be an activity we can do together!” The red banded teen smiled with a fake sweet tone, which only caused the other’s frown to deepen.

“I’ll never ask you for anything ever agaiiiiinnn! Just do something with meeee! Pleeaseee?!” Raph had to bite back a grin when he heard that bargain. In the next 5 minutes, Mikey would probably ask him to do the hokey-pokey or some shit like that. The second oldest let out a long yet playful sigh, rubbing his temples before crossing his arms. “Fine fine…what do you wanna do?”

The youngest blinked, rubbing the back of his head and looking away for a bit. Well…Raph was surprisingly easy to convince today. It usually took him a solid 2 hours and 30 minutes (he’s counted) until he cracked. Usually 1 hour and 15 minutes on a good day…

“That’s…a very good question…I’ll get back to you on that…” The smaller turtle muttered. Raph tilted his head in complete and utter disbelief. “You came in here harassing me for, like, an hour straight talking about how you wanna spend time with me and now you don’t even know what you wanna do?!”

“I’m thinking, okay?! Don’t get your tits in a twist!” Mikey huffed at his older brother.

“Don’t get my what in a what???”

The youngest then suddenly snapped his fingers, smiling brightly and turning to the second oldest, “We should play a video game!”

“Like…Fall Guys or something? Dude, I’ve beat you anytime we’ve played two player. Just accept your many MANY losses.” The green eyed mutant teased, laughing at the offended expression Mikey was giving him now.

“I think you might have hit your head a bit too hard when we came from the ooze, my dear friend. Because I clearly remember you losing when we were playing last weekend.” The orange banded teen challenged, sticking his tongue out at Raph who only scoffed in amusement, resting his hand on his hip.

“I was being a good big brother and let you win.” He retorted. Mikey rolled his eyes, knowing full damn well Raph just sucked absolute ass and didn’t want to admit it. “Yeah yeah, whatever. But, no. I have an even better thing in mind. And it’s a board game.”

A pause.

“…so are you gonna tell me what the board game is?” Raph asked impatiently.

“I’m pausing for emphasis! I request a drumroll, please.”

…oh for the love of…

Raph sighed, drumming his hands on his bed for a couple seconds before stopping, waiting for Mikey to tell him the name of this soooo special game that he couldn’t just tell him already.

Because emphasis or whatever.

“Twister!” Mikey smiled, clapping his hands excitedly. “Twister.” Raph repeated, his eye-ridges (is that what they’re called—? Idk…) raising in surprise as he scratched the top of his head confused. “Why Twister of all things? We haven’t played that game since we were, like, 7.”

The blue-eyed mutant shrugged, leaning against his big brother’s beside and lazily checking his nails. “Eh. No reason. Just what first came to mind. What? Afraid you’ll lose, Raphie boy~?” He smirked, looking up at the taller green eyed mutant who only chuckled at his taunt.

“Oh please. That game is so easy I could play it in my sleep.” He smirked, looking down at Mikey who only had a satisfied grin plastered on his face.

Raph was lying— lying right through his teeth in fact. He wasn’t good at Twister— he wasn’t even semi-good. He didn’t even qualify anywhere near semi-good when it came to Twister. Raph wasn’t the most…flexible turtle of the bunch, which made it hard to do some, if not most of the poses Twister had conjured up for you.

And usually, he wouldn’t care so much about losing a game. Heck, it was Twister for crying out loud. But Raphael grew up with a family of competitors.

And so, he was competitive. Very competitive.

He didn’t like to lose— in fact, he hated losing. He’d rather beat up Kraang droids all day than lose.

Well…he’d beat up Kraang droids any day but that’s beside the point!

Point was, he absolutely sucked at Twister, period. And personally? It wouldn’t be so bad if he was going against Leo, heck— even Casey Goongala Jones himself would be a better opponent than Mikey.

If Mikey won (which he always did), he would make sure you knew all day in and all day out that he beat you. It was annoying as hell and that would only fuel Mikey more into reminding you that you lost against him.

And like stated before…Raph did not like losing. He didn’t like it one bit.

The elder straightened up his slouched posture, extending his hand to do a hand shake, which the youngest gladly accepted. “I accept your offer. But don’t be disappointed when I completely annihilate you.”

