𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: i am sometimes not very good at recognizing potential triggers in my works—if you notice one, please do not hesitate to reach out so i can add the proper warnings! i want everyone to feel comfortable and stay safe <3
summary: Leo raised his eyebrows at his brother and passed the bracelet to you. “What’s this?” “That, my nosy brother, is Doc’s mission.” You looked up at that and met Donnie’s serious eyes, his mouth pulled into a thin line.
warnings: canon-typical violence, prob medical inaccuracies (though i did my best) <3
ao3 link
MONDAY - Neonatal
Living in New York comes with a variety of scents and sensations: Summer concrete baking in the sun, the brine of the rivers, the damp, yet not unpleasant musk that permeates the Lair. That’s not even to mention the man-made odors the city is most famous for.
The hospital smells of nothing. Sterile isn’t really a scent, just a distinct…absence in the nostrils. It’s jarring to you, for some reason. Makes you feel extra jittery.
Or maybe that’s just the circumstances.
“Hey!”
You school your face into one of pleasant neutrality before turning around to face the voice. Your mentor/supervisor for the day, a yokai named Yukio, smiles brightly as she walks in. “How’s it going in here?” she asks.
You place a hand over one of the four baby incubators in the room, smiling softly at the little glowing green infant within. “Everyone’s vitals are stable, breathing is normal, Sarah’s girl threw up on me, and Pippa’s boy is showing improvement under the bili light.”
Yukio nudges your shoulder and smiles brightly when you look at her, antenna fanning out around her head with her joy. You’ve never seen a yokai like her. “And no one’s crying. That’s an achievement.”
“You should’ve been here an hour ago,” you joke. “It was like the worst symphony I’ve ever heard.”
Yukio laughs. “Welcome to Neo.”
A nursery rhyme tinkles over the hospital speakers, and your heart lifts.
“Incoming,” you joke, and Yukio giggles again as she pushes you toward the door.
“I got this one, you go grab lunch,” she orders, then smiles brightly again. “You’ve done really well today, newbie.” It’s a battle to smile naturally over the squeezing of your heart.
Because she’s just given you the perfect opportunity.
“Thanks,” you reply, stripping off your gloves, then pulling the door open. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
The nursery rhyme is still playing when you step out into the hallway, and you take a moment to breathe deeply before setting off. Your gait is casual as you stroll toward the nurse’s station. A little of the way down, one of the other nurse trainees, Lydia, is walking yet another incubator to Yukio.
“Busy day!” you call out to her, waving when her green eyes meet yours. “How’s L and D?”
“Horrifying, but rewarding.” She winks as she passes, and you make sure to smile brightly. “See you later!”
You’re still smiling when you reach the nurse’s station, and a quick glance around tells you everyone is busy. Good.
As casually as you can, you step up to the Pyxis. It’s nothing more than a swipe of your hospital-issued ID until you’re in the system. You don’t withdraw a medication because that would leave a trace of you in their records, and none of your patients currently need any – instead, you tap your purple wristband to the machine and wait.
Less than a minute later, the wristband beeps quietly, letting you know that the last six months of Neonatal’s drug withdrawals have been downloaded and encrypted. The wristband sends the information to Donnie, Donnie searches for abnormalities, and you continue on with your “work day.”
One more tap to the Pyxis, and you were never there. But despite the ease of your subterfuge, you’re still frowning when you remove your ID and walk away. Because you know it’s not Neonatal.
But no one said this would be simple.
“Congratulations!” Donatello deadpanned. “Your vacation has been cancelled.”
“I could have predicted this,” you grumbled. You and Leonardo were the last to sit at the Lair’s table for breakfast, and you smiled graciously when Mikey slid over the coffee pot and a plate of waffles. “What’s Code Green again?”
“Mystic threat,” Mikey explained, smiling at your wince. “I know. It’s been a while.”
“What happened?” Leo asked, his “leader voice” allowing him to cut seamlessly into the conversation.
At the other end of the table, Donnie sighed. His indifferent mask dropped briefly, revealing such pure exhaustion that your heart sank.
“As of an hour ago, Agent John Bishop is once again at large.”
“What?” You jumped when Leo slammed his hands onto the table and barely managed to stop the coffee from tipping over with his force.
TUESDAY - Orthopedic
After a morning of setting bones and literally holding people down, you find Lydia eating a granola bar at the nurse’s station.
“Mira will kill you if they find crumbs in the keyboard,” you say as a greeting, smirking a little when the small blonde jumps. “Not everyone is as nice as Yukio.”
“I don’t think anyone is as nice as Yukio.” Lydia snorts. “Yesterday was a dream compared to this! You don’t seem to mind Ortho, though. I’m glad we got paired up today!”
You shrug. “I have some experience here, but I felt so out of my depth in Neo. Babies are just so…”
“Tiny,” Lydia finishes for you, green eyes crinkling with her smile.
“Exactly. So freaking tiny.” Lydia giggles, and you can’t help but grin a little in return. You point down at her keyboard. “You should flip that over, just in case. Easier to clean.”
“Then lunch?”
“Please. I’m ravenous.” – Lie. – “and only barely managed to escape Mira.” Truth.
Lydia shoves the remains of the granola bar in her mouth and wiggles her fingers spookily, eyes glinting with mischief. “She hash eyesh everyweh.”
You scrunch your face up in faux disgust and step over to the Pyxis. “Honestly, Lydia, this is a hospital,” you scold playfully. Lydia just giggles more and begins to clean up her mess.
The moment she flips the keyboard over, you insert your ID into Ortho’s Pyxis and tap the wristband. Same routine as yesterday, tapping your fingers and waiting for the beep, only this time you have to pretend not to be using the machine. So, you watch Lydia as she concentrates, using her own ID card to scoop the crumbs off the desk and into the trash can.
By the time she’s wiping off her hands, you’re stepping away from the Pyxis.
“All right, let’s hit it.” Lydia grins and nudges your shoulder on your way to the stairs. “I hope that cute chef is working again.” That finally draws a real smile out of you.
“The turtle?” you giggle. “I thought you had a girlfriend?”
Lydia shrugs, batting her eyelashes playfully. “And she would agree with me that he’s fucking adorable.”
You laugh and make small talk the rest of the way to the cafeteria. If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t know if you could have done this if you hadn’t met Lydia that first day. Her non-stop attitude and bubbly personality are a good distraction from thinking about what’s going on outside these walls.
“Two unknown mutant-yokai barreled their way into the holding center and extracted him. It was pandemonium.”
“Is everyone okay?” you asked, feeling Leo’s eyes flick to you.
“There’s one officer in the hospital, but everyone else got away with just minor injuries,” Donnie reported. “In the grand scheme of things, they were lucky – when I say they barreled their way in, I mean they barreled their way in. The attack was uncoordinated, especially for Bishop.”
“He’s desperate,” Raph spoke next, and all of your heads whipped to him. “For him to be so sloppy, this was probably his last resort.” Donatello nodded grimly.
“What kind of mutants are we talking about?” Casey asked.
“A rhino and a warthog, of all things.”
Simultaneously, all of you turned to look at Draxum. He blinked at you over his teacup, then rolled his eyes, absolutely dripping with disdain.
“Oh, please. You four know you’re my only spawn.”
“Aw!” In a flash, Mikey was across the table and hugging Barry, who tolerated it like a cat. “Thanks, Dad!”
“Whatever,” Draxum muttered, looking slightly flustered. “I have…contacts I can inquire with about these new players.”
“Mikey and I will go with you,” Leo nodded firmly, his first contribution to the conversation since his outburst earlier.
Donatello shook his head. “We need Mikey for something else.”
Leonardo groaned and dropped his head forward. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Oh, brother.” Donnie’s grim tone had you searching for Leo’s hand under the table. He grasped your fingers the moment they brushed his. “This is Pandora’s Box.”
Miraculously, no one else is in line when you get to the cafeteria, though nearly every table is full. You must have just missed the lunch rush.
Michelangelo is a one-turtle storm behind the counter, hat askew like a mad chef-scientist. One moment, he’s to your right, expertly chopping a myriad of vegetables – the next, he’s pounding dough on your left. He’s quick to notice you waiting, however, and your shoulders relax the moment his sparkling eyes are on you.
“Hey!” Mikey shouts so loud you wince a little bit. He’s still hacking away at the dough. “You two look hungry!”
Lydia shakes her head and laughs. “I can’t believe he saved the world.” You snort.
“Sometimes I feel the same way,” you mutter.
“You know him or something?” Lydia raises an eyebrow, and, honestly, you’re a little impressed by how quickly she puts it together.
The question makes your heart twinge briefly with fear, but you’re quick to push it away. You haven’t known Lydia long, but you know you can trust the younger nurse. Call it a gut feeling. That, and she started working here the same day as you.
So, you confirm, “Yeah. We actually grew up together.”
“Oh, cool.” Lydia turns back to watch Mikey’s cooking cacophony and raises her eyebrows. You feel the corners of your mouth turn up at her lack of reaction, suddenly feeling a whole lot safer as your new friend tacks on: “No wonder you’re so at home in Ortho.”
You laugh so hard that you snort, because she has no idea.
Later, after you’ve eaten too much of Mikey’s chicken parmesan despite not being hungry, he catches you on your way out of the cafeteria.
“Nurse!” he calls dramatically. Lydia giggles into her hand, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you turn to face him. He’s holding up a few of the hospital’s takeout tins. “I have some meals ready for the patients on five, could you drop them off?”
Lydia gives you a little wave and continues toward the doors. “Go ahead, I’ll tell Mira and see you back upstairs.”
“Thanks.” You walk over to Mikey and take the proffered tray of tins. “Floor 5?” you ask, raising your eyebrows meaningfully.
He leans in close, eyes sharpening from their usual round innocence into pure ninja mode. “Yeah. How’s it going, Sis?”
“All good. I’ve already done all I can today, so now it’s just the usual patients and charts.” You smile, trying to project as much reassurance into it as you can. “I’m good.”
Michelangelo’s returning grin is positively devious. “Good. We got this, baby!”
On your way back from passing the meals to a very stressed-out charge nurse, you check your phone for the first time that day:
Nardo 🤡 2:38pm : miss you doc
2:56pm: miss you too, dummy✨hanging in there?
Nardo 🤡 2:57pm : all good, just distracted
Nardo 🤡 2:57pm : I can’t stop thinking about you.
The proper punctuation tells you how much he means it. You take a moment to stop in the stairwell and just breathe, pressing your phone into your chest as if you could osmosis Leo into your heart.
2:58pm : We should have stayed in bed.
“Mystic energy functions similarly to DNA in that it is unique to the being. The combination of the weapons we seized with the medical equipment we found in Bishop’s base was eating at me, so I did a little digging.” Donatello’s face went dark, and he looked down at his hands, beginning to pick at his nailbeds in a long-forgotten habit. “The mystic energy in the weapons was a match to some disappearances from the yokai hospital up here.”
“Apollo?” you asked. Donnie nodded in confirmation.
Apollo is the first hospital in Manhattan designed to serve humans, yokai, and mutant-yokai equally. It went up a few years after the Kraang attack, thanks to a citywide campaign to improve relations between human and yokai – and, therefore, the Hidden City and New York. You had always said that if you weren’t a home health nurse (and if your night job weren’t so…unpredictable), you would want to work there.
“Wait – Disappearances?” Raph asked, his signature crease between his brows. “If yokai have been disappearin’ outta there, why is this the first we’re hearin’ ‘bout it?”
“Because, according to the hospital, they were all checked out and sent home with a clean bill of health,” Donatello spat, clearly getting fed up with the questioning. “And no one, not one doctor, nurse, or administrator – though, it’s not like they would say anything – has reported anything suspicious.”
His eyes flicked to you. “Which is where you come in.”
WEDNESDAY - Surgery
It takes one day for you to decide you will never be an OR nurse.
For the first time in a long time, you take a cab back to your apartment – the thought of braving even the subway steps being too much for you to handle. As a nurse in New York City, you’re used to being on your feet all day, but you never realized that being on your feet and moving around is very different from standing still for hours on end.
Every muscle in your body hurts for what feels like no reason, and your heels feel like they’re on fucking fire. So when you get home and your apartment smells like pizza, you think you might cry. And when Leonardo’s grinning face pops up over the back of your couch, maybe you’ve finally died and gone to heaven.
“Hey!” he greets. Your surprise keeps your feet glued to the floor as he bounds over and takes your bags for you. “How was your day, amor?”
“It was okay,” you reply on instinct, and then Leo’s back in your space, tugging you into his arms. Your body sags immediately at the touch, and you drape your arms over Leo’s shoulders, relaxing even further when he straightens up to his full height, leaving your feet to dangle in the air. Involuntary tears well up in your eyes when he tucks his beak into your neck and takes a deep, grounding breath.
“You’re here,” you say simply. All you’ve had with Leo the past few days have been lingering glances during family debriefs, text check-ins, and one single, blistering kiss before you left for the hospital on Monday.
“We got some good intel today, but we can’t act on it until tomorrow, so Raph suggested taking the night off to rest up.” Leo pulls back enough to smile at you, but makes no move to put you down. You cradle his jaw and run your thumbs over those blessed red crescents, wishing the pigment would stain your skin like ripe raspberries. “I picked up a pizza and came right here,” he finishes softly.
“I’m gonna kiss you now,” you whisper, fully expecting Leonardo to grin and respond with something cocky like Promise?
Instead, you get to watch his pupils dilate up close and a blush crawl across his face. He’s gazing up at you like you’re Jupiter Jim himself, and a thrill of satisfaction goes through you at the sight.
“I – okay –”
The plush of Leo’s lips beneath your own is like a hot bath after a long day, but the little whimper he lets out at your touch is even better. All of the day’s anxieties seep out of your body as Leo slowly lowers you back down, letting every part of you drag across every part of him. The moment your feet touch the floor, long fingers curl around your chin, and Leo’s next kiss has you gasping into his mouth.
“Blue,” you whine, and Leonardo groans as he wraps you in closer. It’s every bit as good, if not better than the first time.
“I almost forgot.” Leo’s voice smears across your mouth, the rasp of it nearly sending you to your knees.
“F-forgot?”
“That I’m yours.” He tilts his head to kiss you deeper. “And you’re mine.”
The words settle into your bones with a surety stronger than diamonds, and when Leonardo’s tongue meets yours for the first time, you don’t think anything for a good long while.
It’s your cat that eventually breaks the two of you apart by standing at your feet and meowing insistently for her dinner. Half an hour later finds you and Leo sitting firmly on opposite ends of your couch in an attempt not to get distracted again. After your moment by the door, the meager separation feels bone deep.
You take a bite of pizza in an attempt to ground yourself and ask, “What’s the new intel? Is it something in the Pyxis records?”
Leo shakes his head. “Nah, everything’s normal on that end so far – but one of Draxum’s creepy friends came through about a scientist who learned how to build mystic energy into technology. Apparently, he’s like a million years old now and never leaves his house, so we’re going to pay him a little visit tomorrow.”
You watch with long-suffering trepidation as Leo stacks three slices of pizza on top of each other, then takes a massive bite. He grins when he notices you watching him, and you barely manage to look away in time not to witness him speak around his mouthful: “How’re you ‘n Anshelo?”
“You’re disgusting,” you say to the ceiling, still refusing to look at him. “You’re literally five years old.”
Leonardo’s swallow is audible, and you look at him sidelong (once you know it’s safe) to see him grinning cheekily and wagging his nonexistent eyebrows. “Seriously. How’s working at the hospital?”
“It’s interesting.” You eat another bite of pizza, chewing it as you chew over your words. “I feel like the Imposter in Among Us, just going about my daily tasks until I figure out a way to get the records to Donnie without drawing attention. But other than that, I like the program, and my coworkers aren’t too bad, so I’m grateful for that. I’m definitely learning a lot.”
Leo smiles and hums happily when you finish. “I’m glad you like it, at least. They don’t know how lucky they are to have the best nurse in the city, even if you are playing part-time super spy.”
“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “I’m basically just doing my everyday job. You guys have the hard part.”
“Nah. Team effort. Give yourself some credit before I love it into you,” Leo demands, wiggling his fingers threateningly in a way that reminds you of Lydia.
“Leo, serious–ly –” You squeal and nearly bite off your tongue when Leo seizes your socked feet and drags you over to his side of the couch. He’s grinning when your butt slams into his thigh and he curls his arms around your back to hoist you up until you’re sitting sideways in his lap. Your empty plate tumbles to the floor, completely forgotten.
“Doc says what?” Leo asks cheekily, running his huge hands up and down your back and clearly enjoying your new flustered state. Then, more earnestly, he asks, “Is this okay?”
Your heart feels like it’s trying to burst out of your chest, but you manage to nod your head. “Mm-hmm.” Leonardo smiles and pulls you closer, forcing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders until you’re pressed chest to chest. Your fingers find the tails of his mask almost immediately, and you twirl them around your fingers.
“You’re beautiful when you’re nervous,” Leo whispers, and your next exhale comes out in a shudder.
“You think I’m beautiful?”
With one finger on your cheek, Leonardo turns your face to his until you’re sharing breath. “I think you’re the most astounding person I’ve ever met.”
A small zing of fear tries to take root in your chest when he kisses you this time. This, sitting on Leonardo’s lap, is uncharted territory. The intimacy of your closeness makes you feel unbearably new at this. You don’t want to make any mistakes, don’t want Leo to get tired of you when it’s still so early in this…unlabeled situation.
As if sensing your trepidation, Leo pulls back, only to press his lips to your cheek, your jaw, until his breath is warming your ear: “Your eyes are so beautiful, I want you to look at me all the time. You’re fucking gorgeous, mi amor, you can’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“You’d be the first to tell me that in a non-creepy way,” you confess, squeaking when Leo tongues the sensitive spot under your ear. He pulls away and cups your cheek, and you can see your dazed reflection in his eyes as he gazes down at you.
“Sometimes, I think you’re too good to be real,” Leo says, pressing his forehead to yours. “Sometimes when I’m with you, I think I’m dreaming. It’s like everything about you is designed to match every shitty part of me. You’re everything I don’t deserve.”
You shake your head, passively enjoying the way your skin rubs against Leo’s. “Don’t say that, Blue.”
“I’m being serious,” Leo insists, and you frown at the sudden severity in his tone. “I’ll never deserve you. I’ve accepted that. But I like who I am with you, so I’m gonna work every damn day to make sure you want to keep me around, until you’re sick of me and even then.”
“I might want you around for a while.” You can’t stop moving your hands, trailing your fingertips over the knot of his mask to the back of his neck, his shoulder markings, and his plastron. Leonardo presses a lingering kiss to your lips, only pulling away once you’re breathless.
“I’d share a casket with you, if that’s what you wanted.”
You giggle and swat the back of his head at that, but the mirth dies quickly due to another intrusive thought. “I don’t want you to get tired of me,” you whisper, and Leo’s arms tighten around you a fraction. “I know I keep bringing it up, and I’m sorry, but I’ve never done this before. And my mental health isn’t exactly…great. I’m not easy.”
“Hey.” Leo ducks his chin enough to meet your eyes, and the quiet confidence in his gaze immediately soothes you. He smirks and tilts your chin back up with one hand, cuddling you close with the other. “I don’t know if you remember this, but we’ve been friends for years? I know exactly what I’m signing up for.”
“Yeah, but – ”
Leonardo saying your full name has you pausing. He looks calm, patient, but also a little…hurt.
“I know I fuck around a lot, but this isn’t a game to me.” Leo’s eyes are so intense you feel like you’re staring directly into the sun, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. “This isn’t one-sided. Why can’t you let yourself believe I want to take care of you? That I want this as much as you do?”
You jerk back (as far as Leo allows you) as if stung. Is that what you’re doing, trying to convince yourself that this isn’t right? To convince Leo that it isn’t?
Guilt is a river of ice rushing through your veins, because yes, that’s exactly what you’re doing. Everything feels so unfamiliar right now, from working at Apollo to this new connection between you and Leo. You’re still easing into the concept of being loved, and without any time to explore this discovery, it still feels too good to be true. Unreal, like you’ve been watching the events unfold from outside your body.
The uncertainty has allowed your brain to run free with the worst alternatives to the cards laid out in front of you, to remember all the times you’ve been hurt in the past. But this is Hamato Leonardo. The man you trust most in the world, who has never looked down on you or treated you as anything less than the person you are.
Leonardo would never lie to you – words you’ve told yourself a million times. He has yet to prove you wrong.
So if Leo is telling you that he loves you, that he wants to walk with you arm in arm through life, then you need to get over yourself and trust him.
You cup his cheeks in your palms, imagining you’re cradling the sun, and press a lingering kiss to his lips. “I believe you,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. I trust you.”
“Don’t apologize.” All of a sudden, you notice the exhaustion in Leo’s voice, as if convincing you of his intentions sapped the last of his energy. You bet if you lifted up his mask, there would be bags under his eyes, but he’s kissing you again before you can check. “Trust me, I’m just as scared as you are. But I also think this could be really amazing, don’t you?”
You smile and give him a lazy kiss of your own, enjoying the way he opens for you almost automatically. “Yeah. I really think it could.”
“You now owe me two declarations of love, signed and notarized by Friday afternoon.” Leo’s lips are smiling beneath yours. You splutter out a laugh and pull away so you can see his grin.
Leonardo’s gaze is heavy on you, looking incredibly satisfied with himself. His face looks softer in the dim light of your living room, the faint edges of shadows blurring out his sharper edges. You run your fingers over Leo’s broad shoulders, just as relaxed as his expression, and watch the slow rise and fall of his chest as he watches you with his all-consuming, sun-bright eyes.
When you meet his eyes again, Leonardo looks hypnotized.
“You look very handsome like this,” you confess, unwilling to keep your thoughts to yourself anymore.
Leo grins cheekily. “What, under you?”
You hum playfully as you lean back down, enjoying Leo’s full-body tremble when you drag your nails over the back of his scalp. He groans when you whisper, “Exactly,” against his mouth, and you’re pleased when he strains up the rest of the way to capture your lips in his own.
This kiss is longer and more languid than any of the ones before. Your mouths move slowly, ardent and adoring as you explore each other. You find yourself gripping Leonardo’s bicep with one hand as you get lost in the new push and pull of your lips – in return, his hands never stop their dance across your body, caressing your hips, or cradling the back of your neck and anchoring into your hair.
As with everything else in his life, Leo is unrelenting, dragging you into a dance that you’re quickly becoming addicted to. Rough, battle-worn fingers sneak under the hem of your shirt and settle on your skin, and a long breath shudders out of you at the touch. You circle your arms around Leo’s shoulders and sink into him further – but if you’re reactive, he’s a livewire against you. Hungry, insatiable, and altogether overwhelming to your senses.
Leonardo whispers your name like a prayer the moment you pull away, and you press your forehead to his, trying to catch your breath. You feel his strong thighs shifting under yours, and you want to be closer, don’t want to breathe if it means you can be attached to him from shoulder to hip.
Leo whispers your name again, and you nuzzle your head against his. “Hm?”
“One more?” Leo asks. You feel his fingers tighten on your hip, as if you’ll try and run away. Instead, you hum low in your throat, lips curling up into an elated smile.
“Maybe just one,” you allow, and squeak when Leonardo flips you over to press you into the couch cushions.
“Apollo has a training program for student nurses. Every week, they invite a different school to rotate students into the different departments, the goal being not only hands-on learning, but helping them figure out what they want to specialize in,” Donnie explained.
You raised your eyebrows. “That’s actually…really smart. And really cool.”
“Yeah, well. I know how much you liked nursing school, so I figured I’d throw you right back in.”
“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious,” you deadpanned, ignoring Donatello’s pleased preening. “So, I’m back in nursing school. Why?”
“Accessing the hospital records was easier than breaking into the Pentagon, so that’s not the issue – but, just like the staff said, I haven’t found any abnormalities. All the missing persons’ charts, as well as staff backgrounds, have come up clean.” The whole table sat wrapt with attention listening to Donnie. Leonardo played with your fingers beneath the table, ever restless even as he paid close attention. “The only thing I can’t access from here are the Pyxis records, and it’s not like I can just waltz in and get them.”
“What’s a Pyxis?” Mikey asked, finger pointed up in the air.
“It’s like a vending machine, but for drugs,” was your incredibly rudimentary explanation. “It’s only accessible by doctors and nurses, and even opening the machine leaves a record. But,” you turned your attention back to Donnie, “I thought they were connected to the hospital’s system?”
Your resident genius shook his head and sipped his coffee ruefully. “Nope. For some reason, Apollo keeps it locked up tight.”
Mikey pursed his lips and sat back in his seat with a pout. “Damn.”
“Damn indeed.” It was Donatello’s turn to thrust a finger into the air. “However! Lucky for us, we have a registered nurse sitting at this very table.”
He tossed something toward you, and Leo snatched it out of the air before you could even move a muscle. When he opened his palm, you saw a purple rubber wristband. Leo raised his eyebrows at his brother and passed the bracelet to you. “What’s this?”
“That, my nosy brother, is Doc’s mission.” You looked up at that and met Donnie’s serious eyes, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “We need those Pyxis records before anyone else gets hurt – someone in that hospital is dirty, and somehow, they’re connected to Bishop and whatever fucked up experiments he has going on.
“You’ll be working in a different department every day, noon to midnight. All you have to do is be a good nurse, keep a cool head, and find a way to press that wristband into the Pyxis for at least thirty seconds. Once it beeps, it means the data has been sent to me.” Donatello raised his eyebrows. “Do you think you can do that?”
On your other side, April scoffed and slapped a hand to your shoulder. She hadn’t spoken yet all morning, never did without her proper caffeine intake, but it seemed the coffee was finally kicking in.
“Are you kidding? This one can do anything, can’t ya?”
“Hell yeah, baby!” Mikey screeched and pounded the table with excitement.
You smiled at April sidelong, heart still racing from all of the information…and your apparent role in it. Never have you been involved in one of the guys’ missions, not like April and Casey are. You’re the team member they see last, sewing up the wounds of the fight, not preparing to break them open.
As usual, Leo was the one to break you out of your thoughts. He curled his fingers around yours in question, and though the others were still babbling around you, when you met his eyes it felt like it was just the two of you in the room. His expression was unreadable, which meant he was thinking, but you let him see all of you. Let him see the uncertainty in your gaze.
“Where will Mikey be in all this?” Leo didn’t break eye contact with you, but he did speak loudly enough to draw the attention of the rest of the table.
Donatello cleared his throat. “Our dearest Angelo will be working in the hospital cafeteria, just in case.”
“That’s really not necessary,” you protested, ignoring Leo when his head whipped toward yours. “You guys are going to need all of you for –”
“Absolutely not.” Your attention snapped back to Leo, and he tightened his grip on your hand.
Here you go, part of you thought. This is the part where he makes me feel useless.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re going into enemy territory,” Leonardo reasoned. “And none of us go into enemy territory without backup.”
An old, restless part of your aching heart settled into place at the words. Of course, Leo isn’t going to dishonor you by suggesting you can’t do something, by insisting you stay behind – no matter how things between you have shifted.
“Right.” Raph nodded at the end of the table, and you didn’t miss the proud sheen in his eyes. “Plus, I’m sure Mike doesn’t mind doing his best impression of Meat Sweats for about a week?”
Michelangelo’s grin was positively devious, and you did not like the evil way he rubbed his hands together.
“It would be my pleasure.”
April nudged you once more, drawing your attention back to her and Casey looming over her other side, stuffing his face with homebaked Hamato croissants. “So, you in girl?” she asked, squinting at you mischievously through her glasses.
Your smile grew until the two of you wore matching, feral grins. “Yeah. I’m in.”
THURSDAY - Oncology
“I really have to go,” you murmur into Leo’s mouth at the front door. Your body is betraying your words, however, melting into Leo’s gigantic frame as your lips slant across each other, slower and more methodical than the moonrise.
“Me too.” Breaking away reluctantly, Leo’s mouth travels to your temple to nose at your hairline and inhale deeply. “Big day today, and yet here you are distracting me. As usual.”
You laugh at that, bright and clear as you pull back toward the shimmering blue portal behind you, peering up at him with a guileless smile. “I’ll see you soon?”
“Duh. Family meeting tonight after your shift, remember?”
“Right.”
Leo catches your hand in his before you can step away completely, and your face heats when he presses a tender kiss to the palm of your hand. “Once all this is over, I’m taking you out on the town. A real date, just you and me.”
Your next smile is shy. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” Leo twists your hand until he’s kissing the arch of your fingers, your thumb, the sensitive underside of your wrist. “Can’t be your boyfriend until I take you out on a date.”
“Says who?”
“The rules.”
“Ah.”
“So?” Leonardo’s eyes are sultry when he looks back up at you. His lips are plush, softer than velvet on your knuckles. “Can I be your boyfriend?”
“Depends on if you wow me or not, Blue.” You seize Leo by the baldric and pull him in for one final, lingering kiss. By the time you’re shoving him away for the last time, he looks a little dazed. “I’ll see you later. Be careful today.”
You step through the portal to the hospital’s garage before Leo has another chance to distract either of you. Left alone in your apartment, he inhales sharply, something so large expanding in his chest, he doesn’t think he has space for it.
“Bye,” he manages just as the portal zips closed. “Fuck.”
Oncology is busy, but quiet. Nurses move more slowly across the floor. Next of kin drift around like ghosts between unnaturally still patient rooms. You make sure to smile at everyone you see – in the grand scheme of things, you got off easy with your patients so far. It’s impossible to know what your colleagues are dealing with in the department today.
You’ve been in their shoes before.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?”
You jump and turn away from the window where you were observing a pair of young siblings lying with their sick mother. The man who had spoken – a doctor, according to his hospital ID – arches an eyebrow above a pair of angular glasses.
“The body turns against itself, producing cells upon cells upon cells to fight a disease that doesn’t exist,” the doctor continues, joining you at the observation window. He looks like he’s still in high school, a short black man with a flattop that barely reaches your eyeline. “For humans, cancer is as never-ending a war as the ones our governments wage.”
You raise your eyebrows when he thrusts his hand toward you. “Dr. Baxter Stockman, MS 3.”
“Wow.” This guy has a weird vibe, but then again, all doctors do, so you strip off your glove and shake his hand. “How old were you when you started college, ten?”
In typical Doctor fashion, Dr. Stockman preens at the compliment. “I got my first degree in engineering at fourteen. Now, my primary focus is genetics.”
“Ah. So, you’re some kind of genius.”
Dr. Stockman smiles widely, and you don’t like the way he leans in close. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“Uh, Nurse?” You perk up at the voice, grateful for an excuse to escape the weird doctor. One of your patient’s daughters, Alma, is standing in the doorway.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” you ask, taking a few steps toward her. You feel Dr. Stockman at your back, listening, and you fight the urge to shake him off like he’s a bug.
“My mom’s saying her stomach hurts,” Alma explains, looking up at you with big wet eyes.
“Okay.” You pat the girl’s shoulder soothingly. “I’ll up her meds a little so she’ll be –”
“Actually,” Dr. Stockman cuts in again, and the only reason you don’t glare is because he is technically higher up the ladder than you. “Mrs. Collins is due for surgery soon, so if she’s in pain, we may as well start prepping her for surgery. Go get me some dexmedetomidine.”
It’s a fight to keep your face neutral as the man sweeps into the patient’s room, brushing past Alma without even a glance. The young girl cringes as he passes, then makes baffled eye contact with you.
“I like you better,” she whispers, and you smile.
“I’ll be right back,” you promise and turn toward the nurse’s station.
You download and send the Pyxis information to Donnie while the medication dispenses, and when you get back to Mrs. Collins room, Dr. Stockman is gone.
After four days, the boys finally managed to track down the rogue mutants – whose names are, to everyone’s delight, Bebop and fucking Rocksteady. They had them on the ropes, chasing them in the Turtle Tank, when they blew up an overpass on the FDR, forcing your friends from fight mode to rescue mode. It’s a miracle, and a testament to the Hamato Clan’s skill, that no one died.
It’s past one in the morning, and you’re in Donnie’s lab, tweezing gravel out of some nasty road rash Raph got on his calf. Leo, Mikey, April, and Casey are all curled up together across the pile of bean bags in the corner. The only noise, other than the plinking of asphalt dropping into the tin Leo gave you, is Mikey and April’s raucous snoring when Donatello finally pulls out the Pyxis findings for the day.
“Dr. Henry Twill?”
“Clear,” you respond, and you hear Donatello flip a page.
“Kiara Bates, nurse?”
“Clear.”
“Dr. Donna – Ooo, a fellow Donna – Perkins?”
“Clear – Donnie.”
Donatello spins around in his chair. “What?”
You sigh and look up from cleaning Raph’s wound. “I don’t want to disrespect your process, but why are you asking me about people who came up clean on the Pyxis?”
“Because everyone so far has come up clean,” Donnie shouts, clearly reaching the peak of his frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense! And when data fails, the only thing left to rely on is intuition – your intuition, to be exact.”
“Okay,” you reply calmly. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, Don.”
“We are missing something, I just don’t know what.” He looks so irate that you find yourself making slightly fearful eye contact with Raphael. Donnie spins back toward his computer screens, muttering viciously under his breath the whole time. “Okay, okay, moving onto Oncology…what about Miguel Santos, nurse?”
“Clear.” You focus back on Raph. Under the beam of your flashlight, the road rash seems to be clear of debris. Donatello keeps listing names for you as you finish cleaning and wrapping his calf, and by the time Raph’s sitting up, Donnie’s reached the end of the list.
“Dammit.” Donnie drops his head in his hands. “That’s everyone.”
You frown. “No, it’s not.”
He whips his head around to glare at you. “Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not,” you insist, glaring at him in return. Despite your usually boundless patience, Donnie’s attitude is starting to get on your nerves. “I met a student doctor there today named Baxter Stockman.”
Leonardo’s at your side so fast you yelp when he takes you by the shoulders. “Did you just say Baxter Stockman?”
“Yeah..?” You squint at him suspiciously. “Why?”
Leo’s eyes get infinitesimally wider, and you watch as he picks up a pencil from off the desk and hurls it with perfect precision to bonk Mikey’s forehead, eraser first. “Mikey! Wake up!”
The youngest turtle squints sourly at first, but quickly gets to his feet once he sees Leo’s expression. “What happened?”
“Baxter Stockboy is now Baxter Stock-man, and he’s a doctor at Apollo,” Leo explains quickly.
Mikey’s eyes are huge. “Holy guacamole.”
“Wait…” You all turn to face Donnie. “You mean that kid who used to hiss at me whenever I went to Stock & Shop?”
“And the kid who has a lifelong vendetta against us that nearly got us killed and landed him in kid genius jail,” Leo clarifies, then side-eyes his twin. “And don’t act like you didn’t hiss back.”
“Irrelevant.” Donnie refocuses on you. “Tell us everything.”
Mikey went through the portal first, but Leo caught your hand in his before you could follow. He didn’t speak right away, so you watched him for a moment. His markings were still glowing preternaturally with his ninpo, the rest of him tinted blue from the light of his portal, giving him an ethereal look in the damp sewer tunnel. You’d always known Leo was handsome, but after the night before, you find yourself being struck dumb more easily than usual.
“You’ll be careful, right?” Leo’s voice is unusually quiet, almost timid.
You scoffed playfully in an attempt to bring a smile back to his face. “I won’t do anything you would do, if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m being serious.” The severity of his tone shut you up, and though Leo squeezed your hand tighter, he didn’t step any closer. He wasn’t looking at you. “I don’t know what I would…we need you there, but I –”
Leo cut himself off, unable to get the words out. You squeezed his hand and stepped closer, nearly toe-to-toe, until he was forced to focus back on you. The moment he made eye contact with you, you smiled your sweetest smile, encouraging him to break out of his head and complete his thought. You saw the moment it worked – Leonardo huffed a laugh and brought his other hand up to cradle the back of your neck.
“I just wish we had time to figure ourselves out without you playing spy,” he confessed, and oh, how your heart ached at the words. “So please, rely on Mikey, and don’t do anything stupid until I get to kiss you at the end of all this.”
You couldn’t help but smile softly at Leonardo’s clear worry for you, and you didn’t realize you were reaching up to cup his cheek until the fine texture of his scales met your fingertips. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, tilting his head to kiss your palm. The tender press sent shooting stars racing up your forearm.
“I won’t do anything stupid,” you whispered, enjoying the way Leo stroked his thumb over your neck as if to say Good. “But that means you’re not allowed to do anything stupid either.”
Leo finally smiled at that. “You know I can’t promise that, amor.”
“Promise me anyway and you can kiss me goodbye.” Leo’s eyes widened at that, and you grinned cheekily at the reaction, filing it away to possibly use later.
“Oh my god, I’m in love with a tyrant.” Leonardo dropped your hand in favor of cupping your face in both and squishing your cheeks together until you squawked indignantly. “Withholding kisses is cruel and unusual punishment!”
“Now I’m serious, Nardo.” You grabbed his wrists and leaned closer, making sure Leo took in every inch of passion in your eyes. “Promise me anyway. Don’t do anything stupid until I get to kiss you at the end of this.”
“Okay.” The unmistakable sheen of tears shone in Leonardo’s eyes from you repeating his words back to him. “I promise I won’t do anything exceedingly stupid.”
You sighed. “I’ll take what I can get. Now, kiss me before I’m late for my first –”
Leonardo’s fingers fluttered once over your cheeks before he crushed his mouth to yours. You grabbed his waist, the force of his kiss making you feel suddenly adrift, like a boat caught in a riptide. Leo pressed into you deeply, and you let him, lips moving across yours like he wanted to commit them to memory. You kissed him back with just as much force, wishing for the same thing.
Friday - Oncology
The hospital is still bustling with activity when you go to find Mikey at the end of your shift. Every phone ringing or shoe squeaking across the floor is like a needle to your overworked senses – it’s one thing to work a twelve-hour shift without much sleep, it’s another for that shift to be in oncology. That, and you hadn’t seen Dr. Baxter Stockman all day, when the whole reason Donnie assigned you to oncology again was to keep an eye on him.
So, when you find Mikey waiting for you in the lobby, you greet him with a frown between your brows that feels like a physical weight.
“Whoa, sis.” Only once he’s deemed your hug is over does the youngest Hamato push you back to arm's length and give you a critical once-over. Whatever Mikey sees has him looking at you in concern. “You got a Raph Chasm. Rough day?”
Your shoulders sag. “The roughest. I had to go cry in the bathroom at one point, and I didn’t see Dr. Stockman once.”
“Aw.” Mikey pulls you into another bone-crushing hug, and you sink into it, wrapping your arms around his comforting presence. “Don’t worry, we’ll get some pizza in you and fix you right up!”
You snort out a laugh and allow Mikey to lift you off the floor and swing you back and forth. “Mike, you know I love you, but if I have pizza for dinner four nights in a row, I will explode.”
Michelangelo’s giggles are sunshine and rainbows floating up to you. “Fair enough.” He sets you back down on your feet and winks. “How about Italian?”
“You’re an asshole,” you scold, but there’s no heat to it. Mikey laughs again and starts to list more options, when movement behind him catches your eye. And it seems you’re only meant to see important things over the view of a Hamato brother’s shoulder, because there he is.
“Mike!” you whisper-shout, crowding in close to your friend. “There’s Dr. Stockman!”
“What?” Mikey stands up on his tiptoes and turns around to peer through the crowd. “Where?”
“Ten o’clock, headed for the doors.” You feel the moment Mikey spots Dr. Stockman with the air around you suddenly becomes charged. “He must be leaving for the day.”
“Let’s follow him.” Mikey takes your hand and starts hauling ass toward the hospital entrance. Up ahead, you see Baxter walk through the first set of glass doors. “If we find out where he lives, it’s bound to tell us something.”
You nod at that, and are first out the door when Michelangelo holds it open for you. Once you’re through the second set of doors, you spot Dr. Stockman striding quickly away to the left. Mikey takes your hand again and pulls you across the street, where you can follow him from a safe distance.
To both of your surprise, the good doctor turns left again at the corner, heading in the opposite direction of the nearest subway station. It’s a scramble to follow along.
“Is that still the hospital?” Mikey asks, gesturing to the wall Dr. Stockman is walking past.
You nod. “Yeah, it takes up the whole block.” Mikey hmms, but doesn’t say anything more.
You keep a good thirty feet behind Dr. Stockman, following him at a leisurely pace and using the line of parked cars down the street as semi-cover. Upon reaching the next corner, the doctor turns left again, still hugging the side of the hospital. You share a glance with Mikey before following, both of your eyes saying I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
There’s only one door on the whole length of the back wall, and Baxter walks right up to it. He looks around once, thankfully not spotting you or Mike, then scans his keycard and walks back inside the hospital.
Mikey’s eyes are wide when he turns to you. “What’s back there?”
You shrug. “Just offices, storage rooms as far as I know. Administration stuff.” Mikey hmms again and refocuses on the door.
The two of you sit in the small park across the street for half an hour before Dr. Stockman finally emerges. Even from a distance, he looks elated, eyes taking on the same crazed look Donnie gets after he invents something super cool. You watch in silence as he walks away, whistling.
“His bag’s gone.”
You turn to look at Mikey. “Huh?”
“He was carrying a briefcase earlier,” he clarifies, eyes narrowed into complete ninja mode. “He doesn’t have it anymore. Wherever he just was, he felt safe enough to leave it there.”
“What if he just has an office back here and didn’t want to go through the hospital?”
“He could, but that wouldn’t explain why there aren’t any security cameras this side of the hospital.”
You blink and scan the walls, realizing Mikey’s right. “Okay. So, what do we do?”
Mikey checks the time on his phone: 12:42 am. “Leo told me he and the others would be no-contact until one am, but we don’t have time to check in with them,” he breathes, then refocuses on you. “Here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m gonna follow Stockboy, and you’re gonna see what’s through that door.”
“What?” You squeak as Mikey hauls you to your feet and begins dragging you bodily toward the weird lone door. “Mikey, what if there’s someone else in there?”
“Then, you’re a registered nurse who saw the doctor you have a crush on come through this door, and you wanted to see if you could get lucky.”
You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”
“I know.” Mikey grins once, before his eyes narrow once more with the gravity of what he’s asking you to do. “Now, if I don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna lose him. You got this, Doc?”
Thirty seconds. “Leo told me not to do anything stupid,” you confess, and Mikey laughs again.
“That’s rich, coming from him.” Mikey’s lips quirk up wryly. “Most of the time, ‘stupid’ is our only option.”
“Right.” You take one more deep, grounding breath, then meet your friend’s eyes and nod. “I got this.”
“Alright!” He grins and sweeps you into one more bone-crushing hug. “After one o’clock, call Leo to portal you home. I’ll see you there.” And just like that, Mikey’s gone, leaving you with nothing but a dead leaf blowing across the concrete where he just stood.
You turn toward the lone door and roll your shoulders, steeling yourself, then swipe your ID card. Knowing what little you do about Baxter Stockman, the scanner is probably coded to his ID and his ID only – but no one is a match for the genius that is Hamato Donatello, so you’re pleased yet unsurprised when the light beeps green under your keycard and you hear the click of the door unlocking.
Instead of opening to a long hallway, like you expected, you step into just a room. A normal, ten-by-ten office, with a normal-looking desk, file cabinets, and even a few plants in one corner. You jump when the door clicks shut behind you, bathing you in darkness, and you curse as you pull out your phone to click on the flashlight.
The desk lamp doesn’t turn on when you try the switch, and neither do the overhead lights, immediately filling you with suspicion. Not only that, but the briefcase Mikey mentioned is nowhere to be seen. This room is probably a front, like a fake drawer that’s hiding the Declaration of Independence underneath. You just have to find the key.
“Okay, creepy doctor with a vendetta,” you mutter to yourself, eyes scanning every last inch of the room for something out of the norm, “where would you keep your secret creepy – oh.”
There it is: A framed photo of the Stock & Shop blimp right smack dab in the middle of the wall. Lifting it up reveals a glowing, blue button. Maybe this Baxter Stockman isn’t as smart as you thought at first, if this is where he keeps his super secret stash of…you have no idea yet.
You sigh and hesitate for only a moment before pressing the button.
Not one part of you is expecting the floor to disappear out from under you, and you screech as you slide down into the darkness. It’s only a breath or two before you see light at the end of the tunnel (ha-ha), and you clamp your mouth shut just before shooting feet-first out of the slide and into yet another, unfamiliar room. The floor here is metal, too, so not only does your ass collide painfully with the floor, but you slip forward another couple of feet before coming to a complete stop.
You flop onto your back and stare unseeingly up at the ceiling, taking a moment to catch your breath. What the fuck.
That’s when you see the pipes: Clear pipes stretching all across the ceiling in every direction, each pumping a different color of neon, from pinks to blues to golds. The energy in the substances looks familiar, but you can’t quite put a finger on why yet, so you track the pink pipe down the wall as you sit up, trying to find its source.
Your heart stops when you see the pipe ends above a hospital bed, and a quick glance around shows three more in the room. Slowly, carefully, you push yourself to your feet, and you have to stop yourself from sobbing aloud when you see the forms lying prone in the hospital beds.
You’ve found your missing persons, and Donnie was right. They never left the hospital.
summary: Maybe you can be the brave one, for once. Maybe you have to be with this.
warnings: <3
ao3 link
You expect life to go back to normal after that, whatever “normal” means for someone like you.
Instead, Donnie forces a vacation on you.
You don’t announce yourself when you storm into his lab. The so-called genius is hunched over the main table, goggles flipped down as he welds together his latest murder contraption – completely oblivious to the indignation approaching at his back.
Only because you like all four of your limbs attached to your torso do you wait for Donatello to turn his iron off before speaking. You even give him a moment to admire his work, because you’re an exceedingly gracious person. He hums to himself in satisfaction when he runs his fingers over the freshly-welded pieces, so neat that even your untrained eye can appreciate it.
In the end, it’s those “genius” fingers you smack with your stylus.
“Ow!” Donatello screams in shock, whipping eyes full of pure betrayal to yours. “What is wrong with you?!”
You smack him again on the shoulder for good measure, then shove your stupid purple Genius-Built tablet in his face. “Why is my schedule this week fucking empty?”
Donnie has the sense to push back from his station and roll away, putting some distance between the two of you. “Because I cleared it,” he says, and, to your satisfaction, he actually looks a little afraid.
Well, at least he’s honest.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to picture the fresh oxygen flowing into your lungs like it’s water, putting out the fire of your anger. You’ve never liked being angry, especially not at your loved ones – though on the rare occasion there is steam shooting out of your ears, it’s usually because of one of said loved ones.
But Donnie has been uncharacteristically quiet since everything happened with Bishop. It hasn’t escaped your notice that whenever you enter a room, he’s been quick to find somewhere else to be. Not only that, but he’s noticeably less sardonic than usual, which in your experience means that something is deeply, deeply wrong.
So, you press your palms together, soothe your anger, and ask, calmly, “Why?”
Donnie has the nerve to roll his eyes. “Come on, Doc. You already know what I’m about to say –“
You press your fingers over your eyes until you see spots and groan. “Donathan, I’m fine –”
“– You suffered a trauma less than a week ago –”
“– It was a concussion! It was –”
“If you say ‘It was nothing’ again, I’m going to gouge out my own eyeballs. And I’m not just talking about the concussion!” Donatello shouts so loud that you take a hesitant step back. His eyes flick down to your feet at the movement.
You don’t like the way his eyes go blank.
You rush forward a few steps and take his hand, squeezing it tight between yours before the guilt can set in – because no matter what that stagger back looked like, Donatello didn’t scare you. He could never scare you, because you know he would never hurt you. And you refuse to let him think he did.
“Don’t do that,” you admonish. “I just wasn’t expecting you to shout. That’s all.”
Donnie’s shoulders sag with the force of his sigh, and you can practically see the self-directed vitriol bleed out of his limbs. This time it’s his turn to take a deep, calming breath, and he runs a grateful thumb across your knuckles before dropping your hand.
“Seriously, sis,” he begins again, and this time, you listen without argument. “You were drugged and kidnapped off the street. You may want to pretend that you’re okay, but I have eyes.” He raises his stupid, drawn-on eyebrows meaningfully. “And someone once told me that you can’t fill other people’s cups if you don’t fill your own first.”
You falter at that, but are ultimately unable to come up with a response. With no words left to speak through, your anger finally sputters out, like a candle in the wind. Donnie pushes a chair toward you, and your shoulders sag when you sink into it.
“I hate when you use my words against me,” you grumble.
“Scoff. I wouldn’t have to if you ever took your own advice.”
And you want to argue, but you know the jerk is right, so you just sigh and pick at a loose string hanging from your shirt. “I know, I know. What about my patients?”
Donatello rolls his eyes. “Seriously? I’ve had a suitable replacement on standby for literally three years now. Honestly,” You rarely hear your real name around the Lair, so the sound of it makes you look up. Donnie continues once he has your attention: “When was the last time you took a vacation outside of visiting your other, less-fun family?”
Normally, you’d smile at the subtle dig, but his question eats at you. When was the last time you took some time off? There was that weekend in the spring when all of you went up to Todd’s for April’s birthday, but other than that…nothing.
“That’s what I thought,” Donatello drawls. He flips his goggles back over his eyes, sass absolutely exuding from the movement, then drags his rolling chair back over to the work he’d abandoned when you’d stormed in. Your mouth is still hanging open when he turns the welding iron back on.
“I knew giving you access to my schedule would end up biting me in the ass,” you shout over the noise.
“Everything’s taken care of, Doc,” Donnie calls over his shoulder. “Take your fucking vacation.” The tone of his voice reminds you enough of yourself that you scoff out a laugh.
“...Thanks, Donnie,” you say, finally. He doesn’t turn around, though you know he heard you when he raises the welding iron in the air like a pointer finger.
“Thank me by getting some sleep. You look like you’ve been hit by Hypno.”
You roll your eyes and spin on your heel toward the door. “Wow. Thanks, Don.”