“We’ll see about that.” Mikey chirped, grabbing Raph’s arm and almost soaring out of the room with him.

Aaaaand so that’s where the two were now; spreading the well known dotted mat onto the floor carefully in front of the TV. The two spun a couple times already, the positions that were being requested weren’t hard. At first…just subtle movements here and there. Until Raph had his whole arm underneath Mikey and Mikey had his whole arm under Raph’s…

And by 12 turn’s, they were intertwining each other like a bunch of yarn. Raph, surprisingly, was doing really well. His stance being something along the lines of a downwards dog and a corpse pose— if that makes sense. Which it doesn’t. Because it’s Twister. Twister doesn’t make any sense in the slightest.

Mikey on the other hand, was not doing so hot. His stance was just basically the Family Guy dead pose but just slightly standing. With every spin of that darn evil plastic wheel, the younger teen seemed to be getting more and more difficult adjustments, while Raph barely had to move a finger. Or…limb in this case.

The turtle gods were on his big brother’s side today and Mikey was not having it.

“Doing alright, bro?” The hot-head smugly asked, his voice a little strained due to the odd positing but a teasing grin was on his face nonetheless. “You’re shaking a bit there…” He mused at his little brother, whose limbs were shaking like a bunch of conjoined jello conjoined.

The smaller mutant then fixed his footing, not shaking anymore as he looked up at Raph, smirking smugly right back at him. “Oh I’m fine, big bro. Just. Fine.” The orange banded turtle gritted out.

Now, Mikey wasn’t going to lie, but this whole Twister thing was starting to not seem like such a good idea. His older brother was a complete abomination when it came to Twister! But apparently, he seemed like he was getting every single easy position, and he was doing a pretty decent job at it— and Raph…Raphael has NEVER done decent!

Mikey, on the other hand, was struggling. He might as well become the actual mascot for the game or something because his arms and legs were getting twisted like actual Twizzlers. It’s probably not even normal for his body to twist like this, but hey! He’s not losing and that’s all that matters, right?

But he couldn’t keep this act on forever. He was going to fall sooner or later if he didn’t do something fast.

The younger tried to move to spin the wheel but almost fell in the process; catching himself at the last second. “Yeah…I won’t be able to reach it…” The elder hummed in acknowledgement, also attempting to spin the wheel but ultimately failing as well.

Conveniently, a couple seconds later, the eldest turtle of the four quadruplets walked out of his room, walking into the lounge area where the two were playing Twister. Leo looked the two up and down before sighing, rubbing his face tiredly.

“It’s too early for this…” He grumbled, going to the kitchen to refill his tea cup. Raph and Mikey shared a confused glance with each other, before looking at the other turtle with even more confusion.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon…” The youngest giggled. Leo turned around, glaring at the both of them. And if looks could kill…Mikey would’ve been nothing but a bare shell.

“Yeah. And my statement still stands. It’s too early for this…” The blue banded turtle repeated, taking a sip of a now full tea cup. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go read some Captain Ryan x reader fanfiction…” He grumbled with the most deadpanned face and voice ever, but you could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that he was genuinely excited.

The young leader was probably too tired to acknowledge what he just said…oh well. More blackmail for Mikey then.

“Leo, wait! We need you to spin the spinny thingie!” The second oldest yelled in impatience. This stance was starting to hurt like shell! And losing is not an option here!

Leo turned around, looking his brother up and down again before sipping his tea again. “Do it yourself.”

“I can’t, wise guy! The spinny whatchamacallit is all the way over there! If I try to spin it, I’ll lose!” Raph explained which only resulted in Leo blinking once before rolling his eyes.

“Then lose.” And with that, the young leader walked to his room, chuckling a bit to himself as he closed his door. “Smug bastard…” The red banded turtle grumbled under his breath.

After a few moments of thinking, Mikey decided he needed to do something to try and get an advantage in this game. That’s when he reached up with one hand and jabbed Raph in the side lightly.

The elder flinched violently, drawing out a surprised and loud shriek, but stubbornly staying in the same position he was before. The second oldest glared at his younger brother, who had the most innocent smile plastered on his face.