“Now that I think about it, I don’t think Leo’s been sleeping in his room lately –”
“Oh my god, Donnie.”
That night, you’re woken at 3 am by a bright flash of cyan against your closed curtains.
Since everything went down with Bishop, it's become an alarm all of its own.
You could cuddle deeper into your pillow and fall back asleep, pretend not to notice Leo’s arrival...but you've never done that before, and you certainly aren't going to start now. So you heave yourself out of bed, tug on your favorite pair of fluffy pants, and stumble sleepily to your balcony. You stop briefly to look at your visitor before opening the door – but Leo’s back is to you, so the only thing you can read are the tense lines of his shoulders.
Most concerning of all is that he doesn't turn around, even though you know he can sense your approach. Usually, he’s making a stupid face at you through the window, or working on getting a joint lit for your arrival.
But Leo stays still.
A familiar calm settles over you before you open the door, and you firmly set your own problems aside, preparing yourself to soothe whatever hurt your friend is about to spill to you. The warm summer breeze tousles your hair as you reach the railing and join Leonardo in looking out at the city.
And for a few minutes, the two of you just...exist.
The air smells of petrichor. Next to you, Leo smells like iron and sweat and the rain you got earlier – he and the others must have just wrapped up whatever problem called their names tonight. You take a moment to subtly scan him for injuries, only looking back at the streets below when you find none.
Good. So it’s not that kind of visit.
"Late night or early morning?" you ask, when really you mean, Mission or nightmare?
Leo huffs a laugh, and you hate the way you fixate on his bicep brushing yours. "Can I say both?" he asks.
You roll your eyes. "No, because you told me you were sleeping well and you promised you wouldn't use your Face Man powers against me."
A beat passes. In the corner of your vision, Leo's head drops. He takes your hand in his. "I know. I'm sorry."
That finally draws your attention to his face. You can count on one hand the number of times Leo has outright apologized in front of you – and you've known him since you both were fifteen.
"If you're sorry, you're not telling me something," you whisper. Leo's fingers tighten around yours, and you squeeze back in assurance. Looking at him now, hunched over against your balcony railing, he looks...tired. "What's going on, Blue?"
His eyes meet yours for a second, then flick back down to the street below. After a moment, he sighs deeply and finally turns to face you for good. Your fingers are still crushed between Leo’s when he whispers, “I have to tell you something, but I’m terrified.”
And suddenly, you know what this is about. Why Leonardo looks so suddenly out of place on your balcony. But, unlike him…you’re not afraid.
Maybe you can be the brave one, for once. Maybe you have to be with this.
So, you shake your head and step into his space, urging his attention to stay on you. “Come on, Leon,” you murmur disbelievingly. “Since when do we hide from each other?”
He’s quiet for a moment as you stare at one another. It’s a heavy silence. Whatever it is Leo wants to tell you, it’s not something he’s hiding: It’s something he’s been holding. And you can feel it – feel its weight in your chest like whatever he’s about to say has already made a home there.
Leonardo looks back out over the city, inhales like it hurts, then manages to stutter out: “I think I’m in love with you.”
The world around you grinds to a halt.
He’s continuing before you can form a coherent thought: “I think I have been for a while. Years, now. But then the Kraang happened, and you were going to school, and we each had our own lives, so it never seemed like the right time. And I was – I am – happy just being your friend. So, I didn’t do anything about it.”
Leo’s eyes are burning brighter than stars when they meet yours again. “But, I thought about it. For years.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. You feel frozen by his words, stuck like a sculpture in a museum as you wait for him to continue. Like if you breathe wrong, Leo will vanish.
“I kept thinking that if I left it alone, maybe the feeling would go away,” he continues. “Maybe you’d find someone better. Someone safer.” The mere thought of that has your head shaking, and Leo sighs, dropping his forehead to yours. You hadn’t realized you’d stepped so close. “I thought I could live around it. But then you pressed the panic button.” Leo’s voice breaks at that, and tears well up in your eyes at the horrible sound.
He lifts his hands to your cheeks and brushes the tears away before they can fall. “If Raph hadn’t grabbed Bishop when we got there, I probably would have killed him. And when I saw you tied to that chair, I realized that I can’t love you from the sidelines anymore. I just can’t.”
“I don’t know if I deserve you,” Leonardo whispers quietly, like it’s a secret meant for only your ears. “I don’t even know if you want me. It’s okay if you don’t. But I had to tell you, because I just can’t stand it any more.”
Neither of you moves for a long while after he finishes, and Leo’s earnest, loving (because that’s what that inexplicable something has been this whole time, it’s been love) gaze never breaks from yours.
You refuse to look away. You don't have the words to speak, too busy trying to keep yourself from crying, so instead you nuzzle your head against where his still leans against yours. There’s a slight quiver to the way he’s breathing, and the rhythm draws you closer, jaw tilting up like a magnet until finally, you kiss him.
It’s a short kiss, not even lasting long enough for you to enjoy the foreign feeling of another person’s lips on yours – of Leonardo’s lips on yours. Except for his fists clenching at his sides, Leo stays completely still, like he’s afraid any sudden movement will scare you away.
If you’re being honest with yourself, it just might.
Eventually, and too soon, you pull away, and a thrill of satisfaction zaps through you when you see that Leo’s jaw is on the floor.
“You kissed me,” he mumbles. Then, to your horror, he claps his hands over his cheeks and hunches forward over the railing, moaning loud enough for the whole city to hear: “Oh my god, you kissed me,” he moans.
“I’m sorry!” you squeak, feeling a bit lightheaded by how fast your face warms. “I’m sorry! I don’t know why – I just thought – ”
“No! No, no, no, don’t apologize,” Leo squeaks, frantically waving his hands in front of you. You go to drop your face in your hands, but Leo catches your palms in his before you can, pulling you a step closer until you’re forced to look up into his bright eyes. “I’m sorry for freaking out," he says. “I just…you kissed me. Didn’t expect that.”
“Neither did I,” you mumble under your breath, making Leo chuckle. “Just…gimme a sec.”
Leo runs his hands up and down your arms a few times in a soothing gesture. “Take your time. I’ll be right here, amor.”
For some reason, the words make you crumple, forehead dropping to his plastron with an uncomfortable bump.
“That’s the thing,” you whisper. “You’re right here. Even when you’re being a fucking idiot, you’ve always been right here.” You can’t quite bring yourself to meet Leonardo’s eyes again yet, so you fish around until you find his hand. His fingers tangle with yours like a lock going into a key, and the feel of them and the steady rise and fall of his chest soothe you.
When you finally pull back and risk a look, Leonardo’s working hard to keep his expression unreadable – but you can see the uncertainty in the crease of his mouth, the line of tension in his jaw. He may be the Face Man, but he’s never been able to hide anything from you, and the longer you go without saying anything, the more light that fades from his eyes.
But if your mouth opens again now, all of your feelings will bleed out at once. So, you don’t say anything right away. You just reach for his other hand slowly, carefully, like the movement itself is a prayer. The apprehension bleeds out of Leo’s face the moment your skin meets his. He holds you like he’s learning how, like your fingers are sacred, and when he tightens his grip, he doesn’t let go.
“I think I’ve loved you for so long, I didn’t even know that’s what it was,” you confess, and all of Leo’s breath rushes out at once.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Exactly. That’s it.”
“I’ve never done any of this before,” you whisper, and Leo squeezes your hands harder. “I don’t know what to do. But…I think I want to try.”
Leonardo’s eyes flick between yours for a split second before he laughs in relief. “Yeah?”
You nod, smiling shyly. “Yeah.” Leo laughs again and hugs you so hard your feet lift off the ground – only to set you down just as quickly.
“Wait,” he murmurs, eyes suddenly serious again. He loosens his grip on your shoulders and asks, “Are you sure?”
You can’t help but laugh and roll your eyes. “Yes, Nardo. Let’s just…take it slow.” Leo slides his hands up until he’s cradling your face, and though your breath catches, you internally applaud yourself for not freaking out when he leans in close and drops his forehead to yours.
Leonardo’s gaze is everywhere, studying your expression, your mouth, your eyes. You never really thought about just how big his hands are – his fingers span from where he’s cupping your cheeks over your jaw and into your hair. Those hands caress your face once, gently, then relax.
“I’ll do anything you want as long as I get to have you,” he promises, and you melt.
A dopey smile spreads across your face, and the way you drape your arms over Leonardo’s broad shoulders is almost sleepy. “Yeah?” you whisper, running your fingers over the lip of his shell.
“Anything,” Leo confirms without even a beat of hesitation, and your smile widens impossibly further. He grins and draws you close with one arm banded around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together until there’s no space between. “Anything you want,” he says again, and you giggle.
“Laying it on thick, huh?”
“I just got you.” Leonardo winks. “Gotta keep you around somehow.”
It’s this, for some reason, that finally makes you feel bashful. You like the idea of Leonardo wanting to keep you around on this new, deeper level. It’s always been hard for you to think of yourself as someone who’s “wanted.” By your friends, of course – but never just by that one person.
Being wanted by Leo feels new. It feels good.
It makes you want to push your bounds just a smidgen more.
“I, uh…” You trail off, wandering fingers finding the long tails of his mask and beginning to twirl them idly. “I really like kissing you, Blue.”
Leo’s smile softens, and you nearly stumble back a bit when he draws his arm away to cup your cheeks again. He looks giddy, cheeks flushed pink.
“I like kissing you, too,” he whispers. Your breath hitches when he slides one hand into your hair, the touch leaving a trail of sparks over your neck. “Can I kiss you again?”
“Anything I want, right?” you tease, and Leo shakes his head as he leans in.
“Cheeky,” he growls, and you can’t help but smile.
You initiated that first, spur-of-the-moment time, so there’s a different kind of thrill to Leonardo leaning in and guiding your faces together. The heat of his breath puffs across your mouth once as your eyes close, and when his lips meet yours, it’s a relief.
Part of you was scared that you wouldn’t feel anything when he kissed you. What if this is too big a wish, or all in your head? A few people had tried to kiss you before, and it had been just that: A kiss. Lips meeting lips. No sparks flying like in the novels, no world-altering shift in the fabric of the universe.
When Leonardo kisses you, lightning crackles up your spine and sparks through your veins until the very tips of your toes tingle with it.
His mouth slanting across yours, the way he simultaneously holds you like you’re sacred and like he can’t get enough, is an answer to nearly every question you’ve ever known. A pathetic sound escapes you when Leo pulls away, and you nearly groan in relief when he only readjusts the angle to kiss you again. When you get a hint of his flavor, you realize worrying about anything was stupid.
You don’t know how long you stand there wrapped up in one another, but when Leo pulls away, it’s still too soon.
“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, and you shudder. “I gotta – We can’t –” Unable to find the words, Leo shakes his head in frustration. “You said slow,” he finally moans out.
If he weren’t right, you would kiss him again for that sentence alone.
Still breathless, you nod and drop down onto your heels, enjoying the way Leo hunches so you don’t get too far. “I have to go slow,” you correct, endorphins making your head fuzzy and tongue loose. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Leo pulls you closer at the words and buries his face in your neck. You squeak when he presses a kiss there, the sudden touch like a pinprick on your skin.
“Trust me, amor,” he murmurs, and you flush when he pulls back to look at you. Looking into Leonardo’s eyes after he just kissed you senseless feels like looking directly into the sun. “You can’t fuck this one up.”
Logically, you know that’s not true. Mistakes and grievances are going to find the both of you, no matter how hard you try to avoid them. But right now, the city is dark around you, and Leonardo had come here at 3 am just to tell you he’s loved you for years, so you think that fearful conversation can probably wait.
Leo predicts your next words by screwing his eyes shut and yawning so hard you think you hear his jaw pop.
“Bedtime?” you ask, giggling. Leo nods enthusiastically and runs his hands up and down your arms, eyes still watering from the force of his exhaustion. “Okay, good, because I’m pretty sure you just got rid of my last brain cell.”
Leo snorts and spins you around by your shoulders until you’re facing the door. “My brain fled my body that first time you kissed me,” he whispers in your ear, only to laugh when you shrink away with a blush.
“As if you had one to begin with,” you mutter under your breath, yelping when Leo pinches your side in retaliation.
After locking the door, Leonardo follows you into bed as if he’s in a trance. When you open the covers in invitation, he slides seamlessly into the empty space and presses in close, tangling your legs together until his face is in your neck, thigh to thigh, hip to hip.
“Uuuuuuuggghh,” he groans into your skin, so loud and sudden that you can’t help but bark out a laugh. You feel Leo’s grin against your skin, and he mumbles, “You’re so warm.”
You giggle and gently peel his mask off, looping it over your headboard. “I knew you only wanted me for my body,” you tease, and Leonardo huffs, warm and wet on your neck. The sensation, and the comforting weight of Leo in your arms, sends happy bubbles floating through your chest.
As if sensing your joy, Leonardo presses a soft kiss to your jaw. “I’ll take what I can get, as long as it’s from you,” he says again.
For some reason, this time the words give you pause.
“Why?” you whisper to the ceiling, voice suddenly small. At the change in tone, Leo pushes himself back enough to look at you, but you can’t meet his eye. “Why me? Why now?”
Leo doesn’t respond right away, but you feel him watching you in the dark. The bed creaks when he shifts to lie on his side, pulling you with him until your knees knock together and you’re forced to look him in the eye. You can’t imagine your weight on his arm is comfortable, but the way Leonardo wraps you back up in the new position tells you he doesn’t mind.
Gentle as anything, Leo takes your hand with his free one and guides your fingers to his cheek – and the raised line across his cheekbone.
“Shreddy got me good with this one,” he murmurs, and your heart skips a beat. You press your fingers more insistently into the scar at the reminder. “Nearly took my head clean off.”
Leo pulls your hand off his cheek and closes his eyes, pressing the pads of your fingers to his mouth in a kiss that has your bones melting. Underneath you, his other arm pulls you impossibly closer until you’re nearly nose to nose, hands tangled between you. When Leo opens his eyes again, they’re shining in the dark.
“You stitched me up,” he whispers. “I think we only met the week before that.”
“Blue…” you breathe, not sure what else to say. Leo presses one last kiss to your fingers before pulling them to his bicep. Already knowing what’s there, you flatten your hand over the circular scar marring his shoulder markings.
“When I was still learning how to use my ninpo, Meat Sweats took a chunk out of my arm,” Leo recounts, and you can’t help but flinch, pressing your palm into the scar. “I passed out before we got back to the lair.”
The staunch reality of having to sober up quickly. A failed girls’ night. Red wine staining the couch, red blood on the floor –
Leonardo places a gentle finger under your chin and gently pulls your gaze back to his. “When I woke up, you were sitting next to my bed doing homework, you fucking nerd. Acting like you hadn’t just saved my life.” You can’t help but giggle at that, enjoying the way you jostle a bit when Leo laughs with you.
“So you like me because I won’t let you die?” you tease, fully expecting Leo’s offended grunt.
What you aren’t expecting is for him to curl his fingers around your chin and kiss you senseless.
Your surprised squeak quickly devolves into a contented moan when Leonardo pushes you onto your back, lips moving insistently across yours. The weight of him on you is overwhelming – the force of his muscular arms crushing you to him, his hard plastron pressing against your breasts, his lips sucking and nipping gently at yours. It’s not long before your eyes flutter shut and you respond with a bruising kiss all of your own.
Which is, of course, when Leonardo pulls away with a wet smack, and you’re left blinking up at him dopily.
“I love you,” he clarifies, a slight growl to his voice that sends shivers down your spine, “because the first thing you did when you moved into this place was give us all keys and an open invitation. I have to work a little harder to get under your skin, but you look beautiful when I do, and you take care of everyone before yourself, but are somehow always surprised when you get something in return.”
Leonardo presses one last, lingering kiss against your lips, then whispers against them: “Every last one of my scars was healed by you. And after eight years, you finally started acting like you were interested too, and I realized I would be an idiot if I never tried. That’s why.”
You’re hoping he can’t see the tears lining your eyes in the dark. “Okay,” you whisper, running your thumb across Leo’s cheekbone. “That’s sufficient.” He laughs again and rolls back to his side, pulling you with him until you’re facing each other.
“I expect a love confession that’s just as good – if not better – on my desk by tomorrow morning,” Leo says seriously, and you laugh as you tuck yourself under his chin.
“You got it, Blue.” You press a small kiss to his chin, just within reaching distance. “I love you, too, by the way.”
“I know.” Leonardo yawns as he rolls onto his back, once again pulling you with him until you’re sprawled halfway across him. The way he smacks his lips after is so comically endearing, you can’t help but plant one last kiss to his cheek – right over that little scar you healed so long ago.
“Good night, Han Solo,” you tease, and Leonardo huffs one more laugh before finally going slack with sleep, faster than you expect. The arm around your waist grows heavy, and you welcome the warm weight.
Mind still buzzing with Leo’s words, you curl closer around him and let your hands wander, taking in every line of his scales, documenting all of the places he gets soft. You drift off to the slow rise and fall of Leonardo’s chest, his strong heart beating beneath your ear, and you don’t think you’ve ever slipped into sleep more peacefully.
You blink awake to sunlight shining behind your curtains for the first time in days, and four tiny feet digging into your ribcage. Groaning your cat’s name in annoyance, you go to turn back over only to find yourself stuck in place by –
Oh. Right.
Leonardo’s wrapped around you like he’s a sloth and you’re a tree.
For a breathless moment, you just lay there: You’re curled on your side facing Leo, forehead against his arm and leg draped over his. One of his hands rests on your thigh in a casual claim that makes your stomach swoop. Frustrated by your lack of motion, your cat huffs dramatically and hops off the bed. She trots off into the other room, probably to knock some pictures off of your TV stand.
You’re just about to pull Leo closer and settle back into sleep, when his stupid fucking loud ass ringer blares to life –
♪ WAKE ME UP ♪
Leonardo shoots awake with a screech so loud that you scream.
♪ I CAN’T WAKE UP ♪
You try to scramble away from Leo, but his death grip around your waist keeps you close until he shuts his mouth.
♪ SAVE MEEEEEE ♪
Finally, Leonardo extricates himself from you enough to lean over the side of the bed, grab his phone from the charger, and silence it with a vitriol he usually only reserves for enemies. The blessed quiet of the morning wraps back around you like a blanket, and your shoulders sag in relief.
“Who the fuck was that?” you ask, hand still pressed to your heart in fright. Leo jumps slightly and looks over his shoulder at you, seeming surprised by the sight of you in your own bed.
You squeak when he swivels around and tackles you back down against the pillows, pulling you close all in one smooth movement. “Raph. Probably calling because I’m not in my room.”
You blink incredulously at the ceiling and run your hands down the back of Leo’s scalp. “Why in Barry’s name is that Raph’s ringtone?”
“Because when I would sleep past training, he would blast that song through my door until I came out,” Leo sighs against your neck, seemingly already falling back asleep.
“You guys really are a nightmare sometimes,” you muse, and Leo grunts out a laugh. Something vibrates under your hip, and you shift slightly to pull your own phone out from underneath you and wake the screen.
Apriiiiiill O’NEIL 🤸✨💚9:04am : Is Nardo with you?
You frown, and swipe open your phone, letting Leo groan now that you’re not scratching him anymore.
9:05am : Ya he spent the night here – why??
INCOMING CALL: Apriiiiiill O’NEIL 🤸✨💚
Your heart sinks.
“April?” you ask once you pick up, putting the call on speaker. Leo jolts up to look at you in confusion and you shake your head to tell him you don’t know what’s going on either, then continue, “Is everything okay?”
“Not even in the slightest.” April’s tone is dark enough that you cringe, eyes still locked with Leo’s now-concerned ones. “Wake that asshole up and get here. We got a Code Green.”
summary: Leo’s breath puffing across your cheek is all it takes for you to press closer, winding your arms around his neck until you’re chest to chest and enjoying the shudder that leaves him. “We need to talk,” you breathe.
September arrives with a swiftness that nearly knocks you on your ass.
All of a sudden, the nights aren’t just cool, they’re crisp. Standing in the sun becomes a balm to the senses rather than an oppressive attack, children are back in school, and dusk seems to turn just a bit more golden.
It’s your. Fucking. Favorite.
That weekend, April summons all of you to her roof for one last “Goodbye Warmth” party before the month passes and the wind gets too cold. Leo portals over a ping pong table, Mikey connects his best playlist, and you referee a tournament that Drake and Josh would be proud of on top of the glowing roofs until just two turtles are left standing: Twin versus twin.
A matchup that would normally be interesting, if one of said twins ever lost.
Right on cue, a purple paddle flying just centimeters in front of your nose breaks you out of your reverie.
“I’m gonna skin you alive!” Donatello roars, chest heaving with his vitriol. “One more round!” The object of his ire doesn’t even flinch: Leonardo’s stance is casual, composed as he tosses Donnie’s paddle up and down between his thumb and forefinger, having caught it just in time to avoid a black eye.
“That was a close one, Don,” Leonardo sings, then surprises you by hurling the paddle back at his brother with enough force that Donatello yelps as he catches it. An inexplicable shiver runs down your spine when Leo’s countenance hardens, and it’s the voice of a leader who speaks next: “Watch your fucking aim. Or are you that desperate to beat me?”
Donatello hisses. “That is it. One more round!”
A low chuckle from Leo draws your attention back to him, having been watching the whole exchange like it was a tennis match in itself. He rolls his shoulders, ninpo flashing in a display that makes your brain short-circuit.
God, Leonardo looks good today, all the part of a shining hero in the face of the setting sun. When he next rolls his shoulders, you track the flashes of his ninpo across his skin like its lightning across the horizon, blushing when you look back up only to meet Leo’s gaze. You don’t know what kind of look you have on your face, but something about it makes him raise his eyebrows in question: What?
You frown: What do you mean, 'What?’ Leonardo doesn’t answer, and your frown deepens as he continues to examine you like you’re a puzzle he’s lost the reference for.
He seems to find whatever he’s looking for, though, because the next thing you know, he’s relaxing his stance with a smirk and jutting his chin toward Donnie. “Go enjoy the party for a bit, ref. We’re gonna be here awhile.”
Your desperation to escape Leo’s all-knowing gaze has you spinning on your heel without another word and walking to the edge of the roof to stare directly into the sun.
Because Leonardo definitely just caught you checking him out. And his response was to smirk. The image of him standing confidently, gilded by the sun, pops back in your head unwittingly, and you groan and drop your head into your hands.
“Jeez, it’s that bad, huh?” You jump and look over your shoulder to see Raph has come to join you at the edge of the roof – and he’s brought more wine.
You hold out your mug (a shitty ceramic thing from the New York Aquarium with a faded sea turtle on it) in silent request for the eldest Hamato to top you off. “You read my mind. I always knew you were my favorite.”
“I don’t know ‘bout that.” Raphael laughs as he pours, eyes flicking unsure between his hands and your face. “Seems I have some competition these days.”
If Donnie or Mikey had said it, you would have vaporized on the spot. But Raph’s mere presence expels any energy you had before to be embarrassed, so you just drop your head and groan.
“That bad, huh?” you repeat your friend’s words back, startling a laugh out of him.
“‘Bad’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use. More like obvious.”
“Wow, thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”
“Hey, I’m not just talkin’ about you,” Raph clarifies, raising his hands in surrender. “We all see it. Heck, I live with it.”
(“That idiot has been in love with you since you first put a band-aid on him.”)
The words should fill you with joy. Instead, a cold weight settles in your chest, so heavy that you bow forward when you turn back to face the sun.
You take a gulp of wine and respond simply: “So I’ve been told.”
Raph doesn’t respond right away, but you can feel his eyes raking over your face in the silence. You don’t put on any airs and let him see you exactly as you are: Tired eyes, overworked hands, a mind like a raging river that’s never known what it is to be still…and yet smiling all the same.
When Raphael looks at you, he sees every time that you’ve broken only to heal the cracks with gold, when so many never learn what kintsugi is.
“You’re scared,” he surmises, and unbidden tears spring to your eyes so fast you squeeze them shut.
“I’m terrified.”
“That’s good.” The words surprise you enough that your eyes whip back to Raph’s. His crinkle at the corners when he laughs heartily and clarifies, “Terrified means you care. Terrified means you know the weight of something like this.”
“But I don’t,” you whisper. “I’ve never known it, and that’s what terrifies me most.”
Again, Raph takes his time in responding. But this time, you watch him. He rubs between his eyebrows as he thinks, meticulously parsing over what he wants to say next. It’s always surprised you that Hamato Raphael, the biggest of them all, is the most gentle-hearted. The one who always checks his strength before he throws a punch.
“Okay, I’m gonna take my ‘Leo’s Big Brother’ hat off for a second and put on yours,” Raph starts, and tears well up in your eyes again. Because Raphael is your brother, always has been, always will be. You take his hand in yours and squeeze as he continues:
“I love Leo. You know how much I love Leo. But he’s a…commitment, I guess, would be the word. Nothin’ gets past him, so he’s always makin’ everything harder for himself, and that’s what makes him a great leader, but still,” Raph’s gaze falls from yours, his eyes going inexplicably sad. “Afta everythin’ with the Kraang, and us bein’ more, well, visible, than eva before…not everyone can deal with bein’ on the sidelines of what we do, and it wouldn’t be fair to expect ‘em to.”
You squeeze Raphael’s hand a little harder at that. No one in the clan has forgotten what happened over the winter, what it felt like to watch your “biggest” get his heart broken. How long it took for the light to come back to his eyes after his partner left.
“But,” Raph continues, and when he meets your eyes now, in this moment, on this roof together, his eyes aren’t sad, they’re…clear. “You’ve been ‘ere so long you’re my sister. You’ve caught everythin’ Leo’s thrown atcha, and I think that’s why that idiot is finally startin’ to get his head out of his ass.”
Your heart soars at the words, every nerve sparking in satisfaction at the mere possibility. But, your mouth says:
“Well. I was a catcher in middle school.”
Raphael blinks once before laughing so hard he throws his head back with the force of it. When he looks back down at you, he claps you on the shoulder and pulls you into a hug, absolutely delighted. “Lesbian,” he says fondly, running a hand over your hair.
“I wish,” you groan into his chest, but hug him back all the same. “That would be so much easier than this.”
Raph chuckles again and squeezes you gently. “Nah. It’s all hard. At least at first,” he imparts, and you blink up at him in shock when the hug ends. He just smiles softly. “But then, if it’s right, somethin’ happens that makes you realize how stupid you were bein’ the whole time.”
Heart aching, your mouth falls open, wanting to respond with something sensible, yet unable to find the words. All you can come up with is, “Thanks, Raph.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Just…let yourself try.”
You hesitate for just a moment before whispering: “I don’t want to fuck it up.” A cool wind blows past at the admission, and you realize the sun has set, leaving your little haven atop the city suddenly a lot colder than it was before. Raph smiles and takes a step back.
“Trust me, sister,” he says quietly. “I don’t think there’s a world where you could.” And when his eyes catch purposefully on someone over your shoulder and a familiar arm drapes over you, you know exactly who it is.
“What’s goin’ on over here, amigos?” Leo asks, and you can’t help but laugh when you look up at him, heart suddenly light after your conversation with Raph. He grins down at you playfully, visibly delighted by your good mood, then continues, “April finally managed to convince Donnie that ping pong just isn’t his sport, so we’re gonna set up a card game.”
“I’ll go help,” Raph pipes up, and then he’s…gone.
You blink once before a glance toward the other side of the roof shows him lounging comfortably next to Casey. He catches your eye and raises his cup in your direction. You splutter out a laugh and mutter, “Subtle,” completely unimpressed.
“What was that?” Leo asks.
“Huh?” you respond, eyes whipping back to his. Leo laughs in delight at your intelligent response, and you sour almost immediately, turning your face away to scowl and mumble, “None of your business.”
“Sure it isn’t, you teenager,” Leo teases you, hauling you back easily when you try to escape from under his arm. He manages to dance you between him and the balcony railing and traps you between his huge arms, so close your breath hitches, but he continues, “So, what were you talking about?”
“...You.” The admission is so quiet it’s almost an afterthought, but you know Leonardo’s heard you from the way his arms stiffen. You reach up to trail soothing fingers down his plastron, and his responding shudder makes you feel bolder than you ever have before.
Ever the talker, Leo sighs shakily then speaks again: “All good things, I hope?”
You don’t answer right away, too mesmerized by his sudden closeness. It’s a closeness you’ve had before with him, but never with this pent-up tension both of you seem to have been harboring boiling between you like a volcano about to erupt. You splay your fingers and press your palms flat against Leo’s plastron, enjoying the sight of your skin on his. When you let your hands curve up over his shoulders, his muscles tense and release under your touch.
His skin is warm, you think in surprise. Not as warm as yours, but you still feel the bubbling energy that is life beneath Leonardo’s skin. He leans into you like he’s the moth and you're the flame, and the feel of his body draping over yours is delicious. Of all things, he looks awed as he leans his head down toward yours, dusting his nose across your cheek in a featherlight touch that makes you quake.
Leo’s breath puffing across your cheek is all it takes for you to press closer, winding your arms around his neck until you’re chest to chest and enjoying the shudder that leaves him. “We need to talk,” you breathe into his ear, ignoring the way your heart threatens to climb up your throat at the words.
Because you do need to talk about this. You’re sick of the push and pull, the lingering words, not even to mention the “Will they, won’t they?” the rest of your family apparently has going on.
Leo’s mouth is at your jaw now, and his breath his hot when he muffles a curse against your skin. “I know, mi amor. I’m sorry. I honestly haven’t been trying to avoid it, there just hasn’t been –”
“– Time,” you finish for him, and Leo lets out another breathy groan, this time at your neck. You feel like you’ve turned into a pool of molten honey at his touch, only kept from melting on the spot by his wide hands on your back, keeping you standing.
You’ve never felt safer in your life. If you could, you would stay here forever, kept shielded in the protective embrace of your…“something more”, keeping you warm from the autumn wind.
But a man is standing on the rooftop directly across from you. Not usually a cause for concern, there are millions of people in New York and millions of rooftops.
Except he’s staring right at you.
You have just enough time to whisper, “Nardo…” before everything erupts.
The building shakes beneath your feet, and you’re thrown to the side – no, not thrown: Hurled along with Leonardo as he propels himself to the side, his grip on you now unrelenting as you fly across the roof. His shell hits the ground hard, and you gasp on top of him, nearly biting your tongue off at the force of the impact. One of your shoes flies off as you skid to a stop.
Leo’s pulling you to your feet before you can even get your bearings, and you make an indignant noise when he shoves you back down just as quickly behind the upended ping pong table. The roof is shrouded in smoke from the explosion, blocking out the last of the sunlight, but you can see the brothers’ ninpo flashing through the haze as they fight.
“Stay down!” Leo orders, and he squeezes your hands once more before drawing his katana. He looks back at you just once (shell-shocked by emotional whiplash and still clutching your stupid sea turtle mug) before leaping over the table in one fluid movement, ninpo flashing in his race to join the fight.
This is the worst part, you think, pulling the table closer to you and curling closer to the wall for cover. The waiting.
It’s too foggy, and you’re too lightheaded to find the door, so this is the best cover you’re going to get. Leonardo knew that, too – That’s why he left you here. There was no time to cut you a portal. Not with the speed of the attack.
You’re not sure how long you sit behind that table, watching the chaos wage through the haze of smoke and ash. Everyone is shouting. Guns are firing. Metal meets metal, clanging over and over and over again. You think your ears are ringing, but you can’t tell with all of the interference.
Soon enough, the sounds of battle peter out with a few last pained grunts. The occasional flashes of multi-colored ninpo in the darkness tell you who the victors are, not that you ever had any doubt.
Michelangelo is the first to emerge through the smoke, his countenance uncharacteristically hard. His eyes widen when he spots you crouched pathetically against the wall, and you manage to muster a small wave as he jogs toward you and vaults over the table.
“Are you okay?” he screeches, loud enough that the ringing in your ears worsens to a stabbing pain.
“Just shock, I think,” you wheeze, patting his hand in reassurance when he reaches out to grasp your shoulder. “Are you?”
Mikey’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “I’m fine. These jerks only ever attack us by surprise. I’m not about to let them get the jump on me again.” Your heart drops at the reminder of his injury from a month prior.
Before you can respond, a huge red hand extends up over the smoke – Raph’s hand. He uncurls the gigantic palm and waves his ninpo across the roof, dispersing the haze in one fell swoop until you can see the damage that’s been wrought.
Raph himself stands in the middle of the roof, hand still raised and clearly out of breath, but looking relatively unscathed. Donnie and April are to your right, still standing back to back and surrounded by a pile of unconscious agents. Casey’s on his own at the top of the fire escape, and – Where’s Leo?
You barely have time to draw a panicked breath before a pair of familiar hands are cupping your cheeks, and Leonardo drags your gaze to his. His mouth is still tight with fury, but his eyes are frantic as he shouts, “Are you okay?”
His volume makes you flinch away, but you nod vehemently and clap your hands over his so he can’t pull away. “I’m fine,” you insist, fidgeting uncomfortably as Leo turns you back and forth, scanning you for injuries. “I’m fine, Blue!”
Leonardo’s shoulders sag with his relief, and you think you catch a glimpse of wet eyes before he pulls you into his chest.
It’s a very different embrace than before. Everywhere you touch him aches, but you try to get closer to him all the same, pressing into all the nooks and crannies you now know hold you so well. Leonardo crumples into you, over you, until you’re practically holding him up. Passively, you note his katana are still in his hands.
~*~
Miraculously, none of you is injured.
But now, every single Hamato is pissed the fuck off.
You leave Bishop’s henchmen on April’s rooftop for the police to find, and she grumbles under her breath about having to find another apartment. Casey rubs her shoulders soothingly, ever patient, and an hour later, you’ve regrouped at the Lair. The shock has worn off, and there’s a warm cup of tea in your hands.
“He’s only ever attacked us when it’s just us,” Leonardo spits, fists clenching where they rest on the kitchen counter. “We weren’t on patrol, and they shot a rocket at us. What kind of coward – ”
On Leonardo’s right, Splinter lays a thin hand over his son’s. “You are right to be angry, my son. This was the action of a coward – but it also speaks to desperation, and desperation makes one reckless. Now is not the time for anger. It is the time for action.”
Leonardo’s breath shudders at his father’s words, and you feel him sigh next to you. Years ago, he would’ve ripped away from Splinter’s touch in an attempt to keep his anger kindled. But that was then. Now, you wait as Leonardo breathes evenly to calm himself, and a glance around the table shows everyone else watching too. Waiting for their leader’s next words.
As gently as possible so as not to startle, you lay a tender hand on Leonardo’s knee. Slowly, his fists unclench, and he takes one more deep breath before straightening up. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye and nods once: I’m okay.
You squeeze his knee and smile softly: I know.
The corner of Leonardo’s lip quirks up, and he lays a hand over yours, intwining your fingers with his as he turns back to face his brothers. “Okay. What do we know?”
The rest of the night is spent talking through every detail you all can remember and planning for the future.
Your hand never leaves his.
~*~
You don’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Leo steps through a portal sometime later, and the static electricity buzzing across your skin pulls you from your dream.
The light of his ninpo illuminates your bedroom, and you vaguely register your cat meowing from atop her tree, clearly miffed by the sudden intrusion. Upon realizing you’re awake, Leonardo sets you on your feet – and it’s only then, standing in your too-small New York apartment, that you realize how filthy you are.
You must be a vision, covered in ash, smoke, and scattered pieces of plaster from the explosion. It feels wrong to be here in this state, as if you’re tainting a place that’s usually so comforting.
“I need to shower,” you murmur, and Leonardo nods against you.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” he whispers into your temple and to your horror, begins to back toward the portal, still shining on the other side of the room. You snatch his hand out of the air before he can get too far, and Leo looks surprised when he meets your gaze.
“Please stay,” you say, and Leo’s eyes widen even further. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst from its chest, but you push on: “I know we haven’t talked about it, but we both know it. And I don’t want to be alone tonight. I don’t think I can be alone tonight –”
“Okay.” Leo shushes you and tightens his grip on your hand, pulling you back into his embrace. “It’s okay. I’ll stay.”
You sigh in relief and tuck your head under his chin. “Good.”
“You could’ve just said you wanted me that badly –”
Old habits do indeed die hard.
You shake your head and tighten your grip around his waist. “Not now, Blue.” Leo stiffens.
“Right.” He runs an apologetic hand over your back. “Sorry.”
“Shower,” you murmur, a forgiveness and a reminder.
Leonardo nods against you, leaning down so he can herd you slowly toward your bathroom. You flip the light on as you enter, and your heart squeezes when you notice Leo’s stopped to gently pet your cat.
She preens under his careful attention, and you can’t help but breathe out a laugh. Same.
Soon enough, the bathroom is fogged with steam, the mirror nothing more than a blurred memory. You hesitate for just a moment before beginning to undress, and the way you take off your shirt may look more like you’re ripping off a band-aid, but you follow through with it because you meant what you said on the rooftop before everything went to hell: Bishop be damned, you’re done yo-yoing around what you and Leo have.
You hear his breath hitch over the hush of water hitting linoleum, but Leo says nothing while you finish undressing. Only once all of your clothes are in the hamper do you turn around, internally pleased that his eyes don’t roam, instead locking with yours. His hand is still on your cat, looking between the two of you with sleepy eyes now that she’s stopped receiving attention.
You hold out your hand in invitation and raise your eyebrows meaningfully. “Shower,” you repeat. One blink from Leo, and you know you’re on the same page: The surprise softens from his eyes, and he smiles almost shyly.
First, he unbuckles his baldric, and the intentionality with which he leans his katana against your bedframe has your breath catching. The rest of his equipment comes off quickly: long leg wraps pool in your basket of hair ties, arm guards find a home on top of your bathroom shelf. But when Leonardo takes off his mask, he hesitates for a moment, then holds it out for you to take, eyes taking on a meaningful sheen.
Your fingers have never been more careful than they are when you take Leonardo’s mask for him, looping it reverently around an empty towel hook, where it will be safe. And when you turn back to Leo, he’s bare before you.
Neither of you speaks when he takes your hand, and you guide Leo into the shower first. He doesn’t flinch under the spray, doesn’t tense when you drag your hands across his shell and turn him just enough to step in under the spray beside him. He shifts automatically under your touch, like it’s instinct to allow you into his space by now, and pulls the curtain closed behind you.
The water is hot – almost too hot – and Leonardo is gazing down at you with his mouth open like you hung the moon, so you murmur: “Pass me the soap.”
He obliges, passing over your bottle of citrusy body wash. The scent hits you when you squeeze a dollop into your palm, its crispness almost too much after smelling nothing but ash for so long. When you look back up, Leo’s turned and put his face under the stream, letting the water run uninhibited down his chest until most of the gray has been replaced by green. You can’t help but giggle at the sight of him basically drowning himself, and the sound of your laughter seems to pull Leo out of the water until he meets your eyes once more.
You can see the crescents around his eyes again. You hadn’t realized you’d missed them.
You hold your handful of soap up for him to see and look pointedly at his soot-stained plastron. “May I?” Leonardo nods immediately, no hesitation, and this time, your laugh is more of a snort. “Turn around,” you order, and his brows lift in amusement before obeying. He always does, when it’s you.
Once his shell is facing you, you lather your hands together and step forward. You start at the top of his shell, gliding your palms slowly over old cracks and scars. It doesn’t take long before he’s rid of the sickly gray soot, and you let your palms drift over Leo’s ribs to turn him around.
To your surprise, you find skin there, and Leo sucks in a breath, low and sharp. Slowly, you guide him to turn around again, making sure to catch his gaze when he’s back facing you. Your fingers move across his plastron, catching occasionally in its grooves and dips, before you let them trail up over the swell of his shoulders, just like you did earlier that night, in another place. Another time.
Leonardo stays perfectly still as you wash him, save for his chest hitching with his breaths, the occasional twitch of his fingers. He watches you like he’s never seen you before, and you suppose he hasn’t – at least not like this. No one has.
And when your hands are still on him, when there isn’t a trace of gray left to be found, he holds out your shampoo for you.
You laugh under your breath as you take it, and Leonardo winks. Free from your attention now, he drops his hands to the swell of your waist and leans his shell back against the tiles in a clear message that he’s perfectly content to just watch. And even though you knew in your heart that this wouldn’t be a problem, not with Leo, your heart still soars.
Because opening yourself up to a man in this way usually only leads to one thing. Something you’re not ready for, and certainly not something you’d allow yourself to be pushed toward, not by anyone. And yet here Hamato Leonardo is: Standing naked in your shower with you, yet still managing to keep his hands to himself and gazing down at you like just the mere sight of you is all he’d ever need.
You’ve never felt more cherished, more seen, in your life.
You go through your usual routine, kept anchored in place by his warm hands cradling your sides. Occasionally, Leo flexes his fingers, as if he can’t quite believe his hands are actually on you, but other than running them up and down your back occasionally, they don’t stray. When it comes time to wash your face, you rub some of the scrub into Leo’s, and your indulgent giggles echo off the tiles.
By the time you’re washing the last of your product out of your hair, Leonardo has your body fully pressed to his: Skin to skin, close enough to feel his chest rise and fall beneath your breasts.
The last of Leo’s strength finally seems to leave him when you next meet his eyes, and he wilts slightly under your touch. He looks wrecked – not from the events of the day, but from just standing here with you, pruning under a too-hot shower.
Because both of you now know what this is, what you are to each other. Even if it can’t be said yet.
You’re silent as you turn off the water. Not a word is spoken as you towel each other off, Leo looking awed that you allow him to run a towel up over your shoulders, down over your stomach. You want to look away from him, this “It” between you now brighter than a newborn star, but you don’t. You refuse.
Still, neither of you says anything. Not as you climb into bed, still naked, and curl up together as if you’d always done so. Leo crowds you a little in your small human bed, but you don’t want distance. You enjoy the feel of his plastron against your back, his arms curving around your middle like you’re something to harbor.
He’s heavy. It should be overwhelming, having someone else in your bed, but somehow it just feels… good. Normal, like breathing – just like you thought it would. Slowly, you turn over to face him again, and when your eyes find Leo’s in the low light, he’s already watching you.
There’s nothing either of you can say. Not right now, running on too little sleep, too much adrenaline, and almost being exploded earlier in the night. But the way Leo pulls you close and presses a kiss to your forehead tells you all you need to know.
In this moment, there’s nothing else to say. There’s no choir singing in the background about what both of you already know.
You fall asleep together, breaths evening out until you’re moving as one.
~*~
Three days later, you use the panic button for the first time.
Donnie gave it to you when you were eighteen as your “Congrats for getting into school” gift: A small purple phone charm with a button that connects directly to Donnie’s arm vambrace.
You remember feeling grateful and plenty charmed that the Hamato Clan cared about your well-being, and slightly baffled by the insistence with which they made you attach it to your phone. Despite the danger to their lives – your life – it’s rare that the brothers allow you to get anywhere near their missions. They’re even still a little prickly about when April and Casey tag along, so you honestly never thought you’d have to use it.
Until tonight, walking to the subway from a home visit with an unknown man definitely following behind you.
Over the past few blocks, the panic button may as well be a stress toy for how often you’ve pressed it. You also sent off a simple text to the group chat, not wanting to take your attention off the street for too long:
8:42PM: 911. Being followed.
Another avenue over with no response, and your breathing starts to pick up.
They must be on a mission – that’s the only reason you wouldn’t have heard from them.
Since you realized you have a tail, you’ve managed not to stop walking between intersections. It’s pure New York Instinct that allows you to keep the distance between you and the unknown man, dodging cyclists and the occasional wayward cab like it’s nothing. But the next avenue’s traffic forces you to stop at the curb. And behind you, the footsteps don’t stop.
You brace yourself internally when your stalker comes to a halt beside you. All of your focus goes into keeping your stance casual, gaze unbothered as you look out over the slow-moving cars.
Maybe it’s like Creep-On-The-Subway rules: If you don’t acknowledge him, he’ll just go away.
But the man takes a step closer to you, sidling right up at your elbow. You barely manage to keep your eyes forward. At this point, your heart is in your throat as you wait desperately for the crosswalk to change.
Something is deeply wrong.
The last thing you see before everything goes black is the crosswalk turning to the little white man.
~*~
For a moment, you’re only aware of what happened previously: The sound of traffic running across Park Avenue. An unfamiliar presence at your side. A pinch in the back of your neck.
Then you open your eyes.
Fighting past the nausea and pain in your head (what did they give you–), it takes a few deep breaths before you get your bearings. You’re in the largest Manhattan penthouse you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing – and at any other time, you might have admired the view of the city sparkling far below.
But there’s an unfamiliar man seated across from you at this ornate table, and you’re tied to your chair of all things, so you think that will probably have to wait.
Mr. Unfamiliar smiles upon seeing you’re awake and claps his hands together with a shouted: “Ah! Finally. Mr. Bishop, the captive is awake!”
You look around blearily, trying to get a better sense of your surroundings over the pounding in your head. “Where…where am I?” you try to ask, voice slurring. That’s not good.
“Good evening, nurse,” a new voice speaks from behind you. “I apologize for any harm we may have caused you, but I assure you, it was necessary.”
The man from the street steps into your field of vision.
Your first impression of him is that he’s entirely…well, normal looking. He’s dressed smartly in a suit, but the make and fabric are cheap and ill-fitting on his form. You would see this man taking the subway home and think nothing of him, just another NPC of NYC.
But, despite his unnerving average-ness, the cool, cultured tone of your captor’s voice tells you that, despite appearances, he is vastly intelligent.
You close your eyes for a moment in an attempt to gather your thoughts, only to regret it immediately when the world spins violently around you. It takes a few deep breaths for you to feel like you’re back in your body, and you repeat, voice stronger this time: “Where. Am I?”
“It’s no matter. You won’t be here long, I assure you,” the man responds. He probably thinks his words are a comfort, but they only manage to freak you out more. “Once the Hamato arrive, we’ll have no more use for you, and we’ll drop you off at the nearest hospital.”
A beat passes where you just stare at him. “You’re Bishop, aren’t you?”
The man’s eyebrows raising are the only tell that you’ve caught him off guard, but he schools it quickly. “Agent John Bishop, at your service.”
“Huh.” You take a deep breath, managing to calm your spinning head enough to see the man who has been giving your friends so much trouble more clearly.
This same man, or someone who works for him, had nearly killed Mikey. Had shot a rocket at your rooftop party.
“And I’m tied to this chair, why?” you ask. Bishop strides to the other end of the room, looking out the wall of windows in typical villain fashion.
Every person you ever meet from the guys’ world is a goddamn stereotype.
“Your friends have proven quite adept at evading me,” Bishop drawls, voice oozing with unfounded confidence. “But what they don’t know is that I won’t stop until I get what I want. The hockey player and the journalist were too volatile of options, but a young nurse …What luck that one of my men reported you from the offensive the other day. You are the perfect bait for my prey.”
It takes a few moments for his words to sink in, but once they do, you laugh.
You laugh so hard that you don’t just think they drugged you, you know they did – though you wish they’d given you something stronger if your head still hurts this much. Bishop turns from the window and regards you with a raised eyebrow, only causing you to laugh harder.
“I’m sorry,” you wheeze, wishing you could wipe the tears from your cheeks, and giggling a bit more at the absurd sight of your hands tied to the arms of your chair. “It’s just – you know these guys defeated the Kraang in an afternoon, right? And you’re actively choosing to tangle with them? For what?”
“They are the ideal test subjects for a project that will change the human race forever,” Bishop vows in a manner that tells you he’s practiced that same line in the mirror before.
“Right. So, because you couldn’t beat them in a fight, your next move was to kidnap one of their Clan and force their hand?” you ask, raising an eyebrow despite the pain in your head and hoping you don’t look crazy.
The sound of an explosion rocking the building behind you causes a smirk to spread across your face.
Agent Bishop sways unsteadily for only a moment before he whips out a walkie-talkie and barks: "Status Report. What just happened?”
“We’re under attack!” a voice screams back. Whoever it is sounds like they’re in a warzone. “I repeat, we are under attack! It’s the—” The line clicks out before they can finish, leaving the sound of static to hang alone in the air. Agent Bishop is silent where he stands, staring at the walkie, and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of you at the befuddled look on his face.
It takes a moment for your giggles to subside, but once they do, you sigh loudly and rasp, “Oh, Agent Bishop. The Hamato Clan doesn’t play about family.” Bishop’s grip tightens on his walkie to the point that his hand is shaking, and you smile when he finally turns back to you. You look him right in the eye and vow: “They’re gonna fuck you up.”
Right on time, a giant, glowing red fist smashes through the wall of windows as if you summoned it yourself. You hunch over to protect from the shattering glass, but look up just in time to see Raph grab a screaming Agent Bishop and toss him out into the Manhattan skyline.
“What the fuck!” the man from before screams, and you jump slightly in your seat – you had honestly forgotten he was here with you. He grabs his gun and points it uselessly toward the shattered windows. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!”
“Told you,” you slur, smiling when a flash of blue winks in the corner of your eye.
Leonardo’s a speeding bullet when he slams into Mr. Unfamiliar, sending him careening across the floor until he hits the opposing wall with a slap. To his credit, the man tries to recover, but Leo is already there, striding across the marble like a vision of vengeance and pulling him up by the collar. Then, he does something you’ve never seen him do before:
He leans down into the man’s face and snarls before punching him one last time, rendering him unconscious.
Your eyebrows raise. “That was hot.”
Leo’s head snaps over his shoulder to look at you incredulously. “What?”
Your eyes widen, not having realized you said that out loud, and the sudden rush of panic causes your head to swoon forward. “Whoa,” you groan.
“Easy,” Leo assures, and you hear him rushing across the floor to get to you. Your bindings slide free with a schnick of a knife, and it’s like it cuts the last of your adrenaline too, for how you careen forward into Leo’s arms. He catches you easily and pulls you to his chest, whispering: “I got you now. You’re okay. You’re okay…”
You take a deep, trembling breath as everything that just happened hits, and it’s only Leo’s strong arms around you that keep you from falling to the floor. You return his embrace just as tightly and tuck your face into his neck so you can breathe him in, reassure yourself that this is real, that you’re with Leo. You’re safe.