“Michelangelo. Hamato.” He warned, his glare hardening. “Poke me again and see what happens.” He said threateningly, which only caused the younger in question to innocently bat his eyes at him, continuously poking around his side.

“Mihihike— shihihit!” Raph cursed, trying to squirm out of reach of the poking with the little room he had. Mikey continued to tickle him, now moving his fingers to scribble on his stomach, which obviously made Raph shriek louder.

“MIHIHIKEY!”

“Aw…there’s that smile!” The youngest grinned. And finally, to the smaller turtle’s delight, the older fell down on his shell, officially concluding the game and granting Mikey his 100% hard earned victory.

“I won!” The menace giggled, doing a small little victory dance on the mat before he made eye contact with Raph— who looked like he was ready to KILL.

Victory dance over. Victory dance WAY WAY over.

The younger got up almost immediately, quickly backing away as the other turtle scaringly followed right behind him. “W-Wait wahait…dude, bro, my man…we can talk about this! We can talk this out like the civilized mature mutants we are! There’s noho need to doohoo anything drahastic…” He rambled, taking multiple upon multiple steps back as Raph inched closer and closer towards him, game obviously loooong forgotten at this point.

The elder cracked his knuckles, an evil smirk spreading across his face almost like a wildfire. And that, ladies and gentleman, was enough evidence for Mikey to know that he was absolutely in for it.

The youngest bolted for Donnie’s lab, running as fast as his little legs could carry him, only to be hoisted onto his big brother’s shoulder as the red banded turtle walked back to the lounge area.

Nervous giggles escaped Mikey’s mouth as he tried to get out of his older brother’s grip, squirming, pushing, kicking— basically all the things he could do in this oh-so-horrible-situation-that-he-definitely-did-not-plan-out-what-so-ever!

Raph put Mikey on the ground, sitting on his legs. “Mihike, I haven’t even done anything yet...” He commented at the squirmy giggly mess that was his youngest brother. Mikey snickered, a small blush creeping to his face. “Shuhut it!“ He squeaked as he felt three fingers on his sides, not moving but just resting there in anticipation.

The youngest helplessly held the taller turtle’s wrists, shaking his head back and forth while sputtering out giggly pleases as his eyes were closed shut. “What’s gotten you so giggly?” Raph asked innocently, smirking down at his baby brother who was currently losing his mind.

“Just gehehet it oveheher wihith already!” He giggled desperately. If getting absolutely wrecked wasn’t gonna kill him…then the anticipation definitely would.

“Get whahat over with, Mike? I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about…” The orange banded turtle lightly smacked at Raph’s arm, loving and hating every single second of this. Mikey looked to the side, hiding his head in his shell a tiny bit out of embarrassment.

“Is there…something specific you’re talking about? Something oh-so embarrassing that you apparently can’t even say it out loud?” Raph grinned, his fingers clamping lightly on his sides as the other giggly whined in annoyance and desperation.

“Will yohou plehease juhust tihihickle me already???” The smallest turtle squeaked; the last part barely audible to the turtle ear and of course Raph felt the need to comment on it.

“Hm? What was that~? I couldn’t quite hear you…” He smirked, his fingers twitching against the other’s sides.

“Rahaph!!”

“You gotta speak louder, bud. I can hardly hear you.”

“Rahahaphie plehease!”

“Well since you asked so nicely…” Raphael smiled, starting to actually tickle Mikey’s sides now.

“You know, you could have just…told me you wanted me to tickle you, instead of doing the whole ‘let’s play Twister’ bullshit.” The taller turtle stated calmly, only causing Mikey’s blush to deepen.

Was he seriously that easy to read? Well that’s embarrassing…he honestly thought he had his older brother fooled with the whole ‘Let’s play Twister bullshit.’

Random fun fact, one of the best and worst things about being tickled by Raph was that he could just casually say the t-word as if it was an everyday word as you can see.

Well…in retrospect it is an everyday word.

But it’s a very embarrassing everyday word.

A very VERY embarrassing everyday word.

And you best believe he always used it as an advantage to gain the upper hand in every situation. Whether he was tickling one of his brothers or not…you bet he would randomly use it in a sentence.

“Literally what are you talking aboHOUT?” Mikey screeched as Raph prodded and poked his lower ribs. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.” The second oldest smirked. “Playing duhumb is not my forte— thahat was yohou duhuhuring Twister.” Mikey managed to giggle out.