The world is silent for a moment as you hold each other, save for the howling wind and the distant sounds of fighting below. “Can we get out of here?” you mumble into his throat.
Leo shakes his head and ducks down into you, curling you even deeper into his embrace. It’s only when you feel wetness against your neck that you realize he’s crying.
“Oh…” you mutter weakly, moving a hand up to cradle his head tenderly. “Oh, I’m okay. I promise.”
“You’re not okay,” Leo growls into your skin, in a tone you’ve never heard from him before. Your eyes widen, and the crystal chandelier where you stare above his head sparkles. “They took you because of me. They fucking drugged you because of me. You can’t just throw that away by telling me you’re okay, because you’re not.”
Tears well up in your eyes when Leo finally pulls away, cupping your cheeks in his big hands and forcing you to look at him. “I was almost…I thought you were gone. For a few hours, I thought you were gone forever, and I almost lost my damn mind, amor.”
You hiccup on a sob and place your hands over his, pressing your cheek into his palm. “I’m okay, Blue. A little banged up, but still here. I’ll always be okay if you have anything to say about it.” Leo simultaneously sobs and chokes on a laugh at you repeating his words back to him.
You wish you were cognizant enough in the next few moments to enjoy the feeling of his strong arms holding you up and his lips pressing firmly to your forehead, but your head feels like it’s your heart with how hard it’s pounding.
Soon enough, your vision fades to black.
~*~
As much as Donnie harps about it, you’ve seen a lot of things in your life that shouldn’t be scientifically possible – a family of mutant turtles and their rat dad being the least of them.
But over the course of the next week, you somehow watch those same mutant turtles transform into overbearing mother hens.
“They do know I just got a concussion, right?” you whisper to April, whose only response is a helpless shrug.
“You also got drugged,” April points out, and Donatello freezes as he walks by, almost flinching before continuing on toward the lab.
You sigh and fix your best friend with an exhausted glare. “Really?”
“I know it’s a lot, but let them hover,” Casey advises from your other side, arm thrown over the back of the couch. “It makes them feel better.”
You glare at him over the bowl of steaming soup Mikey just brought you. “You’re not the one stuck on the couch under a pile of blankets heavier than my trauma.”
Casey laughs at that. “Sure, but I’ve been where you are before – none of us are used to you being the one that’s hurt, Doc.” All of your breath whooshes out of you at the words, and you can’t help but gape at Casey. His smile is no less boyish than the first day you saw it, and he pats your hand tenderly. “Let ‘em take care of you,” he insists, and your heart breaks.
“Please excuse my sons,” a new voice joins you, and you smile at Splinter as he approaches. Carefully, he takes the untouched bowl of soup from your lap and replaces it with a freshly-brewed cup of tea. Then, he smiles up at you gently and pats your cheek. “They were very frightened when they learned you were in trouble. Especially Blue One.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks at the comment, and, like he always does, Casey takes the opportunity to talk up his sensei: “Yeah. I think at one point he said he ‘would tear the whole city apart to find you.’” You actually squeak at that revelation.
The look in April’s eyes is positively evil when she leans into you conspirationally and tacks on: “Yeah, and I don’t think he left your side once while you were out. I even think I saw him holding your hand.”
Careful not to spill the tea in your lap, you clap your hands over your ears and groan, feeling like you’re sandwiched between an angel and a devil.
~*~
There’s a raging thunderstorm hanging over the city when Leo finally, finally, portals you home. You gasp in excitement at the sight of the dark clouds, and spring into motion: First, rushing to the living room window to crack it open, completely ignoring Leo’s reminder to take it easy as you practically vibrate on your toes.
Oh, you love a storm – especially when you can just sit inside and enjoy it.
Next, you crack open your balcony door, and you smile when the smell of petrichor begins to seep into your apartment. Then, lastly, you turn your gaze on your cat, lounging innocently on the couch. She blinks up at you sleepily when you scoop her up, cradling her comforting weight into your chest – you’d missed her so much. It was only the knowledge of Donnie’s automatic feeder and literal weapon of a litterbox that kept you from coming home to her sooner.
A clatter to your right gets your attention, and you look over to see Leonardo kneeling over your bed, pulling your bedroom blinds open. His eyes shoot to yours like he can feel yours on him, and he smiles as he pops open your bedroom window with one easy tug.
You didn’t even have to ask.
Thunder booms behind you as Leo climbs off your bed and walks back into your living room. That same inexplicable look is back in his eyes, and this time, when his lips curl into a now-familiar fond smile, the sight makes you breathless.
He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ve ever feared wrapped into one, perfect person.
You cradle your cat closer, letting the sensation of her soft fur ground you, and ask, “What?”
Lightning flashes, illuminating a sudden fierceness in Leonardo’s demeanor that nearly has you shifting your feet. You’ve given him an opening…but to what, you’re not exactly sure. You had talked plenty this past week, but you have yet to Talk yet. The possibility of it has had your chest aching at all hours of the day, wistful and wondering and somehow already so painful.
Another sharp crack of thunder makes you jump, and you turn back toward the windows, breaking the line of tension between you and Leonardo faster than the Fates snip a string. You fight to come back to your body, focusing intently on the beads of rain sliding down the glass of your balcony.
“Watch the storm with me?” you ask, kicking yourself internally for once again sounding so damn breathless.
A few long moments pass where you think Leo might leave, or maybe finally address the gaping maw between you. He’s always been the braver one of the two of you. It was time for him to show it. After all, you’ve made it very clear where you stand, even if you haven’t said it through words.
His hand settles on your back, and despite your sudden, vibrating tension, you don’t jump – Leonardo’s touch, his presence, his breath is too familiar. Instead, your shoulders sag, like you’re a puppet whose strings have been cut. Your cat wriggles to be let down, and you break away momentarily to drop her back on the couch.
Ever the gentleman, Leonardo reaches around you and pulls the balcony door open, enhancing the cacophony of the storm. He pushes your back gently, nodding outside. And although you lead the way, you walk into the storm together.
The moment you step outside, the world crashes into focus. Everything is so loud, from the rain drumming against the asphalt to the thunder rumbling and cracking – far above you, yet somehow still feeling so close.
The unit above you has a balcony as well, keeping you and Leo blessedly dry, save for a pleasant mist that blows back your hair. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine you were in the countryside, maybe at Todd’s, drinking lemonade and watching the forest around you grow somehow even greener.
You go to lean back against the windows, but Leo catches your elbows in his hands before you can.
He looks just as shocked as you when you crane your neck up to look at him, and a furious blush spreads across his cheeks when your eyes meet his.
“I – sorry, I just…” Your mouth drops open slightly in surprise (Leonardo is stammering for Barry’s sake), and you nearly freeze when lightning flashes and you see Leo’s eyes drop to your lips.
An unbidden voice pipes up in the back of your head: A new voice, one you’ve always known, but never allowed yourself to listen to. A voice that is positively endeared by the sight that is a flustered Hamato Leonardo.
A surge of confidence has a smile curling across your lips as Leo laughs nervously, half of the sound carried away by the storm before he meets your eyes again and continues: “Can I just…Can I hold you?”
You don’t have the words, so you nod, heart too full to do anything else.
Leonardo slides his hands from your elbows across your forearms until he’s wrapped around you, and you press into him completely when he leans back. The angle you’re standing at is a little awkward, but you’ve never been more content than you are in that moment, with the storm raging around you, and Leo’s breath whisping across your ear.
summary: It’s hard to be surprised by someone you’ve known forever, whose story is so deeply intertwined with your own, you almost wouldn’t know yourself without them. But, Leonardo had surprised you tonight.
warnings: blood mention, canon-typical violence, friends to lovers and slowest of slow burns <3
ao3 link
When you were ten, you cut your finger with a knife.
You don’t remember the pain. You don’t even really remember the sight of the blood. What you do remember is how your older cousin ran to you. You remember the sight of his larger fingers gently cleaning the wound, then wrapping a band-aid around your pointer finger like he was swaddling a baby.
From that moment on, you knew it was your destiny to heal. To help.
And when you were thrust into the Hamato family, with their constant bickering and overall vigilantism, you couldn’t help but laugh at the red temptress that is Fate.
“I swear to god,” you mumble, watching Mikey test Donnie’s newest mech suit prototype, “You idiots are going to give me gray hairs before I’m thirty.”
“I had a chasm before I turned sixteen,” Raph responds from beside you.
“I don’t even know if I’m supposed to be gray,” Splints grumbles.
You blink at him in surprise. “Wait, really?”
“Re- lax , mi amor,” Leo chimes in, sliding in on your other side so he can throw an arm around your shoulders and shake you gleefully. “How could you not have faith in our dearest Angelo? Is he not the spryest, most nimble, most unkillable –”
The mech suit engine explodes in an extraordinary flash of color, sending Mikey flying across the room until he collides with the skate ramp, all culminating in a resounding BOOM .
You sigh and shrug off Leo’s arm. “I’ll get the kit.”
Miraculously, Mikey still has all four limbs, so you only have to patch up some minor cuts before dinner that evening. Donnie calls in pizza (like every other time you’ve exiled his little brother from the kitchen), and you enjoy a casual meal with the Hamato Clan.
But it’s been a hell of a week, so it doesn’t take long before the tiredness settles into your bones, especially after stuffing yourself with pizza.
Unsurprisingly, Leo notices first. You haven’t even realized you’d zoned out until his gaze catches yours from across the table.
The look in his eyes makes you frown instinctually – it’s a look you’ve never seen before. There’s a pensiveness in the crinkle of his stare that speaks of maturity, and his smile is inexplicably fond.
“What?” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you over Draxum and Splinter’s loud bickering on your left. Leonardo just shakes his head, still wearing that damn smirk . The sight (well, that and his huge arms crossed across his chest) causes a bloom of warmth to spread across your body, seeping into your bones, your veins.
You ignore it.
(Actually, you take out a sledgehammer and pummel the unfamiliar feeling down into the ground.)
Leo just smiles before breaking his laser focus, leaving your shoulders to drop like you’re a puppet on strings. “Alright, bros! I should get little miss Cinderella home before she turns into a pumpkin,” he announces. You cover your next yawn with your hand, flipping him off as you do.
“That’s not even how the story goes,” you whine, but prove Leo’s point by slipping carefully off your stool without argument.
Four hugs and a threatening finger pointed at Mikey to get some rest later, Leo leads you up to the street and helps you out of the sewer.
“No portal tonight?” you ask as Leo slides the manhole cover back in place. He shrugs and starts walking out of the alley, a silent cue for you to join him. You do without question.
“Felt like getting some fresh air now that it’s not a million degrees,” Leo responds, then wraps a cheeky arm around your shoulders to jostle you back and forth for the second time that day. “Plus, I feel like I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
You frown and peer up at him suspiciously, allowing the force of his arm to guide you around the corner and onto the street. “I see you all the time, Nardo.” Your best friend snorts.
“Yeah, with my brothers or April and Casey around. When’s the last time we hung out just the two of us?”
And it takes you a second…but you realize he’s right. Work has had you all over the city recently, so your evenings have mostly consisted of slouching through your door, stripping yourself of your bra, and flopping into bed. If you’re feeling a little crazy, maybe you’ll have a glass of wine and smoke the rest of whatever Casey left on your balcony last time he was over, then flop into bed.
Heart sinking slightly, you wrap an arm around Leo’s waist and tug yourself closer as you walk. You snuggle your chin into his plastron in silent apology, then look up to meet his eye. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
He smiles softly and rubs the top of your head with enough force that you shove him away. “Don’t apologize, stupid – I’ve been crazy busy lately, too. We’ve got a new guy running around during our night job.”
That catches your attention enough to make you pause in fixing your hair. “Yeah?” you prompt, sliding back into familiar step beside him. Leo just nods, and your heart sinks slightly when he doesn’t expand. You know it’s because you’ve been tired lately, and he doesn’t want to burden you (stupid)…but now you’re noticing there are bags under his eyes too.
And it doesn’t matter how tired you are, you’re always there for Leonardo.
“Want to grab ice cream and talk about it?” you offer.
~*~
You take him to a little mom and pop joint in the East Village for gelato instead, luckily not having to veer too far off your path home. It’s a familiar routine, having done this together since before the Kraang. Familiar enough that it’s become a bit of a challenge to find new places to try.
On the way, Leo tells you about this new guy, Bishop: There’s nothing about him online that Donnie can find (a fact that’s caused quite a few outbursts, apparently) except for a single, blacklisted FBI file that says he was dismissed for, incredibly vague, “Dishonorable Conduct.” Lately, he and what seems to be a small private army have been kidnapping yokai from around the city and draining them of their mystic energy…sometimes to dire consequences.
You take Leo’s hand at that and rub your thumb across his knuckles in as much of a soothe as you can manage. You know how deeply he takes a civilian even getting injured, let alone not being able to save someone altogether. He squeezes your hand back gratefully and holds the door open for you to pass under his arm when you get to the gelato place.
That warmth from earlier returns at the move, and you whip out the sledgehammer again as you approach the counter and order a limoncello. The teenager behind the counter’s eyes are tired when she punches your order into the register, but her demeanor totally changes when Leo sidles up beside you, eyes widening in a way that tells you she knows exactly who he is.
“Hi!” He greets her kindly, eyes scanning the menu. “Can I please do a scoop of the hazelnut and one of the mint?”
You squint at him in disgust. “What kind of combo is that?” He shrugs innocently and shoots you his most winning, “Face Man” smile.
“I want to test the full range of flavors.”
The teenager is quick to fulfill your requests, all the while glancing between you and Leo as you bicker playfully, sliding easily into a warm rhythm until you can continue your conversation from the walk here.
You grumble to yourself when Leo beats you to paying, earning you yet another curious glance from the teenager. And in that moment, you suppose you do look like a couple with the casual way Leo touches you, his insistence on paying, the fondness in the crinkle of his eyes.
(Sledgehammer. Sledgehammer. Sledgehammer. )
You thank the girl on your way out, Leo once again reaching to pull the door open for you when she speaks up: “Um!” Her volume in the small shop makes you both jump a little, and a furious blush blooms across her face at your most likely bewildered expressions.
She ducks her head sheepishly and continues, focusing on Leo: “I just wanted to say…you guys saved me and my sister once, in Times Square when that weird Hippo man attacked. So, um…yeah. Thank you.”
Leo smiles and drops the door with a click. You expect him to preen a little bit, to boast and brag about some little anecdote from that day.
Instead, he faces the girl and bows deeply at the waist.
When he straightens back up, she’s not the only one feeling a little warm.
“It was our pleasure,” is his only reply. He opens the door again, and you come back to yourself enough to tell the teenager to have a good night before letting him escort you back out into the oppressive summer air.
The two of you settle on a bench in Tompkins to enjoy your sweet treat, and Leonardo slips seamlessly back into his rant.
You try to pay attention, you really do. Apparently, their last raid on one of Bishop’s locations turned up medical equipment – a discovery that has been deeply disturbing for all of them. But half of your mind is still on the sight of the back of Leo’s head when he bowed to the gelato shop girl.
It’s hard to be surprised by someone you’ve known forever, whose story is so deeply intertwined with your own, you almost wouldn’t know yourself without them.
But Leonardo had surprised you tonight. Surprised you with his easy maturity. His casual, yet no less genuine kindness. And you’re realizing now, watching him eat his stupid gelato combination that absolutely cannot taste good, that the two of you have grown up. Grown up together, at that.
You take a big bite of your limoncello, swallowing it down quicker than you probably should in an attempt to dispel the warmth in your chest. “Medical equipment,” you repeat, half for Leo and half in an attempt to reorient yourself in the conversation. “I’m assuming you’re not just talking about some gauze and scalpels.”
“Nah,” Leo shakes his head and sneaks a bite of your gelato, much to your dismay. “I’m talking MRI machines, hypodermic needles, and a disturbing amount of beakers holding stuff Donnie can’t even identify.”
“Jesus.”
“I don’t think he’d be much help here.”
You roll your eyes and smack his shoulder, the two of you settling into a comfortable silence. “Is there anything I can do to help?” you ask.
Leonardo smiles and offers you a bite from his dish. You choose hazelnut.
“Just what you always do: Be there for us when we need you,” he responds. “You’ve never failed us. That’s enough.”
You hope the lack of streetlights around you keeps him from seeing the wetness in your eyes. “Ditto,” you promise him. He grins and tries to spoon another bite of your limoncello, but you lift it out of the way just in time. “No! There’s only, like, two bites left.”
“There’s still at least half a dish in there – ”
“Ugh!” You huff and hold out your dish. Leo’s expression is smug when he dips his spoon in, so you steal a bite from his with as much retaliation as you can muster. “You’re the worst,” you grumble around a bite of mint this time, nose indeed crinkling at the horrid combination of flavors. You spoon yourself some more limoncello to cleanse your palate.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a horrible monster,” Leo gripes, and you roll your eyes. “Enough about me, though; it’s your turn. Lay it on me.”
You gape at him. “I’m sorry, did you just say, ‘Enough about me’?”
It’s Leonardo’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, come on…”
“Who are you and what have you done with Hamato Leonardo –”
His scowl turns positively affronted. “Hey!”
“– I just wish Raph could see this, he’d never believe you’re willingly shutting up–”
“Would you stop ?” Leonardo laughs and grabs your shoulder to rock you gently into him. “I want to hear about you , dummy. Your gelato’s almost gone, and we still need to get you home.”
At the reminder that this is, in fact, a give and a take, your heart sinks a little. You look down at your dish and swirl the last bits of gelato around, passively enjoying the melted blend of color. Leo stays silent, waiting, so you allow yourself to take in the sounds of the park, letting them soothe your suddenly aching soul.
Night bugs chirp in the trees even this deep into the city. People are laughing on the street, their joy echoing off of trees that are older than the city itself. Next to you, Leonardo’s equipment clinks as he shifts to cross one leg over the other.
He lays a hand over your knee, ever patient.
Donnie laughed in your face so hard you felt spittle hit your cheek.
“ Patient?! ” he shrieked, completely unfazed by your shrieking back in horror, grabbing him by the goggles, and shoving him back down into his seat. He continued on without pause: “I can’t believe – you’ve seen Nardo on pizza night, right? He doesn’t even let his box get to the counter before it’s gone!”
You smacked him once more upside the head for good measure and hissed, “I’m being serious!”
“So am I.” Donatello deadpanned and turned back to his work, leaving you to rub at your cheek ruefully behind his back. “Yes, Leonardo is patient with you. Exceedingly so.”
You threw your hands toward him and curled your fingers, imagining you were strangling your resident genius.
“Are you Scartlet Witch-ing at me again?”
“Yes!” you shouted, throwing your pen onto the charts you’d been trying to fill out for hours. “Would it kill you to not be so fucking roundabout with your answers?”
At that, Donnie finally turned back to face you. He flicked his goggles up onto his forehead and said your name so softly, so intently, you absolutely froze.
“You know very well that I’m only ‘roundabout’, as you say, when I want to be,” he said seriously. “I’m incredibly straightforward. But I’m trying to make a point here: Leonardo is the most impatient person I know. He’s volatile, he’s reckless – well, I guess not so much anymore, but still.”
Donnie leaned toward you, eyes so fierce you found yourself leaning back, trying to escape the sudden intensity of his demeanor. “He’s a walking hazard on a good day. But he’s patient with you , Sis. What does that say?”
Sitting in Tompkins Square Park on a humid summer night, it says more than Donnie could ever know.
There’s worry in Leo’s eyes when you finally look back up at him. You offer him the last bite of your limoncello and feel yourself smile so gently you can see the effect of it on Leonardo – his mouth goes slack slightly, gaze turning somewhat wondrous as you drink each other in like honey in the sun.
You’ve never felt safer in your life.
“Tell you later?” you request. “It’s been a long few weeks.”
And you can tell Leo doesn’t like it by the way the corners of his mouth turn down, but you also see the moment he acquiesces. He spoons the last bit of your gelato and holds it out for you instead. You accept the peace offering for what it is and bite down, savoring the flavor of lemon and vanilla on your tongue.
“Later,” he repeats, and you nod in promise, missing the way his eyes have gone dark.
Leonardo’s a fixer by nature, especially when it comes to his loved ones, so you know that taking a step back right now is like asking Mikey not to razz his tazz. You know he’s fighting absolutely every instinct to stay silent, not to push because you asked him not to. And the fact that he’s doing so anyway, without question, brings that warmth in your chest back.
It travels all the way to your fingertips when you look back up at Leo to find him watching you with that inexplicable something back in his eyes.
At this point, your grip on the sledgehammer is loose at best.
Breaking eye contact is a physical effort. You stand up and walk to throw away your empty dish, internally proud of yourself when your legs don’t shake. Leo’s presence behind you is a weight as he follows your lead. Where one of you goes, the other follows, just like it’s always been.
Your hand finds his on the walk home, and his fingers curl around yours without a moment’s hesitation. It’s everything you could ever need and more.
~*~
Ever since you can remember, you’ve never really been interested in a romantic connection.
It’s not that you’re against it. Your bookshelf is full of every kind of love story under the sun, and you turn to those stories for comfort more often than you care to admit. You just haven’t experienced that fluttery feeling yet, the reckless desire that makes you want to try something new with someone else.
If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve always craved the opportunity. It just hasn’t happened yet.
But, all that certainly isn’t to say you’ve been lacking in the love department – far from it, actually. Since April practically kidnapped you into her life, arms are constantly slinging around your shoulders to pull you into a conversation…or out of the way of a missile.
( “It wasn’t even close, mami!” “My eyebrows are gone, Blue!!”)
Every Monday, without your need to ask, a purple Genius Tech (trademark pending) drone drops groceries at your doorstep, its contents always exactly what you need. It was Raph’s giant presence at your side that got you through your aunt’s death, and Mikey’s hand in yours, dragging you to graffiti some random sewer tunnel he found. And Leo…it was rare that you didn’t wake up to find Leo knocked out on your couch.
So, yeah – with the coolest best friend you could ever dream of and a mutant family watching your back, your days are enveloped in love and laughter. You’ve never really felt that something could be missing.
Until Hamato Leonardo.
It’s hard to pinpoint when everything changed. You’ve known the idiot since you were fifteen. You’ve seen him eat a pineapple whole only to throw it up two minutes later, still whole. And yet here you are: A fully grown adult fighting down a blush whenever he so much as smiles at you. Something in your heart has begun to quiver at his touch...a want that has taken root in your chest and now refuses to leave.
It terrifies you more than anything you’ve ever known – except maybe the Kraang Invasion.
But what’s even more terrifying is that April knows.
She hasn’t said anything (yet), but you can feel it. You feel it in her insanely piercing gaze on your back as Leo twirls you around the Summer Solstice party. You feel it in the way she raises her eyebrows when you tell her you can’t come over because Leo’s spending the night.
Lately, she’s even started to “Hmmmm” whenever the leader in blue is mentioned in conversation.
It all comes to a head after a brutal mission against the new guy.
“ CODE PURPLE!” You shoot awake with a scream at Donnie’s voice blaring from your phone: “YOUR ASSISTANCE IS NEEDED AT THE LAIR!” Then, quieter: “ Your designated transportation will be arriving in 3…2…1…”
And right on cue, as always, a bright flash of cyan announces Leo’s arrival at the foot of your bed.
“Blue.” His nickname is a sigh of relief, and you smack your hand against your chest at the sight of his safe, familiar presence. Leo starts going through your drawers for a change of clothes, and you allow yourself a moment to breathe.
Code Purple means someone is hurt. Code Purple means I need to be on .
After a few seconds, you drop your hand from your chest and push back your blankets so you can stand. “What happened?” you ask calmly, taking your favorite pair of fuzzy pants when Leo holds them out and pulling them on.
“Mikey’s hurt real bad,” Leo mutters, hands twitching at his sides. The light from his portal exposes the exhausted shadows on his face, and you shove down every instinct that wants to reach for him, to comfort him in this moment. “Donnie did the best he could, but –”
“Okay,” you interrupt, years of experience allowing you to easily shove down your concern and panic into the little box you keep open just for moments like this. “Take me to him.”
As it always is, the first fifteen minutes are a flurry of gauze, shouted orders, and the sharp beeping of machinery.
It takes you no time to slide into the now-familiar rhythm – and responsibility – that is saving a life. Your hands don’t think about who’s on the table while you work. The screams you’re hearing and the wounds you’re stitching don’t belong to anyone.
It’s better that way. Easier.
Three hours later, Mikey is high on Donatello’s in-house pain meds and bragging about his new scar.
“With this baby, I’ll definitely get into the Salty Splatoon,” he slurs, looking up at his father with a dopey grin. You’re on your third scrub at the sink in the corner, and exhaustion has settled deep into your bones, but you still crack a smile at the youngest Hamato.