Raph sent daggers to Mikey as he pinned one of his hands to the carpeted floor, digging his free hand into his exposed underarm.

The blue eyed mutant automatically squawked at the sudden sensation, trying desperately to pull his arm back down. The other let out a satisfied huff from the noise, “You were saying~?”

“ScREHEHEW YOHOU!” He squawked. Raph flinched slightly at the turtle belle’s sudden yell but chuckled at it nonetheless. Oh this is gonna be so so easy…

Mikey’s feet helplessly kicked behind Raph, his legs going up into the air every so slightly every now and again. “Your gonna break the sound barrier with all that screaming, baby brother...” Raph commented.

“But, you okay? You’re voice raised a bit there…” He asked as he heard Mikey’s laughter spike up suddenly. The youngest wiped a couple happy tears from his eyes, giggling still. “Yeah, yeah…I’m okay…”

Raph nodded at the response, rubbing some of the ghost tickles away before going back to tickling him, now squeezing his hip area.

The freckled turtle’s eyes completely shot out of his sockets as and of course his big brother had to make a smart remark.

“Uh oh…did I happen to find a bad spot?” Raph smirked, raising a brow as the younger shook his head back and forth. “NOHO! NAHAT THEHERE! RAHAPH! PLEHEASE!” The teenager cackled loudly, grabbing the other’s wrists but making no attempt to push them away of course.

“Not there?? Whaddya mean not there~? You mean right…here?” Raph giggled, “Right here? Is this a bad spot, Mike?” He questioned innocently.

“RAHAPH *squeak* PLEHEASE!” Mikey squealed. “Please what? I can’t understand you because of my little brother’s mouse squeaks. Sorry man…” Raph said as he dramatically wiped a tear from his eye, before going back to tickling Mikey’s hip area.

“SHUHU— *squeak* SHUHUT UHUP!”

At times like this, you would not question the fact that Mikey’s Dad is a 6'2 rat mutant. Just listening to his laugh you could hear the resemblance.

“My gahaHAHASH! JuhUST STAHAP!” He whined throughout his laughter as Raph continued to knead his hip bones, causing Mikey’s laughter to rise in volume tremendously now and again.

The youngest arched his back with a loud squeal, pushing on his older brother’s wrists again as he tried to turn himself so his shell was facing upward.

“Now where do you think your goin'?” Raph snickered, now using both his hands to tickle Mikey’s underarms now, instead of just tickling one.

“WAHAHAIT! WAHA— *squeal* WAHAIT! IHIHIT TIHI— *squeak* NAHAHAH!” The youngest stammered through his laughter, his bandana long gone off of his face due to how much he was squirming around.

“It tickles? Ya don’t say.” Raph deadpanned, snickering at the small squeal the turtle below him let out after the comment. “Can Dr. Name-Einstein not take what he dishes out~?” He continued, digging deeper in Mikey’s underarms.

“Tickle tickle tickle~!”

“NoHOH—!”

“Tickle tickle~! Kitchie kitchie coo~!”

“SHUHUT— *squeak* SHUHUT YOUR MOHOUTH!”

“Aww…well, that’s not very nice, now is it?” The green eyed teen fake pouted, continuing to tickle Mikey’s underarms, but slipping his hands out every now and again to poke the other’s neck lightly before going back in.

“Ahh tkltkltkl….ahh tkltkltkl— what? I’m abbreviating it for you because you hate that word soooo much, see? Ahh tkltkltkl…”

“IHI’M GOHONNA MUHUHURDER YOHOU!” The youngest shrieked, banging his heels on the floor in a futile attempt to escape his big brother’s VERY mean comments. “Oh yeah? You and with what hands, little man~?” Raph grinned, grabbing both of Mikey’s wrists to put above his head, scribbling all over his stomach.

Mikey’s hyena cackling only raised in volume after that. Raph evil laughed at the reaction, chuckling to himself as he tickled the younger to pieces.

“Woah. I think I hit the jackpot…what do you think, Mike?”

Mikey squeaked.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

Behind all the evil laughing and teasing, Raph took glances at his baby brother’s face every now and again to make sure that he was actually enjoying himself; and that he wasn’t uncomfortable in any way.

…And before you even think of calling him a softie for thinking this, being a softie and being caring are two completely different things.

Don’t get them twisted.

Anyways, even if Raph never openly says so or displays so…he genuinely cares about his brothers, and if he ever hurt them in any way, physically or mentally…just know that he’s taking that with him to the grave. No further questions asked.

Unfortunately for the youngest, this didn’t mean Raph would be merciful while tickling him in any way, shape, or form right now…

But Raph didn’t want his baby brother’s voice disappearing all the way to Timbuktu, so stopping right now would suffice.

The older turtle ceased his tickling onslaught, crossing his arms across his plastron to glance at the flustered and oh-so giggly mess he created.

“Yohou…suhuck…” The maskless turtle giggled, refusing to look at his big brother who just snickered at the purely adorable behavior.

“Yohou okay?” The elder turtle asked, “Like seriously, I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?” He asked genuinely. And now wasn’t that sweet? Asking if someone was okay after almost committing a first degree murder to said person. Yeah. Reeeeaaal sweet alright.

“Mhm…yeah I’m okahay…” He nodded, sitting up slightly to look for his mask that flew over to who knows where.

”I don’t remember your stomach being that ticklish, Mike.” Raph teased, snickering softly at his comment which Mikey only rolled his eyes to. “Whehell, my neck isn’t embarrassingly sehensitive. Especially the bahahack ohof ihihit. I don’t thihink yohou can relate, but I’m juhust putting thahat out there…”

…Remember how I said Raph loved his brother very dearly? Well…forget it. Stopping right now would not suffice. It would do anything but suffice.

The hot-head simply gave his little brother a look that would be known as the look of ‘You are getting your shell HANDED to you.’ Now Leonardo was the turtle who invented this scary yet effective gaze (because of course he did…)

And so naturally, the look got passed down to Raph. Then to Donnie. And even Splinter found a way how to.

The youngest on the other hand, never really had any reason to learn the look, as he had wonderful looks of his own. Obviously.

But now…he was kinda wishing he did, so that the look didn’t look so scary (see what I did there? I’m hilarious, I know)

“I-Ihi’m sohorry?” Mikey giggled out meekly, immediately going to grab Raph’s wrists again for, like, the hundredth time in the past hour.

Sometimes it’s best to keep your comments to yourself…even if you are spitting straight up facts…

“Oho you will be sorry.” The elder effortlessly grabbed his baby brother’s wrists, slowly bringing his head down towards the other’s stomach. Mikey kicked his knees into Raph’s shell, hoping to at least faze him, but all his attempts to stop his brother were in vain as the other took in a deep breath and lowered his head at an agonizingly slow pace to his plastron...

“W-WAHAIT! RAHAH— *squeal* PLEHEASE!!!” However, even if you’re a strong, cool and fast mutant like Mikey himself here, you would never be able to go up against the power of an older sibling in a tickle fight (a very one-sided tickle fight but a tickle fight nonetheless…)

Raph had to stop to chuckle at the wriggly mess that was his baby brother— the dude was wriggling and giggling like he planted some drug in him! And he hasn’t even done anything to him!

Yet, anyway…

“SHUHUT UP! STAHAP LAHAUGHING AHAT MEEHEE!” The youngest screeched as he felt his mind going on an anticipatory rollercoaster, thrashing in his big brother’s hold which he knew he was never getting out of. Well…acceptance is the first step to anything right?

“PLEHEASE! IHI’M— *squeak* SOHORRY!” Mikey cried, now frantically trying to get out of the hold. Screw acceptance. Mikey didn’t want to see heaven’s gates early. And besides, he has a slice of pizza in the fridge that he’s been dying to eat. So dying right here, right now, isn’t an option.

Raph hummed in amusement, “Oho yeheah? Where were all these apologizes when you made me lose in Twister?” Mikey giggled, “Ihit’s nahat MYHY fault YOHOU suhuck at gahames! Ehespecially board games. Ahahand video gahames…dohoo I have to go ohon?”

Raph was shocked as he was impressed. The pure nerve of this teen. Mikey definitely got that attitude from him…that’s for sure. “Okahay that’s it. No more mister nice turtle…”

“Sihince whEHEN were yOHOU NIHICE?”