“I dunno, Mikey,” Raph says, deciding to play into Mikey’s loopy state. He points at his eye. “I’ve been, and it wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“ Aaaaawww ,” Michelangelo whines. You turn around to see him try and fold his arms in a pout, but Splinter stops him just in time with two gentle hands and a few murmured words. “But I want to get into a bar fight!”
Donnie pipes up from the foot of the bed: “I don’t see how those two things are mutually exclusive…”
Next to you, Leonardo holds out a towel, so you tune out the brothers’ inane conversation and take it with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“No problem, señorita.”
“You sure you’re not hurt?” you ask him. You give him another once-over as you dry your hands, but just like the other fifty times you’ve checked tonight, he remains uninjured.
“I’m fine, jeez. You’re such a nag,” Leo replies with a smile, and you scoff when he snatches the towel back from you. “But, Casey’s hiding from you.”
Your eyes widen, and you turn to scan the lab. “That little sneak . He’s just like you, I swear to god –”
You set off to make sure Casey isn’t hiding the fact that he’s bleeding out ( again ), but Leo’s large hand stops you. Smoother than silk, he tucks you into his side so you’re looking up at him, and the tender way he hugs your waist makes your heart skip a beat.
But what gets you is that you lean into him. Into his warmth, his strength.
You don’t lean into anybody.
“It’s been a long night, amor,” Leo murmurs. His breath brushing across your nose makes you fight to get in control of your knees. “You holding up okay?”
And even though it’s Leo – Leo, who regularly acts as your emotional confidante, and you his – the way his touch is making you feel now is foreign. Uncomfortable.
So, the familiar lie comes quickly.
You smile and elbow him gently before stepping away. “I’m fine, Leo. I’ll be better when I get my hands around your son’s neck.” Then, you turn to fish Casey out from behind Raph’s conveniently large form.
If you’d stayed a moment longer, you would’ve seen the corners of Leo’s mouth turn down.
Of all things, Casey is hiding a fucking dislocated shoulder. An easy enough fix, but not exactly a fun one. April saunters over while you’re numbing her boyfriend’s shoulder and, to your horror, sets her sights on you.
In a million years, you never would have guessed what she says next:
“Girl, I can’t believe you never told me you’re a prima ballerina. And I’ve known you for almost a decade!”
Casey and you look at each other in bewilderment for a moment before both of you look back at April. The best response you can come up with is, “Huh?” The signature smirk of “Apriiiill O’Neil!” curves across your best friend’s face, and you fight the urge to run away begging and screaming for her mercy.
April jerks her chin toward where Leo is speaking with Draxum across the lab and says, “Dancing around those feelings like a pro,” all without breaking eye contact with you. Next to you, Casey snorts out a laugh, and you wrestle down the urge to hit him in response.
Instead, you turn to face your patient and send him a smile that has his own sliding off his face. “Jones. I can make this real easy, or real hard. It’s your choice.”
Casey nods emphatically. “Yes, ma’am.”
With that settled, you turn your attention back to April, using Casey as a shield to hiss behind his back, “ I knew you knew. ”
April’s triumphant smirk only widens. “You, me. Brunch tomorrow,” she orders, but then, to your surprise, her eyes soften. “You gotta talk to someone before you go crazy, sister.”
You turn back to Casey and begin to manipulate his arm, preparing the muscles for relocation. Behind you, Donnie says something that makes the whole family erupt in laughter…though you can only really hear one voice.
Under your breath, you whisper: “I know.”
~*~
You find a quiet moment to collect yourself, later in the night.
April and Casey have long since gone home. Mikey is asleep in the lab with his brothers and father to keep watch over him, and you trust them to handle any complication (as improbable as that possibility may be) that may come up.
So, you retreat to the kitchen, rest your head against the fridge, and breathe.
It’s quiet in here. The metal hums beneath your forehead, and you find it vaguely pathetic how you lean into the soothing sensation.
Is this really what you’ve come to? Are you so used to taking care of yourself that just leaning into lifeless metal feels like it’s enough to keep you standing?
The thought makes you push away from the fridge in frustration. Even on your worst days, you know that’s not true. Life has just been a lot, lately. Today was a lot.
You’re used to being overwhelmed. You’re used to being tired. It’s the nature of the life you’ve chosen. But working on someone you know, having the survival of a familiar life placed in your hands…there’s nothing more draining. It feels like your body could fall asleep at any moment, but your mind won’t ever let you sleep again. Every part of you aches, from your muscles to your soul.
Leo finds you there a few minutes later, still slumped against the fridge. He doesn’t make a sound, he never does, but you feel him the moment he steps in the room from the way the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
He scuffs his feet purposefully when he approaches, and you close your eyes, tears welling up at his clear attempt not to startle you. “How’s Angelo?” you ask quietly. Your voice is unbearably loud, a harsh interruption of the sacred silence.
“Fast asleep,” Leo replies. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, forcing you to meet his unbearably soft gaze. “Raph’s on watch. He’s fine.”
Then, he says the words that rend you through every time. His grip on you is firm, grounding you when he presses a kiss to your temple and whispers: “You did great.”
You crumple.
You collapse into Leonardo until he’s the only thing holding you up. You press your heaving, aching chest into his as if you could absorb his strength through osmosis and sob. It’s ugly, and it's loud, every bit of exhaustion and fear and anger you’ve felt in the past weeks projected into sound.
Leo holds you through it all.
“ – It’s alright now, mi amor. You did it. You did amazing , I’m so proud of you – ”
Eventually, your sobs turn into cries. Cries turn into hiccups and the occasional sniff. Leo keeps holding you, whispering quietly, and brushing your hair from your sticky face. Eventually, you find the strength to peel your cheek from his shell and look him in the eye.
He smiles and wipes the last of your tears with his thumb, eyes brighter than you’ve ever seen. “I got you,” he whispers, the words a promise to the universe itself. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
And you believe it when he says it. You believe it from the way he holds you like you’re something precious, speaks to you like every word is a vow, even when you’re covered in tears and snot. He would never lie to you. If there’s one constant in this world, it’s that you can trust Hamato Leonardo.
It would be so easy to love him. Like breathing.
There’s no other word for it, this selfish thing that has begun to fester in the cracks of your heart, this yearning . Looking into his eyes right now, you have no choice but to call it love.
If you had an ounce more energy, you might lose your mind at the mere thought that this is love. Right here, right now, standing with Leonardo in a kitchen you’ve known longer than the place you call home, is love. All you can think of is the beat of his heart beneath your hands, how firmly he’s holding you, yet how gentle his touch is all the same.
How relieving it is to be held up by something other than a cold, metal fridge.
“I’m sorry for crying,” you whisper, to which Leo vehemently shakes his head. You continue on before the lecture can begin, explaining, “It’s just hard sometimes. I don’t regret it, but…it’s hard sometimes.”
Leo sighs at that, adjusting his hold on you so it’s less purposeful, more casual. He runs a soothing hand down your arm and responds with a simple, “I hear you.”
There’s so much more to say, and both of you know it. But the events of the night are too fresh to confess even now, in this little bubble of safety you’ve created for each other.
You hold Leonardo closer and let the unspoken words speak for themselves.
~*~
The next day, April meets you at your favorite brunch spot, orders a pitcher of peach mimosa, pours you each a flute, and gestures for you to begin all within thirty seconds.
“Spill. I want it all. No holds barred,” she orders. And because it’s April, your best friend in the whole world, every wall you’ve ever built up breaks down faster than a politician’s promise.
“Okay. Just remember you asked for this – and don’t make fun of me,” you plead. April rolls her eyes in a way that says I would never! And deep down, you know she wouldn’t, but…friends have in the past. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling that that thought brings you, you take a large gulp of your mimosa to steel yourself, then begin:
“I…I never really understood everyone’s fascination with dating. I’ve never, like, actively wanted to have a partner and be in a relationship, or even really kiss anyone. But…” You pause and take another sip of your drink. “Anyway. It never really bothered me. I had you, I had the guys, and I was so focused on becoming a nurse anyway that I didn’t even have time to focus on it.”
“But now…” April nods along, silently urging you to continue. “I want it. For the first time, I want it, and I’m terrified. And the fact that it’s fucking Nardo only scares me more because he’s Nardo . And lately, he’s been acting like he might be interested too, so –”
“Hang on, pause,” April interrupts you with a raised hand. “ Might be interested?”
The glint in her eye tells you there’s a rant incoming, and you sink into yourself slightly. “April…”
“ Sister.”
Her tone shuts you up and forces your gaze back to hers. You’ve never seen April O’Neil more serious than she is now. “That idiot has been in love with you since you first put a band-aid on him. He follows you around like a lost puppy, and when you’re not around, he’s texting you. He just loves you so much he’s scared you’ll say no, so he doesn’t ask.” April smiles slightly and sips her mimosa. “I swear, it’s like me and Casey all over again.”
Meanwhile, on your side of the table, your jaw has dropped to the floor. You barely remind yourself to shut it before you catch flies, and try to mask your absolute shock by taking a shaky sip of your drink, then shoving the empty flute in April’s face. “I need to be so much drunker for this,” you mutter.
April grins and tops you off. “Why do you think I got two pitchers?”
You end up calling Casey to escort you two drunkies home. None of you works today, so you all while away the afternoon together with a few more drinks and good conversation. And when the clock strikes 10, April shoves Casey on the couch and screams, “Girls' night, babe! Bestie takes priority.” You hear him laugh before April shuts the bedroom door and herds you toward the bed.
An hour later, Brooklyn Nine-Nine is on the TV, and your best friend is wrapped around you like a koala. With the quiet of the night comes the barreling realization of all that you’ve learned today…and now that your buzz has worn off, you feel your heart sinking despite it all. April’s arms tighten around you, as if she can feel it.
“I’ve never done this before,” you whisper into the dark. “I don’t know what to do.”
April takes a moment to gather her thoughts. Your quiet confession hangs in the air between you, but despite how the words make you feel, your chest is somewhat lighter after having said them. On the TV, Jake and Amy share a tender kiss. April hugs you closer, and you hug her back just as tightly.
“I know. It’s okay to be scared. It’s scary,” she affirms. “No one says you have to do anything. Sometimes…sometimes just realizing it is enough. And life will do the rest.”
~*~
Nothing really changes, after that – at least not right away. You keep to your shaky routine that allows enough flexibility for your “other” job, seeing your patients all across the city, meeting Raphael for lunch on Wednesdays, and going to the farmer’s market on Sunday. Pigeons fly past your window, and life goes on.
But every night, when the world gets quiet and you’re having a moment of peace to yourself, Leonardo portals to your balcony.
This isn’t a new routine – Leo’s always been antsy, never quite able to settle in one place for too long. You’ve long gotten used to seeing a flash of blue announce his arrival in the other room, or coming home after a long shift to find him playing video games on your couch.
No, what’s new is how you keep clamming up like a goddamn teenager.
Like, really? You’re stumbling over your words while talking to Leonardo , the same man who you’ve seen faceplant on the ground from five stories up. Multiple times. The same idiot who belts Celine Dion at karaoke has the irreparable ability of conjuring butterflies from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.
And isn’t that just stupid.
“Are you okay?” Leo asks, and it’s only his raised eyebrow that makes you realize you’re scowling.
You clear your throat, fix your face back into a neutral expression, and stab your chopsticks into your noodles. “Sorry. My brain won’t shut the fuck up.”
Leo hums thoughtfully and takes another bite of his ramen, slurping it obscenely. Your scowl returns at the way he smacks his lips, but his gaze is earnest when he looks at you again. “Anything I can help with?” he offers, and you have to physically stop yourself from swooning a little.
Instead, you focus intently back on your meal. “No, I’ll be okay. It just happens sometimes.”
You blink in surprise when Leo takes your chopsticks so he can wrap your hand in both of his. And dammit, you cannot help the heat that rushes to your face at the way he’s looking at you. He looks…concerned. He looks like he cares.
“I know you’ll be okay,” Leo murmurs. “You’ll always be okay, especially if I have any say about it. But I want to make sure you’re good right now .” He leans back in his seat, keeping your hand trapped in his. “You’ve been quiet lately, that’s all.”
You gape at him for a moment. From the day you met, Leo’s always been able to see right through you – a trait of his you equally admire and despise. And he’s right, of course. It wasn’t on purpose, but you have put a bit of distance between you the past week as you’ve sorted through your feelings.
Apparently, your silence makes Leo nervous, because he rambles on, “And we never did get to you on our gelato night. Don’t think I forgot about that.”
You groan and rub your eyes with the hand that isn’t trapped in his. “I know you didn’t forget about it. But you’ve been dealing with Bishop and then Mikey got hurt, and then my six-year-old in Park Slope got the fucking flu –”
“Okay,” Leonardo interrupts. “Let’s start there. Tell me about the kid.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re really not going to give up, are you?”
Leo cocks an invisible eyebrow and grins. “Do you even know me?” You can’t help but smile back.
The rest of the meal, you tell him about your life: The six-year-old, who decided to get the flu right when his mother was postpartum – You had to find a way to keep mother and baby separated from him in a New York apartment (a near impossible feat), but somehow you managed with minimal tears from both the boy and his parents.
You tell him about rehabilitating a teacher in Midtown after she broke her hip, your patient in Harlem who’s comatose and needs round-the-clock care, but sometimes her mother needs to sleep. The veteran with Locked-In Syndrome, who’s steadily working to be able to hug his kids again.
“That one’s been toughest,” you tell Leo, after he’s finished your ramen for you and ordered a small bottle of sake. “He had a seizure. His daughter found him. And I had to tell him that he’ll probably never walk again, but his response was that he’d be okay if he could just hug his daughter.”
Viscious tears well up in your eyes, and you instinctively frown at the bitter feeling. It’s just so unfair . It’s unfair that anyone could live fifty plus years, only to be trapped in their own body and find a way to deal with it. To live with it.
A lot of people don’t.
When Leonardo takes your hand, you feel some of that bitterness in your chest seep away. You squeeze his fingers gratefully and sigh, letting him anchor you until your anger gives way back to a clear conscience.
“We’re actually doing this thing called the ‘Alexander Technique,’” you explain. “Actors use it, believe it or not. It’s a very ‘mind-body’ approach, but we’ve seen a lot of improvement.” You meet Leo’s eyes and smile, internally pleased that his attention is rapt on you. “He can lift his arms all the way now. Some people with Locked-In never even do that again.”
“That’s amazing,” Leo congratulates you, and you squeeze his hand gratefully. “You’re amazing. But still, that’s…a lot.”
And just like that, your smile drops again. “Yeah. I’ve been really tired, honestly, but I’m okay.”
“Are you though?” Leo demands, and you blink in surprise. His face drops at your shock, and he sighs, rubbing a soothing thumb across your knuckles. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m worried about you. Everything happened with Bishop and Mikey, and then you just kind of went MIA –”
“ Leonardo .” Your friend blinks in surprise at the full-name pull, but you cover his hand with your free one and duck your chin to catch his eye. “I’m okay, I promise. I’ve just been…figuring some things out, I guess. Life is a lot right now, but I promise: If I weren’t okay, you would know. It’s just been a weird week.”
Leo nods emphatically at that, having told you about how things with Bishop are heating up. You rub your thumb gently over his pulse point. “I’m sorry I worried you, Blue,” you whisper.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you’re proud to say you only fluster a little when he lifts your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll always worry about you.”
You don’t really remember leaving the restaurant, focused as you are on the ghost of Leonardo’s lips on your knuckles, but you do remember the feel of his hand on your back, guiding you out onto the street.
The walk back to your apartment is slow. The buildings are tinged gold with the sunset, and a breeze picks up about halfway home, bringing the smell of rain.
“I think it’s going to rain tonight,” you announce, and though you don’t look at him, you feel Leonardo look at you.
summary: shinsou's been seeing you for a few months now, and he's struggling to put into words just how he feels about you. here's how he figures it out.
warnings: weed, mentions of intimate times but nothing explicit, fluff :)
part i
It’s past midnight the first time Shinsou finds himself unable to look away from you.
No matter the season, it never gets quite dark enough in your neighborhood—it’s the reason Shinsou wanted to move here in the first place. He likes how the lights of the city reach like probing fingers even into this inconspicuous corner.
And he finds he likes the view even more when you’re framed in the center of it.
You’re seated on top of a washing machine in the crappiest laundromat he's ever had the displeasure of setting foot in, and yet you're gazing out at the neon lights curling off of the rain-blasted concrete like it's the most interesting thing you've ever seen.
He’s not sure what emotion has strung itself through his body, but he does know it grows larger every time he looks at you.
It started the first time he saw what you look like first thing in the morning, face bathed in gold as you blinked up at him sleepily and placed a chaste kiss on his chin. He hasn’t been able to get rid of the intrepid butterfly ever since. If it has a name, Shinsou’s never known it. And he can’t be the first to say it when it doesn’t have a name.
So it hovers in the air when the two of you find yourselves lounging on his fire escape at sunset, enjoying the last warm rays of autumn; spins a web even larger when you hip-check him as you cook dinner together, and even bigger two months later, legs tangled together on Hitoshi’s too-small couch and your chest moving against his as you simply breathe together, fingers intertwined.
It’s yours—Shinsou knows that much from the way it sticks to the roof of his mouth, unable to escape. It aches under his tongue like a sore, and the mere thought of it and his inability to figure out what the fuck it is makes him slam the washing machine hard enough to topple the detergent bottle on top of it.
“You smoke too much, hero?”
And suddenly, his earlier frustration evaporates like a puddle in the sun. Hitoshi laughs at the comical eyebrow you have raised and nudges your thighs apart so he can stuff his bed sheets into the third washing machine. You squint down at him playfully when he lingers between your legs after straightening up, and Shinsou suddenly decides the crook of your shoulder looks inviting.
The clock on the wall reads 12:13 a.m.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” you gripe teasingly when his hand slides higher on your thigh, but you’re already opening your arms for your boyfriend to slump into you. Hitoshi presses his nose against the hollow of your throat to catch the last fading notes of soap from the shower you took earlier and follows the crease of your hips with his hands until you're held securely in his embrace. He closes his eyes and breathes deep to fight off the yawn he knows is coming.
You loop your arms around his neck and begin to scroll through your phone behind his back. “It was your idea to smoke before coming here, so I’m not dragging you back if you fall asleep.”
“‘m not that high,” Shinsou mumbles into your neck. Your chest vibrates against him when you laugh.
“Sure, hero.”
Hitoshi has a retort at the forefront of his mind when he pulls back just enough to look at you, but it dissolves like sugar on his tongue when his eyes meet yours.
It’s here—looking at the way your eyes reflect the stuttering fluctuations of the laundromat’s eerie light, your half-dried hair, the way you’re biting down on your lip to keep yourself from smiling—that Hitoshi finally feels that indescribable something catch on the tip of his tongue.
There’s a name for this. He knows it.
He’s distracted even further when you pull back to smile at him, teeth tinged pink by the neon sign dangling in the window. “What are you smiling at, jerk?” you whisper, and Shinsou finds himself entranced by the way your nose scrunches with the force of your amused smile. “Busy thinking about how lucky you are to be in this shitty laundromat in the middle of the night?”
“Yes,” he replies immediately.
Your eyes widen at the speed the word drops from Hitoshi’s mouth, and the indescribable feeling deep in his chest regresses slightly again. Maybe he was too blunt. Maybe he's wrong.
But then your smile widens even further, and your fingers are tightening their grip on his shoulder blades. “Good. Because I was thinking the same thing.”
Hitoshi can't help the lazy, self-satisfied smile that spreads across his face before he kisses you and tucks the words into his heart for safekeeping.
~*~
Shinsou knows that the pro-hero lifestyle can strain relationships. He's seen it firsthand and he knows it well, which is probably why he never really cared for seeking out those types of things. His friends have always described him as picky, and he supposes that's true too.
You were the best surprise. You walked into his life and simply took a seat, and the moment you smiled at him, he knew he didn't have a choice but to ask you to stay. To find his own place in your life.
But Hero life takes a toll. And crossing that hurdle with you, the reality of his career…he didn't know what that would look like.
It's autumn again and Shinsou misses you. He's been stuck in Tokyo for a mission, and all the two of you have had for weeks now are texts or hushed and hurried phone calls that make his heart ache. And he was so tired that despite not a hint of disappointment existing in your voice, he couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself, that he was letting you down somehow for letting his job take him away from you for so long.
He bids goodbye to Midoriya the second the threat has passed and his role is fulfilled, and his friend smiles at him in a knowing way Shinsou doesn't know what to do with. He doesn't even retort when Kaminari calls after him, typical shit-eating grin evident in his voice: "In a hurry, huh MindJack?"
All Shinsou can think is that he needs you. Desperately.
It's almost morning by the time he slips in through your living room window. Your cat lifts her head and blinks at him once, sleepily, before deeming him not a threat and curling back up on her tree. He makes sure to give her a good scritch behind the ears before he heads into your room.
A thick wall of rain clouds has enveloped the city for the past week, so your room is still dark when he walks in. He's grateful to see you're still asleep—Shinsou's been awake way too long, even for him, and doubt started to creep into the edges of his mind long before he got here. He needs some time to just hold you before you wake up and have the inevitable conversation. Has he been gone too long? Was this separation and stress too much for you? Would you still want him?
He's tapping your shoulder before he can stop himself. You jerk awake with a start, eyes wide and scanning the room for threats before they land on him. "Hitoshi?"
The way he says your name is like a prayer. "Hey…" His voice catches in his throat. "I missed you."
You're groggy, but clearly awake now, and Shinsou's heart tightens as you scoot over toward the wall and lift your comforter in invitation. "Come to bed. You look exhausted."
He can't help the relieved laugh that punches out of him. "Ever astute, you are," he replies.
You giggle sleepily. It's adorable. "Come here, you. I missed you too."
And then he takes off his gear and accepts the invitation into your embrace and you're warm. You're warm and you smell good and familiar and your bed is so comfortable. And you don't complain that he hasn't showered in a few days, that he's fresh off a battlefield.
Shinsou wraps you tighter until you're practically nose to nose and your sleepy gaze meets his, eyes searching for what, he doesn't know.
You just tuck yourself closer to him and Shinsou wraps you tighter until you're practically nose to nose. Maybe this is when the questions come. But when you do ask a question, it's so unexpected he doesn't know what to doo with it.
You simply ask: "Everything finished?" And Shinsou's heart breaks in the best way possible. You don't ask him any more questions, don't expect anything more from him. You just let him hold you, and hold him in return.
He nods, unable to form words. You smile and nod back, then nestle back into his chest and promptly fall back asleep. Shinsou can't help the chuckle that rumbles through him at the quickness of the movement—for someone who complained consistently of sleep issues, it doesn't seem you've ever had any trouble when he's in bed with you.
He thinks, just before he is taken by the blackness of slumber, that if he doesn’t figure out a way to tell you soon, he might just lose his mind.
~*~
"Saw you on the news today."
Your friend (Boyfriend? Partner? You hadn't really discussed labels yet) stops abruptly, steaming cup halfway to his lips. His violet eyes are carefully blank over the plastic rim. "Did you?"
You hum in affirmation and tuck your arm through Hitoshi's, cuddling closer to him on the cold metal bench. Autumn descended quickly on Japan. Half of the park trees have already dropped their yellow leaves from the sudden burst of cold, and despite his cool exterior, Hitoshi tends to be a walking heater…and he finds he quite likes the feel of you pressed into his side.
Shinsou cups his hand over yours and settles back on the bench, pulling you to relax against him. A comfortable silence washes over the two of you, but he knows you well enough to know you're chewing over what to say next. And although he's nervous, you haven't done him wrong yet—in fact, you've done him right in ways Hitoshi didn't know he deserved. So, he's happy to wait and observe the park around you, one ear on the shrieking children on the playground next to you, and the other on the whirring of your thoughts next to him.
You'd always been curious about Shinsou's quirk, of course—He's a goddamn Pro. His quirk has to be insane in comparison to yours. But he never asked about your own, and that was…unique, to say the least. You met Shinsou as Shinsou first, and you liked being able to provide him that bit of anonymity. A true escape from the reality of his work. You figured his quirk would come up when it was important.
But then, you saw him on the news this morning alongside the numbers one and two heroes. You had nearly dropped your breakfast plate when an absolutely beaming Deku pulled Shinsou in front of the camera and praised him for his help diffusing a rather difficult hostage situation. But, that's all Deku said. No mention of Shinsou's Quirk, or how exactly he guided the crisis toward its end point. Just that there were no casualties and minor injuries. He was successful.
Hitoshi's attention turns back to you when you rest your cheek on his shoulder. He looks down at you, wishing he could see your face, but your eyes (that he swears are all-seeing) remain fixed on the park in front of you. He's just about to break the silence himself when he feels you inhale against him and ask: "The students are all okay?" Even though, you already know the answer.
Shinsou takes a shaky breath. Lets it out slowly, fights down the confused tilt of his mouth. "…Yeah. Everyone's okay."
You lift your head only to drop your chin on his shoulder, and Shinsou surprises even himself when he sputters out a laugh at the goofy grin on your face, the light in your eyes. "Way to go, hero," you whisper and straighten up to press a kiss to his chin. His smile falters at the feather-light touch and your eyes flicker briefly with concern. "What is it?"