Instead of making another sassy remark back, Raph tightened the grip of his hands on Mikey’s wrists slightly, lowering his head to his little brother’s stomach and taking a huge breath…

“RAHAPH— nohoHO— WAHAIT! RAHaph dUHUDE PLEHEASE!” Mikey rambled through his laughter, shaking his head back and forth with his eyes shut. Oh…this was gonna tickle so freaking bad. Maybe instead of provoking Raph he should of just tickled himself— because Michelangelo would not come out of the lounge area ALIVE after this.

With one last evil chuckle, the elder lowered his head to the center of Mikey’s plastron and…well, let’s just say all of New York City presumably heard the high-pitched shriek that ascended out of the youngest’s mouth.

Raph was mean. He was the definition of mean. He might as well be cast as the next Regina George if Mean Girls gets another reboot because this. was. mean.

Because not only was this smug dunderhead blowing raspberries on his stomach without barely taking any breath’s (kinda impressive honestly), but he also was using one hand to squeeze directly on Mikey’s knee.

Evil. Pure evil.

And you would think that it was pretty nice of Raph to let one of his hands go so he could at least attempt to escape, right? Well the youngest’s free hand was too busy happy stimming in order to do said task…so he’s kinda-sorta-maybe-possibly stuck

“I don’t remember you being this sensitive to raspberries when we were little…” The elder teen commented in between his breaths. Because…honestly. Did Donnie make Mikey one of his nerd concoctions to make the youngest embarrassingly ticklish or has he always been like this? Because there’s no way he should be giggling and wriggling this much.

“IHIT’S NAHAT MY FAHAULT!” And it wasn’t! It’s not Mikey’s fault he’s a literal walking talking tickle spot! Besides, you haven’t met walking talking tickle spot until you’ve met Leo.

“It tickles that bad, huh?” Raph laughed at the inhuman screeches coming from the teen below him. “SHUHUT— *squeak* SHUHUT UHUHAHAHA—!” The youngest cackled loudly, still kicking Raph at the back of his shell with his knees.

Now, was kicking Raph in the shell going to do him any favors in the long run? Most likely not. He’s still getting tickled to pieces and no matter how much he bucked, wriggled, writhed, or squirmed from side to side, Raph’s grip would remain the same until he felt like letting go. His hold was scaringingly better than his nunchucks— and that’s saying a LOT.

The smaller turtle just helplessly kicked behind him, just laying there and laughing his heart out. Raph took a glance at his younger brother and his snarky, evil smirk turned into a fond smile, he shook his head, laughing to himself.

“Y'know…Leo is just a couple steps away. I’m sure he’d loooove helping me turn you into a more giggly puddle than you already are…”

“NAHAH— *squeal* DAHA— DOHOHON’T—!”

“Or…what if I got Donnie? I bet he has some tools that would help me…”

“NOHOH—!”

“What about Dad? I’m positive he would just record the whole thing and coo you all day long about you’re adorable giggles—”

“RAHAPHIE!!!” Mikey screeched, kicking Raph in the shell extra hard this time which only made the elder huff out a laugh in amusement.

“OW! Okay okahay! No need to shout!” He chuckled, getting off of the other turtle and helping him up. Raph sat down on the couch, soon followed by Michelangelo who dramatically collapsed into his lap.

He giggled tiredly, sitting up and flopping on the other’s plastron. The elder laughed at the theatrical gesture, rubbing his shell comfortingly. “You okay, bud?”

“Nohoho. I’m lihihiterally dying.” Mikey giggled tiredly. Raph hummed in acknowledgment, resting his chin on Mikey’s left shoulder, causing the youngest to let out a subtle squeak.

The two made eye contact as Raph’s signature smirk spread across his face again.

“Huh. Which reminds me…” The elder turtle mused, wrapping Mikey in a hug with his one arm while the other was free. He shook his head, anticipatory giggles pouring out of his mouth more than ever before. “Raphie— Rahaphie nohoho don’t you dahare!”

Now, you’re probably wondering why Mikey is freaking out so much right now…let me explain.