"I love you." It comes out in a breath, nearly a wheeze, and the only reason you hear him is because you're so close. It's your turn for your smile to drop, but it comes back just as quickly. And then it's as if the first cold day of autumn doesn't exist because your smile is brighter and warmer than any sun Shinsou Hitoshi will ever hope to see. He smiles widely in return and slides a hand up to cup your neck, the back of your head, laughing in awe at the joy radiating out from you. "I love you," he's unable to stop himself from telling you again.
"I love you too, jerk," you whisper, and your smile clacks against Hitoshi's when he kisses you. One of his gloved hands passes down the length of your arm and you shudder, pressing closer to him on the cold bench. His other arm works around your back, pulling you half onto his lap, and you can tell by the satisfied hum he lets out that he thoroughly enjoys the way you gasp into his mouth.
And the way Shinsou looks at you when he finally pulls back and strokes a thumb reverently down your cheek have you saying: "Let's go home, hero."
~*~
He makes you breakfast in the morning.
You come to slowly, tilting your nose toward the smell of brewing coffee and stretching your beautifully sore muscles. You can't remember the last time you woke up feeling this well-rested, this content. "I love you," Hitoshi had told you yesterday…and he spent the entirety of last night showing you just how much he meant that. The smell of breakfast cooking in the wake of such fantastic events is just the cherry on top of the cake. A giddy smile stretches across your face and you fight the urge to kick your feet in the comforter like an overly-excitable toddler.
When you finally do get up, you head straight to your boyfriend's closet to steal one of his most coveted black sweatshirts—the ones he got from a brand deal about two months ago. You gave him a lot of shit when you opened up the package to see the hero's purple logo snug next to the designer's trademark, and to your surprise, Shinsou had blushed all the way up to his purple hair.
You pull on the sweatshirt with a happy little hum, then make your way slowly into his massive combined kitchen and living space. You hiss quietly when your bare feet make contact with the hardwood floor, and silently mourn not pulling on the ridiculously fluffy slippers Shinsou received from one of his friends (another package you gave him a hard time for receiving).
"Get back in bed."
A smirk forms on your lips at the demand, especially now that you know he could actually send you right back to bed if he wanted to. But, you also know that he never would.
The two of you had returned to his apartment in a flurry of hands and kisses, but Hitoshi had managed to peel you off of him long enough to gain your attention with a serious look. His revealing his quirk to you had been a turning point for you both, but especially for Hitoshi.
He fell in love with you just a little bit more when you simply nodded at his deep dark truth and said: "I trust you, hero. I feel like that should go without saying by now. Now, if you don't finish what you started, I'm going to scream."
You ended up screaming a little bit anyway, not that you complained.
You wrap your arms around Hitoshi's strong, slim waist when you finally meet him at the stove, and nearly topple backwards when he leans his weight back into you. "Hitoshi!" you squeal, desperately trying to tilt his heavily muscled body off of you. "You're gonna crush me."
"I thought I did that last night?" He spins around in your arms with a cheeky smile, just in time to see you blush furiously before landing a solid hit on his shoulder. "This is supposed to be a romantic, breakfast-in-bed type deal," Hitoshi continues, though the way he runs his hands up the length of your arms betrays him. "Now go back to bed."
"Mmmmm no." You smile and roll up onto your toes so you can press a kiss to Hitoshi's cheek before stepping out of his arms. He reaches out to pull you back, but you smoothly evade him and walk back around the counter to take a seat on one of the plush barstools. "I think I'd rather enjoy the view. Plus, I already smelled the coffee."
Shinsou scoffs playfully and turns the stove off. "And what, you think you're gonna get it sitting all the way over there?"
"I thought this was supposed to be a 'romantic, breakfast-in-bed type deal?'"
"That was before you decided to be difficult."
You roll your eyes playfully. "And to think I thought you'd be in a good mood this morning, jerk."
"I'm in a fantastic mood." You gasp when Shinsou's voice is right next to your ear—you had completely missed his approach. His smile is radiant as you sit up a little too eagerly, just barely avoiding smashing your nose against his as you do, and you roll your eyes again at the smug way he's watching you. "Do that again and your eyes will roll out of your head," he warns.
"If that were true, you would have been eyeless a long time ago," you retort. You're so close you can smell the coffee on his breath. "What, so no coffee, and no 'good morning' either?'" you ask.
Shinsou responds by pressing his lips firmly against yours. You relax against him with a sleepy sigh, but he keeps you upright with a hand on your cheek so he can kiss you deeply, thoroughly before slowly pulling away and whispering against your mouth: "Good morning."
You smile and press another quick peck to his lips. "Good morning, Hitoshi."
"Coffee?" he asks, though he still doesn't move away. You giggle as his nose brushes yours.
"It's cold, no?"
"Long cold," Hitoshi confirms, and you giggle again when he sneaks his hands along your waist (underneath his sweatshirt) to lift you easily from the barstool. He whispers the last of your conversation against your lips as he carries you back to the bedroom. "We'll make more later."
no lie, the second half of this post really helped me put a different perspective on my life and greatly the decreased the anxiety i have about my life to come
Excerpt: “Can we do this now?” he asked, resting his nose against your cheek. His breaths coated your face. “Please?”
You smiled, burying your hands in his hair. Your eyes drifted closed in bliss. “Yes, Din. I want you. Right now.”
He kissed your cheek and placed your hands back on his armor. “Please get this off of me, and please keep me awake.”
And you did.
Warnings: sleepy, love-filled sex between a married couple. Wife!reader, grogu’s asleep, unprotected sex, mostly just kissing and feeling up. NOT breeding kink. A bit of cockwarming.
A/N: Once again, Happy Dincember everyone. I cannot explain how grateful I am for almost 3,000 followers without crying.
If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated :)
Pedro Masterlist
(GIF from Pinterest)
The familiar scuff of his boots on the Crest floor pulled you from REM sleep into barely languid, and the heat of your body from the cot’s covers warmed just so.
Your riduur was home.
Due to how out of it you were, it took you a few moments to realize that no, this wasn’t a dream. This was real. The two-day mission turned five, turned seven, turned nine, turned twelve was finally over, and your numb body somehow found the strength to prop itself up and drape yourself with the blankets.
You sat like that, all wrapped up in your cocoon, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed, for a few moments. You then stood up slowly, taking the blankets with you, and squinted your way out of the bedroom. Your eyes were no wider than slits, and you thanked the maker for muscle memory.
You swallowed the sleep from your mouth and rounded the corner, feeling your muscles ache with stretch, still in a daze. Your head was beginning to swim with dopamine, and with one last yawn, you made it to the cock pit.
The sight before you halted you instantly.
There was your husband, wrapped in wealth and impenetrable metal, leaning over Grogu’s tiny bassinet. He must have gotten fussy when Din opened the airlock, and Din had immediately taken care of it.
You’d have to thank him for that later.
He sat Grogu up, patting his back, and fed him small bites of maple bar. His favorite.
“That’s it buddy,” he whispered. “Swallow. There ya go.”
You stood and watched this encounter, soaking it in. It was moments like this that you missed the most when he was gone—moments so domiciliary and domesticated that they etched into your heart implicitly. These moments were so wrapped in rarity that you could not even daydream about them or yearn for them, because you didn’t even know they existed. Like watching a Mandalorian brush his teeth, or chop an onion, or change the sheets, or breathe at night. They were the memories you would recall when you were old and graying, unable to describe them in a way that did them justice.
You wrapped yourself tighter in the blankets, just watching and basking in the glow of it. Eventually Din laid Grogu down, tucking him in, and traced his face with his leather-bound glove.
“Goodnight buddy,” he whispered, and turned to you.
You looked up at him in all his sheathing, and smiled.
“Hi,” you whispered.
“Hi,” he whispered back. He smelled of metal and woods with a hint of gunpowder. In the nearly pitch black of the room his shoulders still appeared as broad as ever, his armor was caked in mud, and his weapons belt hung a noticeable amount lower than usual.
You took a moment to soak in the fact that you would look at him like this for the rest of your life.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, moving closer to you.
“You didn’t,” you replied, “your boots did.”
His chuckle underneath the modulator was nothing like it was out of it, but it was enough to bring you home.
“You know I like being up for you when you get back,” you said, looking up higher at him as he came closer and closer. The warmth of the blankets and increased blood flow were not the only things warming your insides now. “Let me be your docile, obedient wife for once.”
You could feel the smirk on his face. “Yes. Obedient and docile, perfect for you.”
He made it to you, wrapping his hands around your waist. Your hands laid on top of his cooled beskar chest and chills etched up your spine as you looked up at him with a smile.
He pressed his forehead firmly against your own. The smell of forest and frost on him engulfed you. “My wife is none of those things.”
You hummed. “No, she isn’t.”
He began slowly walking you backwards into the bedroom, as if you were swaying in a dance, and your hands crept up to his helmet.
“Why didn’t you wake me up when the kid was fussy? I could have taken care of him.”
His gloved hands trailed up your back and the exhaustion in his voice was present. “I missed him. Wanted to take care of him.”
You smiled and pressed a kiss to his visor, tasting a mix of ice and salt that burned your chapped lips. “Okay.”
The back of your knees hit the bed frame and you stopped, creeping your hands underneath Din’s helmet.
“If you take this thing off me I’m not going to be able to keep my mouth off you.”
He said it so nonchalantly, as if that was a normal thing to say, and the fatigue of his voice and body language liquified you even more. Your still drowsy state was not helping matters.
You felt euphoric, in a perfect state of conscious and unconscious, like you were still in a dream. It was paradise.
“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” you said, removing the sheets wrapped around you. You let them fall onto the bed before reaching back up for him, slowly rising the helmet off of his head. The familiar hiss coated your ears as it rose, and the chocolate eyes that were yours forever met your own.
He smiled in the dark, illuminated by the moon. He brought his mouth inches away from yours, breathing in your breaths. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you responded, and he kissed you.
Immediately, the taste and feel of him washing over you threatened to crumble you to the floor. Din hands on your waist were the only things keeping you upright.
He kept you standing like it was nothing.
He kissed you slowly and deeply, taking his sweet time tasting you again. Your hands worked their way up his body, tracing his beskar all the way up to his hair. Your tongue met his at the same moment your nails scratched his scalp, and he pulled away from you to groan.
“Can we do this now?” he asked, resting his nose against your cheek. His breaths coated your face. “Please?”
You smiled, burying your hands in his hair. Your eyes drifted closed in bliss. “Yes, Din. I want you. Right now.”
He kissed your cheek and placed your hands back on his armor. “Please get this off of me, and please keep me awake.”
And you did.
Piece by piece, you disrobed the Mandalorian from his beskar down to complete nudity, watching his eyes open and close as he began to drift to sleep as he stood. A few times you had to lean him onto you to prevent him from falling, and he kissed around your pulse point every time. Whispering gibberish.
Finally you squatted down to remove his boots, and just like that, he was naked in front of you. His purple under-eyes stood out in the moonlight, as well as a new scar across his abdomen. Your irises coated in worry, reaching up to feel it, but he stopped you.
“Tomorrow,” he said, kissing you more passionately than he had all night. “Tomorrow.”
Then he disrobed you.
The rough skin on his hands tracing you lit you on fire, boiling you enough to keep you conscious. He was the slowest with your panties, pulling them down your thighs like an art form. You scratched your nails down his warm back, and that seemed to speed him up.
As soon as the fabric hit the floor Din lifted you into his arms, laying you down flat on the cot before crawling overtop of you.
“Din, you’re tired, I can—”
“No,” he said, burying his head in your neck. “Wanna be close to you.”
You couldn’t say no to that.
He took the sheets you had discarded and covered them over the two of you. You could see nothing else but him, and you were completely surrounded by the scent and warmth of his skin.
“Maker I missed you so badly,” he said before kissing you hard enough to make you whine. You pulled him as close to you as possible, tracing his body as he kissed and kissed and kissed you, memorizing your mouth. The passion and heat in you were rising, and with one trace down his haired chest with your nail, he pulled away. He traced his hands over your face, pushing your hair away to see you fully. You traced his face too, noticing his scruff had turned into a full beard.
You always liked that look on him.
“Y/N,” he whispered. “My Y/N.” He spoke as if you were unbelievable
“I’m right here,” you responded, holding his face in your hands.
“I just want to be inside of you,” he whispered, almost pathetically. “Can we just skip to that part?”
You smiled, laughing loudly, and kissed him quickly. “Yes.”
He huffed a laugh and kissed you again, nice and slow, like he had been the whole night.
He kissed you and felt you for so long that you didn’t know if he would make it. His movements slowed and slowed as he went on, touching you and tracing you so meticulously it was like he was painting you from nothing.
Finally, with a firm kiss to your jawline, he entered you tortuously. You exhaled in pure pleasure, and your body threatened to rapture already.
He was a dream come true.
Din halted when he was as deep as he could go and tucked his head into your neck. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika riduur.”
You kissed the side of his head. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, adol akaan.”
And that’s when he started to move.
As he moved in and out, in and out, in and out, dragging each thrust on and on to feel every inch of your folds. He felt all around you, re-memorizing you; how you skin felt, how your body had changed, and the exact rhythm of your heart.
Tears spilled from your eyes as he moved, and you moaned his name over and over, grateful for the return of it in your tongue.
“Keep—keep doing that, saying my name,” he said as he moved. “Almost forgot I had it.”
You repeated it over and over again, clenching around Din when he began to shake. He swirled his shaking fingers around your clit, and with one last clench, the both of you went.
The covers above your heads did little to hide the sound of your synchronization, and it was then that you really started to drift. Din was so warm inside you—filling you up completely—and his body had you trapped in a cave of sheets and serenity. You were perfectly satisfied with your husband safe and sound in your arms, and your body began to fail you.
You felt Din prop himself up and press kisses around your face and your mouth, and your lips tingled with the intensity of it all. He rubbed his nose against yours and pecked your lips before laying back on top of you, pulling the covers raised above his head off as he did. You were hit with fresh air, and were inches away from bliss before Din whispered one last thing in your ear.
“Goodnight, docile and obedient wife.”
You drifted off with a smile.
None of this was a dream. This was real.
Your riduur was home.
Mando’a Translations:
Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika riduur: I love you/ I will know you forever, my sweet wife.
Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, adol akaan: I love you/ I will know you forever, even through war.
Tag list: (I apologize if your tag is not working/not added. Let me know if you’d like to be added!!)
summary: Eight weeks after arriving in Jackson, Ellie drags Joel to the Tipsy Bison, where he meets you :) soft get-together fic because joel deserves some happy fluff, dammit
warnings: none :)
“Joel, right?”
The man in question finds himself ducking slightly at the sound of an unfamiliar voice saying his name. He'd managed to avoid The Tipsy Bison for eight weeks after he and Ellie settled in Jackson—his reputation as Tommy’s brother precedes him around town, and to be honest...he hasn’t been inclined to make small talk for years.
So Joel isn’t exactly welcoming when he glances up at the bartender who spoke to him. You smirk, unperturbed by his scowl, and raise your eyebrows in a gentle prompt for him to answer. Joel clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“Hm. Maria’s description was spot on.”
Your smile widens at your quip, and it’s Joel’s eyebrows that raise this time. He can’t remember the last time anyone besides Ellie ribbed him without having an ulterior motive. A joking smile spreads across your pretty face, lit by the warm lights of the bar, and something in Joel relaxes a little at the sight.
His mouth responds before he can stop himself: “And what exactly did Maria have to say?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat.
“Tall, dark, and broody,” you respond simply, eyes trailing down his shoulders and to the bar. You lean down to place your freshly-shined glass underneath the counter, and Joel finds himself tracking your movements. “'Clint Eastwood come to life.' Figured you’d sit at the corner of the bar to avoid the crowd, but that you’d also pick a seat that can see the entire room.
"Plus, I figured I wouldn’t see you in here until Ellie dragged you.” You flick your gaze pointedly to something behind him—Ellie, he takes. “I recognized you as soon as you sat down,” you tease.
He leans back with a hum, impressed and, admittedly, intrigued. Three years ago, he would’ve felt threatened by the way you managed to take him apart so completely before you even spoke a word to him. Now, he’s just stunned that anyone cares enough about him to do that sort of analysis. “Anything else?” he asks dryly.
You smirk and begin shining a new glass. “Tommy’s the only other person in this town who orders Tito’s straight. You Texas boys are all the same.” Joel nods and chuckles internally.
“In some ways,” he agrees. He takes a moment to swirl the aforementioned drink in his glass before he lifts his gaze back to yours. “You know Ellie?”
“She just might be the most entertaining person I’ve ever met," you deadpan, and Joel finds himself huffing a small laugh at that.
“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”
“How would you put it?” you ask, and the hardened survivor finds himself stumbling slightly under the sincerity of your gaze.
One of the first things he learns about you is that you can’t hide a damn thing on your face. Your question is an honest one; you genuinely want to know how he, a man you just met and have heard who-knows-what about, feels. And while something about your sincerity makes him uncomfortable, he feels himself opening his mouth to respond. He wants to delve into this conversation with you, any conversation with you. He wants to flirt with you a little bit more.
Just as he begins to stumble toward an answer, a familiar gangly form shoves itself onto the barstool next to his. “Hey, (y/n)!” Ellie greets you brightly.
“’sup, kiddo?” You greet her so casually, Joel can tell you and the girl are already well into being friends. He regains his composure as you finally begin cleaning the glass in your hands. “Staying out of trouble?” you ask.
“Yup.”
“—Nope,” Joel interjects.
You smile at the way Ellie and Joel glare at each other, him with an exasperated sigh and Ellie an incredulous scowl. “I’ve been good!” she insists.
“Just because you haven’t been caught don't mean you’ve been good,” Joel growls.
You find yourself laughing out loud at that as you set the newly-shined glass back on the rack. “Now I’m really curious.”
“Don’t be,” Joel grumbles.
“What’s taking you so long?” Ellie asks Joel, happy to change the subject. “Tommy’s been waiting for his drink.”
“His complainin’ is exactly why I’m still over here. Just...” Joel sighs. “Gimme a sec.”
Ellie rolls her eyes and snags the lemonade you proffered her off of the bar, along with Tommy’s own glass of Tito’s. “Nope, let’s go. Maria’s orders.”
Joel sighs deeply at that. “Alright, alright.”
“Later, (y/n)!”
“Bye, Ellie.”
Joel groans and pushes off of the barstool and to his feet, eyes on his drink, as for some reason he finds himself unable to meet your eye again. “It was—” He clears his throat before continuing: “It was nice to meet you.”
The smile you offer him when he looks back up is endearing in its honesty, and Joel finds himself thinking about it when he closes his eyes that night.
~*~
The second time Joel winds up in the Tipsy Bison, it’s the absolute last place he wants to be.
He, Tommy, and a few other guards on the night shift successfully prevented a rather large raid in the early hours of the morning. The raiders had scouted the city and discovered what they thought was a skeleton shift in the patrol…not knowing that Joel is basically a one-man army.
So, he was dragged to The Tipsy Bison to celebrate. And now, he’s looking at you from across the bar as you catch his eye and hold up a rocks glass in silent question. Joel shakes his head and fights a small smile.
He had seen you around town a few times since the night you met. You greeted him with a friendly wave each time, sometimes even a conversation. But you always left him with a look that lingered just a little bit too long not to be some sort of hint.
Joel’s lip twitches when you duck back down beneath the bar, only to pop up cutely with a pint glass and an innocent tilt of your head. Joel glances down at Tommy and Maria, still deep in conversation with a woman he can’t remember the name of, before shaking his head at you again.
You nod dramatically and start to reach for a margarita glass on the top shelf, and suddenly Joel is covering his incoming laughter with a fake coughing fit.
Tommy gives him a strange look. "You alright there brother?" he asks, and Joel swallows when his younger brother’s gaze flicks to you briefly.
“Yeah, just...” Joel rubs the back of his neck and sighs in defeat. “I’ll be by the bar.” He ignores Tommy’s not-so-subtle whistle as he shoulders his way through the crowd. It ain’t his fault he’s rusty, who cares if he’s being obvious or not?
When he arrives at your little corner, you’ve set out a martini glass, a pint, and a rocks glass. “So, which is it?” you ask, blinking up at him expectantly.
“How about two of your specialty and ten minutes of your time?”
You lean back slightly in surprise, heat rushing to your face at the intensity of Joel’s gaze—He decides to catch you off guard more often if you look this adorable when he does. But, despite the heat in your cheeks, you’re quick to recover. You smile at him as you pull out two clean glasses and set them on the bar top. “Are you flirting with me, Joel Miller?”
He nods slowly. “If that’s alright with you.”
“It’s more than all right,” you mumble shyly.
Joel crosses his arms and shifts his weight, satisfied and inexplicably warmed by your answer. “Alright then.”
You join Joel on the other side of the bar for the rest of the night, thankful that your coworkers were more than happy to cover for you. The dimly lit corner might as well be its own little world with how intently the two of you focus on each other, knee to knee as you talk. When it comes time to close, you lean over and kiss his cheek underneath that flickering overhead light, before leaving to help your coworkers close up.
Joel can smell cherries in the air as you walk away.
~*~
A week later, Joel can’t take the lingering looks anymore.
You smile up at him so sweetly when he approaches you at the bar with Tommy at his back. His brother claps his shoulder before peeling off to speak with someone else, and Joel silently thanks him for the privacy. He allows himself to melt a little at the sight of you now that Tommy isn’t around to see him, and he’s nearly distracted enough that he doesn’t hear you speak:
“What’ll it be tonight, Joel? Everything’s on the house, considering you cleared a basement full of clickers—”
“How about some hot cider at mine?” Joel interrupts. Your mouth forms an o-shape at the abrupt question, and he backtracks when your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Not to—I mean, if—I just—”
“I think I’d like that, Texas.”
Joel blinks. He looks down at the bar. Settles himself. Looks back up at you. You're unable to move beneath his gaze, eyes reflecting gold under the lights of the bar, like a midwestern summer sunset. “Would you like to go on a date with me, (y/n)?” Joel asks, calmly and slowly.
“Really?” you ask. “I just, uh,” you trail off, carefully folding away the cloth you were holding. “If I’m being honest, I thought I was imagining—”
“—You got an active imagination,” Joel agrees, leaning across the bar toward you. You gasp slightly at his sudden closeness, inhaling the smell of pine and the sweet lemon tang of saddle cleaner as Joel tilts forward and into your space. “But you ain’t imaginin’ this,” he finishes.
You smile and lean back slightly so you’re looking down your nose at him playfully. “...Alright, then.”
~*~
Joel offers his arm to you for the walk to his house, and you don’t hesitate to accept. He likes the feel of you pressed against him, shamelessly using his broad frame to block the harsh winter wind. He likes how much more bashful your smile is now that you’re on the same side of the bar. He likes the way your breath hitches slightly when he drops a hand to your waist to guide you over a particularly icy patch.
He likes you.
When the two of you finally settle in front of his roaring fireplace, hot mugs of cider in hand, Joel is unable to look away. You tell him about how you ended up in Jackson not long before he did. A month after you arrived, Maria dragged you to the Tipsy Bison and forced you to learn to bartend, fed up with your inability to socialize on your own. You like people but have never been one to actively seek out crowds. You’d rather get your hands dirty in the greenhouses or help out in the clinic, and let that be the extent of your social life.
You’re vibrant in the way you talk about your life and the people and things in it and, for the first time in a long time, Joel is actively interested in learning about another person. When he asks how you met Ellie, you outright laugh before even starting the story, and Joel finds himself chuckling along with you. You and Ellie bonded over training Buckley to do the most inane things, pissing off Tommy to no end that the sweet old dog could never learn normal tricks.
It feels too soon that you insist you should be heading home. Joel walks you as far as the edge of his porch because you insist he not brave the bitter winter wind for you again when his house is so warm right now. A light breeze buffets you both as you step outside, sending the windchimes above his door into a happy little dance. His hair is tossed into messy curls when you turn to face him, and you long to sink your fingers into it.
You’re just opening your mouth to say good night when Joel takes one last, hopeful step toward you. “Can I kiss you?”
You sag in relief and grab the collar of his flannel to pull him closer, running your thumbs over the worn lapels. You roll up onto your toes, nose bumping his as you whisper: “Please.”
His lips are chapped from the wind when they meet yours, but you sigh against him anyway, pressing your fingertips into the soft edge of his beard. Joel hums and circles his arms around you, pulling you so close that you’re practically able to feel the heat of his hands through your thick winter coat. You gasp when he tugs you up onto your toes, sealing his mouth to yours anew.
Joel’s arms are the only reason you’re still standing when he pulls away and presses his nose to your temple, breathing you in. “Are you sure I can’t walk you home?” he murmurs.
You sigh and press a kiss to his jaw. “If you did, I don’t think I’d let you leave.”
Joel’s chest rumbles against yours when he laughs, and you immediately become addicted to the sensation. “That’s alright,” he murmurs, and your breath stutters as he drags his lips down your cheek to hover over your mouth. “I don’t want to rush.”