As you know, Mikey has freckles. A lot of freckles. It was something he’s always been insecure about ever since he was a turtle tot. He used to absolutely loathe his freckles with a burning passion…and he tried to keep that fact a secret.

But sadly, when you live with 3 other brothers and you’re the youngest, there’s no such thing as secrecy.

The brothers had this whole talk about how his freckles made him, well, him. How it signified his uniqueness, adorableness, and blah blah blah sappy stuff. And that talk actually made Mikey love his freckles a lot…which he really needed.

Point being, his older brother’s created this game where they would count and poke how many freckles he had— because he had a whole LOT and they wanted to point out each adorable individual one; his freckles mainly being on his shoulders, face and neck.

But the thing was, the pokes to said spots tickled. A lot. Mikey was able to hide his reactions at first, but then a squeak went to a squeal, and a squeal went to a giggle…if you catch my drift.

And ever since then, it’s been a friendly competition on who could poke and count the most freckles on his face without him squirming out of reach (the highest score was 23 by the one and only Donatello).

“Hm. I forgot how many freckles you have…did you get any more? Seems like you got more…” Raph hummed again.

“NohOH I diHID NAHAT—”

“I think I should check just to make sure…” And with that, the poking and counting began…or as Mikey likes to call it: his complete and utter demise.

Speaking of which, Mikey might be competing with Leo for the Most Ticklish Turtle award because these pokes to his shoulders and face tickled like absolute SHELL. And Raph was barely touching him! Like…barely.

“1…2…3…4–! Mike! Stop moving! You made me lose count!” The older tried to sternly say, but it was really hard due to how much his little brother was laughing his shell off at the slightest of touches to the face and shoulders.

“PLEHEHEASE! RAHA— *squeak*! IHI’M GOHONNA DIHIE!!!”

“You’ve said that, like, 3 times. And you’re still here, aren’t you?” Raph mused, continuing to poke and prod.

“And a seven, and an eight, and a nine— wait. What comes after nine…?” He fake pondered, poking on the exact same freckle on Mikey’s shoulder to keep him a squeaky giggly blob.

“Seriously…I can’t think of the number. What comes after nine?” The hot-head asked again, going after Mikey’s neck now— causing the younger to scrunch his shoulders almost immediately. Though, that maybe wasn’t the best idea because Raph’s fingers were now stuck.

“I honestly think you’re the one with an embarrassingly ticklish neck, little bro.” The elder turtle stated smugly, wriggling his fingers in the crook of Mikey’s neck as the younger laughed even louder (if that’s possible).

Mikey flapped both of his hands, happy tears threatening to fall from his eyes, “RAHAHAPH!!!” He shrieked, his legs kicking the couch as well as the floor.

“Okay! Alright! Okay! No need to shout out me! Heard you loud and clear, giggles.” He drawed his hand away from Mikey’s face and shoulders, resting them on the other’s shell, rubbing it soothingly. The smaller turtle rested the back of his head on Raph’s shoulder, catching his breath slowly but surely.

“Are you done torturing me now?” He giggled tiredly, becoming relaxed and comfy in Raph’s arms due to the shell rubs.

“For now, yeah.” The older winked which only caused the youngest to roll his eyes at. Raph could be such a dork sometimes, but he loves him nonetheless…sometimes anyway.

“Thanks. For, uh…y'know…doing that…” The orange banded turtle mumbled after he calmed down fully, getting his mask that flew up on the couch earlier. “Yeah. No problem.” Raph shrugged nonchalantly, sitting back on the couch before creasing his eyebrows together, looking at Mikey in confusion.

“Wait. Didn’t you tell Leo like a week ago that it was 100% okay to ask for tickles? Why aren’t you taking your own advice?” He asked.

“Wha— you heard that?”

“The sewer walls aren’t that thick, Mike.” The elder explained, rolling his eyes fondly at the new silence he was being wonderfully graced with.

“Freaking hypocrite…” The green-eyed teen sighed, shaking his head and wrapping Mikey in a hug, squeezing him gently. “Again, you didn’t need to come up with an excuse for me to tickle you. You can just ask me.” He smiled softly, making Mikey return the smile tenfold.

“Yeah…I know. But playing Twister made it more fun didn’t it?”

“Pff…yeah. Yeah, I guess it did.”

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