“I don’t either.” You pull back just enough to look him in the eye and run your hands down his broad shoulders. “But keep kissing me like that, and I’m going to get impatient.”
Joel’s warm breath ghosts across your face as he chuckles, and you find yourself smiling along with him. “Alright, then.”
You sigh when his lips meet yours in another warm press. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.
summary: Sirius comes to spend Christmas with you and your family, but you notice the Holiday blues hanging over him.
warnings: discussion of abuse, crying, angst.
You’re sure that the Potter house has never been as quiet as it is now. The bitter winter wind howling outside serves as the only buffer to the silence permeating your home. Your wooden shutters slam against the side of the house for the millionth time that night and you sigh, rolling over yet again in a futile attempt to find sleep. Your mind has been restless since you got off the train at King’s Cross, and you know it won’t be still until you get him out of your head.
At first, Sirius Black was just a story—letters from your brother about the first friend he’d made at Hogwarts and their mischievous adventures. Then, one friend became two, and two became three, but Sirius continued to stick out to you, the sentences written about him seeming to jump off of the page.
You met him two years later. The Marauders were third-years when you arrived at Hogwarts for the first time, and it was nice having four older students at your back. Remus always has time to help you with your homework, and he made sure to teach you his favorite charms and hexes. Peter was always the first person to make you smile after a hard day and of course James is the best big brother you can ask for, even if he is an ass most of the time.
But Sirius was always something...different. Something intangible separates him from his friends in a way you can’t quite put your finger on.
In your second year, a group of fifth-year Hufflepuffs decided it was a good idea to pick on you, as James had lost his latest match to their team. Sirius got detention for punching one of them in the jaw, then proceeding to take on all three by himself.
You vividly remember leading Sirius to the hospital wing. How he rolled his eyes as you apologized to him the whole way for his various injuries until he looked down at you with a smile that split his lip and promised: “C’mon, (y/n). I’d never let anything happen to you.”
You had done everything in your twelve-year-old power not to swoon.
But, despite the amount of times you’ve seen Sirius hurt or angry . . . you had never seen him like this.
You were the one who opened the door for Sirius when he arrived on your front door at about midsummer with only a suitcase, his Quidditch duffel, and a small backpack. James had had quite a few hushed conversations with your parents in the weeks before, so you were expecting him to come, even if you didn’t know what exactly was going on. But, it didn’t take you long to understand that whatever was happening wasn’t good.
Sirius barely ate that first month, and his usual wide grins retreated into forced, thin-lipped smiles. There was no laughing. He pretended to be okay and was mostly successful when it came to your parents, but you saw right through him. All you had to do was look at his eyes to see exactly what he was feeling, how much he was trying to hide.
You went back to Hogwarts for your fourth year, him and James for their sixth, and suddenly, Sirius returned to his old self. You’d find yourself looking up in surprise when his loud laughter rang through the great hall, and then suddenly, you’d be the one laughing as he stuffed himself with food for your amusement. You couldn’t work up the courage to ask what was bothering him, not when the real Sirius had returned. If anything, he seemed more recklessly happy than he was before.
But, then he came home with you and James for Christmas, and the long-lost look in his eyes gradually returned. His genuine laughs and crooked grins remained, but something about them was false. There was a battle raging inside of him, a battle only you seemed to be privy to.
You groan at the thought and sit up in bed, hating how the blankets tangle around your sweaty legs from all of your tossing and turning and the heat spell your mother had conjured over the house. You just want your racing thoughts to stop. You drop your head and dig the heels of your hands into your eyes in a vain attempt to press away the oncoming headache.
You startle with a gasp when the floorboards outside your room creak. The normally unnoticeable sound cuts through the quiet that had previously hovered around you like a knife. It can’t be James, considering he’s snuck outside to play Quidditch more times than you can count—he knows every creaky floorboard in the house. Plus, your parents’ bedroom is downstairs, so it’s very unlikely it’s either of them.
So, what the hell is Sirius doing up in the middle of the night?
Frowning, you push your comforter back and swing your legs over the side of the bed, welcoming the cold air that soothes your warm skin. You hiss softly when your feet make contact with the cold wooden floor, and you’re quick to slip on your nightrobe and slippers. Lastly, you grab your wand hastily off of your dresser and stuff it in your robe pocket. Just in case.
Your mother had told you she put a spell on your door to stop the horrible creaking that used to plague you, so you’re pleased when the door swings open soundlessly. You slip down the hallway as silently as you can, not daring to even mutter Lumos for fear of being caught. You reach the stairs without a hitch and step down onto the second stair, avoiding the creaky first one altogether, and you’re about to start a quick journey down when you hear a sniffle behind you.
Your robe brushes against your calves as you swivel around in surprise. How could you have missed that? Swallowing nervously, you pad carefully back down the hall until you’re standing in front of the bathroom. Now that you’re closer to the door, the heartbreaking sound of what you deduce to be Sirius crying is much more prominent, but still quiet enough for no one to hear. You bite your lip nervously and knock gently.
The crying comes to an abrupt stop, as if your knocking was a button to cut it off. You shift your feet as nerves start to bubble up in your stomach. “Can I come in?” you whisper.
Another long silence passes until you hear the doorknob rattle as it’s unlocked. You push the door open slowly to give Sirius time to stop you, and then you’re looking at him sitting on the seat of the toilet.
Your heart sinks at what you see. He’s a complete mess, hair more disheveled than usual and hanging in front of his dark eyes, which are red from crying. He’s tapping his foot anxiously on the floor and has his hands laced together in front of him in an effort to hide his shaking.
“Padfoot . . .” you whisper and flit into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. Sirius doesn’t look up as you perch on the edge of the bathtub in front of him. You take his trembling hands in yours. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s none of your business, little Potter,” he mumbles, but the way his large hands are clutched around yours like a lifeline betray his stubbornness.
You can’t help but scoff. “None of my business? You’re just as much my friend as you are James’s.”
“Fine, then it’s none of your concern.”
“Of course it’s my concern,” you hiss through gritted teeth, and your harsh tone finally gets Sirius to look up at you in surprise. You feel your neck flush slightly red at having his full attention on you when he’s so close. “I’ve been worried about you, Sirius,” you admit quietly.
“Worried about me?” Sirius sits back and wipes his nose before shooting you a cocky smile in an attempt to distract you from the situation. “It’s my job to worry about you.”
"I’m not a child, Sirius.”
“Of course you’re not,” Sirius agrees, dropping his smirk for a genuine look that lets you know he’s not being sarcastic. “I’ve never seen you as a child, not even when you were a wee first year.”
You snort at his antics and immediately cover your mouth, eyes wide as you listen for any sort of disturbance. James’ room is right next door. When all seems to be quiet, you look back at Sirius, who is grinning in delight at your expression. You giggle softly from behind your hand, and he’s quick to join you, which leads to the both of you taking turns shushing the other, only leading to more badly-hidden laughter.
Once both of you calm down and determine that no one has heard you, you sit back and let your hands fall to your lap, fixing him with an earnest gaze. “Honestly though, Sirius. Please tell me what’s wrong so I can get some sleep.”
“You haven’t been sleeping?”
“No, and it’s all your fault,” you accuse, playfully poking a finger into his chest. The corner of his mouth quirks up but promptly falls back down as he turns his gaze to the tile. He takes his time to respond, and you can practically see him turning his thoughts over in his head.
Finally, he says: “My folks kicked me out.” Your heart stops.
“What?” Sirius nods solemnly.
“That’s why I came to stay with you lot so suddenly over Summer. I’m . . . indebted to your parents. And James, but don’t tell him I said that.” He sighs and runs a hand through his scraggly hair. “My mum and dad say I’m a blood traitor.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean?” you ask.
He shrugs. “It means I’m not a Black anymore.”
At that moment, the stone statue that was your body shatters into a million pieces, and you stand up, waving your arms in anger. “What kind of mother would disown her own child? Why if I saw her, I would hex the–”
“Whoah whoah whoah, calm down, Lancelot.” Sirius takes your upper arms and gently spins you around to face him. “It’s alright. Truly. I’m better off without them anyway, because I got out of that hellhole and I get to be with you guys.”
You frown in confusion. “Then why were you crying?”
He purses his lips and shrugs, letting his hands drop back to his sides. You immediately miss their warm weight. “It’s nearly the new year, and Christmas is almost over. It’s strange to spend this time of year knowing that your own family doesn’t accept you anymore. I guess the reality of it just finally clicked.”
You nod along with his words. “I understand.” You step forward and raise your hand up to run your fingers through his tangled black hair, brushing it back and away from his face. “No more tears, though. They don’t deserve it, and neither do you.”
You pull your hand back but Sirius catches it before it can fall back to your side. His fingers cradle yours with impossible softness and his lips feel like fire when he kisses the back of your hand. “Thank you, (y/n).” You shudder at his husky voice, and he drops your hand.
You bring it to clutch at your chest and look away from him shyly. “Well, we should probably get some sleep so we can deal with James without killing him tomorrow.”
Sirius chuckles. “You do need quite a bit of energy to do so.”
You look up at him through your lashes and smile bashfully before stepping around him so you’re at the door. Just before opening it, you pause and look back over your shoulder at him. “Good night, Sirius,” you whisper.
His eyes shine with what you can only describe as pure warmth, and his lips curve up into a smile. “Good night, (y/n).”
summary: Mr. Scamander introduces you to his bowtruckle...and he may or may not be falling for you as he does.
warnings: none :)
“You have a bowtruckle in your pocket.”
Newt halts in his fiddling with the locks on his case and looks up at you through the wispy, caramel hair that’s constantly obscuring his eyes from your view. You’re perched on one of Tina and Queenie’s dining room chairs. Jacob carried it into the living room for you earlier when you all first arrived. Newt had offered you his seat on the well-worn, but plush lounge, but you had refused, stating that you can handle having a conversation without a cushion, thank you very much.
Your legs are crossed daintily at the ankles, and you lean forward as you consider Newt. Or, more specifically, Pickett, who has clambered up his shoulder to huddle shyly behind his neck. Only the creature’s eyes and the sprig on top of his head can be seen, and you smile sweetly when you make eye contact. Newt blinks at the way your perfectly curled hair flutters around your eyes like curtains in the breeze when you move. He can tell you’re curious, and realizes that you’ve never seen a bowtruckle before. The corner of his mouth turns up fondly at the thought.
“That I do,” he responds, shifting in his crouch as he finishes locking up his case.
“Why?”
Newt finds himself blinking once again at the bluntness of your question, and he tilts his head up to look at you fully. Your gaze meets his inquisitively, and he’s quick to look back down before you can see the blush spreading across his cheeks. He rolls out of his crouch with a small sigh until he’s sitting on the ground with his back against the lounge, legs spread out in front of him. “Well,” he starts, “I keep bowtruckles in my case, but Pickett has what Queenie calls ‘attachment issues.’”
You raise your eyebrows and an amused smile creeps across your face. “Attachment issues,” you repeat, encouraging him to elaborate.
Newt backtracks, eyes flicking to the ceiling as he thinks of a way to explain. He holds his hand up in front of his shoulder, encouraging Pickett to wrap his spindly limbs around his thumb and pull himself up. Once his little friend is standing comfortably on his palm, Newt runs a gentle finger over the sprout at the top of his head. “He doesn’t like his tree,” he clarifies simply.
You chuckle softly and lean forward out of your chair to get a closer look. “But aren’t bowtruckles guardians of their trees?” you ask. A pleased warmth spreads through Link’s chest at your knowledge of one of his creatures. You laugh again when he nods in confirmation. “Why doesn’t he like his tree?”
“He says the other bowtruckles bully him.” Newt shifts to cradle Pickett in both of his hands and sits up, crossing his legs. He regards you with a small smirk, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I have a suspicion that he’s actually just sensitive.” He whispers the last part as if it’s a secret, making you giggle and Pickett whirl around to glare adorably at his keeper.
Newt frowns right back down at him. “What?” he asks incredulously. “You and I both know it’s true.” You’re absolutely delighted when the bowtruckle blows a raspberry, and Newt rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Again, that behavior is so beneath you, Pickett.”
You snicker and slide off of the dining chair and to the floor so you’re sitting next to Newt on one hip, with both of your legs folded on top of each other. The magizoologist flushes bright red from the tips of his ears to his chest when you settle next to him, despite you maintaining a respectable distance between the two of you. He’s glad you’re too occupied with mesmerizing Pickett to notice his current state—The little creature had shied away from you when you first moved closer, but now he’s watching in fascination as you conjure flowers about the size of the pads of Newt’s fingers out of the tip of your wand. Pickett watches them all the way as they shoot up to the ceiling only to gently float back down to the floor.
“So,” You shoot a baby blue flower across the room, causing Pickett to reel around in search of it, “Does that make you Pickett’s tree?”
Newt whips his head around to look at you with wide, green eyes. “What?” he splutters. You grin at his reaction and unthinkingly magick an array of tiny, yellow flowers to rain around Pickett. The soft petals tickle Newt’s hands when the flowers land in them, and he finds he quite likes the feeling.
“Like I said,” you continue, “bowtruckles live to guard their trees. And if Pickett is always with you…” You fix him with a teasing smile underneath your lashes, “...that makes you his tree.”
Newt gapes at you, jaw moving up and down as he tries in vain to come up with something to respond with. What does one say when a beautiful acquaintance compares you to a tree? He swallows to clear his dry mouth and mumbles: “I suppose it does.”
Your lips spread into a wide smile and you snicker giddily at the baffled expression on the magizoologist’s face. At this point, Pickett has clambered up the lapels of Newt’s white collared shirt so he’s perched on his collarbone. And while you look back at the creature, Newt finds it impossible for him to tear his gaze from you. You twirl your fingers in a “hello” to Pickett, and if his heart wasn’t already melting at that small movement, the way your nose crinkles when you smile warms him completely. Newt’s mouth twitches up once again, and this time a glint of his teeth shines through his smile.
A breathy laugh escapes from his lips when you raise your wand and resume your flower shower. You look back at him at the sound, smile dropping slightly when you see the way Mr. Scamander is looking at you.
You’ve only known him for a couple of days, but from what you’ve seen, he’s never held a significant amount of eye contact with anyone. He tends to keep his head bowed, raising his eyes only for certain amounts of necessary eye contact. This close, you can see flecks of golden-brown hidden in his forest green eyes, like the first hints of autumn that appear in September. You find yourself searching for every last one of the beautiful imperfections while he maintains stunned eye contact with you. You get to see up close as his eyes soften, beholding you as if for the first time.
Newt’s eyes flick down to your lips briefly before raising back up to yours, and your cheeks flame at the minuscule gesture. You look down at your lap in an attempt to hide your flaming cheeks and notice Newt doing the same out of the corner of your eye.
“Miss (l/n)?” Newt’s quiet, husky voice penetrates your being, and you stop tapping your knee nervously. You look back up at him through your lashes to let him know you heard him and his eyes falter from his own lap to your eyes and then back again before he smiles bashfully. “Would you like to meet the rest of my creatures?”
A soft, but still shy smile spreads across your face. “I would love to.”
A full-on grin breaks across Newt’s face and he scrambles to his feet, gently guiding Pickett up until he’s perched on his shoulder. Then, he holds out a hand to you, and you smile as you allow him to pull you to your feet. Neither of you are quick to let go of the other’s hand, and you find you quite like the feel of his worked, calloused fingers in yours.
Newt’s the one who lets go first, but it’s only to reach down and flick the locks of his battered case back open. You watch as he pries it open and lets the top end fall to the floor with a thump. He stands back up to his full height and huffs out a breath and you look at him curiously when you feel him look back at you with a subtle smile. “Ready?” he asks.
Your heart flutters, and you feel like the sudden lightness in your chest has the power to lift you off the ground. “Ready.”
~*~
Jacob steps over the Goldstein’s threshold with a relieved groan and holds the door open for Queenie. He scans the living room tiredly, and what he sees has him suddenly much more awake. His jaw drops slightly, but he schools himself enough to say, “Um…Queen?”
“Hm?” Queenie bounces clumsily into the flat after him. She catches Jacob’s shoulder to stop herself from tripping over her own two feet, and her blue eyes widen as she takes in the living room. “Oh, dear.”
“‘Oh dear?’” Jacob parrots, closing the door behind his girlfriend. “What the hell happened in here?” When the two of them and Tina had left two hours before, the Goldstein’s living room was meticulously clean, thanks to the elder of the two sisters. Now, it looks like a meadow exploded. What seems like thousands of flowers lay scattered across the carpet and the furniture, most of them concentrated around Newt’s closed case in the middle of the floor.
Queenie’s careful as she walks further into the room, for some reason doing her best not to step on the tiny blossoms. “We’re lucky Teeny got called in,” she chimes. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy to see this.” She snorts softly and then giggles, returning to her examination of the sitting room-turned-field. “I just don’t know why either of ‘em woulda done it.”
Jacob turns around in a slow circle, face still scrunched up comically. “Where the hell are they?”
Queenie squints when she frowns. “I don’t know.” Her eyes flick down to Newt’s case laying inconspicuously in the middle of the carpet. She grins toothily and hums at her epiphany before scurrying over to the case and kneeling in its surrounding flowers.
“Don’t tell Newt I did this,” she whispers as she points her wand at the case and mutters, “Alohomora.” The locks flip open with a satisfying click, and Jacob walks over to join Queenie in peering down into Newt’s garden shed.
Queenie then proceeds to tip the entire top half of her body over the side of the case so her torso is dangling over the edge and into the other world.
Jacob splutters and grabs hold of the back of her calves just as she starts to slide. “Jesus, Queen, what’re you doin’?” he hisses, keeping his voice down in case Newt is close to the shed.
“Whoops!” is the only explanation she gives. Jacob sighs tiredly.
“There are a lot easier ways to do this, you know. Like climbing down the ladder.”
Queenie ignores him and turns her head to the side, blonde curls swishing into her face as she does. She blows harshly to get them to fall back out of her eyes before stilling once again, blue eyes flicking around the shed as she searches the thoughts of the different creatures in Newt’s tiny world.
It doesn’t take her long to find the two of you, but one, simple word reigns supreme:
Pretty.
Queenie smiles as the warm feeling you and Newt are taken with fills her up like a balloon. She swings herself back up into the apartment, and Jacob rips his hands off of her legs to avoid being sat on. Yours and Newt’s thoughts die down until all she can feel is Jacob’s confusion and Mrs. Esposito’s frustration because apparently Janey downstairs brought another boy in without permission.
Jacob frowns when he sees the way Queenie is smiling. “What?” he asks. She huffs and shrugs, still smiling, and Jacob raises his eyebrows at her slightly-crazed state. Her bob is now more of a frizzy pom-pom look and she’s practically twitching with excitement as what she just felt whips through her head like a summer storm.
“We best not bother those two for a while,” is her only explanation.
summary: sheikah!reader x selectively mute!Link. Reader is assigned by Impa to accompany Link on his journey through hyrule. You see mipha’s grace in action when you’re attacked by a group of Yiga.
warnings: canon-typical violence (reader and link fight the Yiga), blood, use of weapons
author’s note: it’s winter, which means it’s time for the return of my comfort breath of the wild phase. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!
The air is ripe with the sweet smell of autumn as you travel through Akkala, and Link smiles and nods when you comment on it. The horses are calm and well-rested from the night spent in Tarrey Town, and they eat up the path of Kaepora Pass in an energized walk. You find yourself leaning into the gait of your mount more than usual, reveling in the feel of the sun warming your back and the gentle swaying back and forth of the mare Link procured for you at the beginning of your journey together a few weeks ago.
When Link leaves you to conquer the shrine on Rist Peninsula, you’re happy to stay behind and mind the horses. You leave them to graze freely on a ridge above East Akkala Beach where you can faintly see Link moving around the spiral of the peninsula, nothing more than a blue blob carrying a glowing orange orb. Only when all of the monsters have been dispatched and your friend is “safely” inside the shrine do you let yourself lay back on the grass and enjoy the unseasonably warm day.
By the time Link returns, the sun is nearly down. You’ve just fed the horses each an apple from your pack and are peeling one for yourself when Link pulls himself over the edge of the ridge. “Hey. You greet him with a smile, and he responds with a wide grin. “Someone’s chipper. I’m guessing you didn’t have to fight anything?” He shakes his head. “Good thing it’s your turn to cook dinner tonight.”
When Link groans dramatically, you’re expecting it. You even feel a giggle beginning to bubble up inside you all of a sudden, but you’re quick to take a bite out of your apple to hide it.
What you’re not expecting is for Link’s groan to cut off suddenly and a semi-familiar voice to roar: “Get down!”
Your training kicks in instantly as you drop into a crouch, and you feel something whistle over your head. You jerk your head up to see Link deflect an arrow with his sword, and you roll between your mare’s legs just in time to miss a second arrow burying in the ground where you just were.
In one smooth movement, you unhook your bow and quiver from the mare’s saddle and slap her on the rear to send her sprinting off into the trees. When you swing around with an arrow knocked back, Link is already locked in a fierce back-and-forth with a Yiga Blademaster. Two footsoldiers are trying to flank him, and you’re quick to send an arrow through the furthest one before you sprint to intercept the second, drawing your longblade as you do.
The Yiga footsoldier barely lifts his sickle in time to intercept your blade, and you immediately know this is a highly trained group when he nearly disarms you with a flick of his wrist. You steel yourself for more of a fight than you were expecting—you’ve never dealt with a Yiga that took you longer than fifteen seconds to dispatch, and a small part of you is giddy for the unexpected challenge. You haven’t had a challenge since you last sparred with Dorian in Kakariko.
You smirk as you parry away the soldier’s latest blow and aim a well-timed kick to his chest, sending him flying back a few feet. Quicker than a flash, you’ve dropped your sword into the grass and redraw your bow, loosing a single arrow to end the battle. Twenty seconds.
A grunt of pain catches your attention and you spin around just in time to see the Yiga Blademaster gradually pressing Link toward the ridge above the beach—you imagine a fight like this would have been nothing to him before the Calamity, but he’s only barely recovered his strength.
“Link!” You shout and take off toward him. His blue eyes shift to you for a split second, distracting him just enough for his opponent to kick him in the chest exactly as you just did the footsoldier.
You pass over the patch of grass where you dropped your sword and snatch it up as you sprint by. “Link, the cliff!” you scream out in warning, unable to do anything but watch as Link’s boots scuff the edge of the ridge. You’re mere meters away when you catch one last glimpse of him, hair shining like spun gold in the setting sun. Then, the Blademaster hunches over him and thrusts his blade forward.
“No!” you gasp and finally, finally reach the Blademaster. He’s too large and slow to turn around in time to catch your blade, so you dispatch him quicker than you ever have someone if his stature before. Only once he disappears in a puff of purple smoke and a shower of rupees do you peer down the edge of the cliff. Link is motionless where he lies on the beach, and there’s already a spot of red growing around him.
“Link!” you shout and scramble down the cliff, ignoring the way the rocks tear at your palms. You reach the bottom of the ridge in record time considering you don’t have a shield, and your legs nearly give out as you turn to run the last few steps to the hero. Link rolled to a stop about five meters away from you, and the difference between seeing him now, bathed in the gray light of dusk, versus when the sun was shining on him only a few minutes ago is stark.
He doesn’t move when you fall to your knees next to him. Not even a twitch. When Impa first introduced you to the revived Hero of Hyrule, you specifically remember observing how his fingers drummed on his thigh the whole time he was kneeling in front of your tribe elder. You’ve never seen him so still before, and the sight fills you with dread.
Tears well up in your eyes as the realization that you just heard Link speak for the first time hits you like the swing of a Hinox. And it was to warn you just in time to save your life. Impa had told you of the vow of silence he took when the princess was placed under his charge—that in order to remain one hundred percent focused on his mission, he would only ever speak if undoubtedly necessary.
You never thought you’d hear his voice beyond his faint grunts in battle, or when he chuckles quietly at Beedle’s inane jokes. And the thought of never hearing his voice again has your hands hovering over him uselessly, at a loss for what to do. The knees of your armor are starting to soak through. Please, please, please.
That’s when his body erupts into turquoise flames.
You’re glad no one is around to hear the way you screech at the sudden flash of light, or how you scrabble backward in panic. Link seems even more startled than you as he shoots up with a strangled gasp, back arching off the beach as if to escape his prone position on the ground.
“Link?” you hiccup, tipping forward on your hands and crawling back toward him. “You…”
Link sits up with a low groan of pain, effectively cutting you off. You watch him warily as he looks at his hands as if seeing them for the first time, then lifts up the front of his blood-soaked shirt and examines his bruised abdomen. You follow his gaze to the short, newly-raised scar in the middle of the bruising. “It worked,” he mumbles, and you gasp slightly, heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice once again.
“What worked?” you ask. Link’s eyes whip towards you in surprise, as if he’d forgotten you were there. Mipha’s Grace, he signs, and your heart stops at the simple explanation. Link’s never been one for words, usually answering you with short sentences and leaving you to sort through the rest of the context yourself. This time is no different, but you find yourself stumbling into the explanation rather quickly.
You were accompanying Link a fortnight ago when he freed the Divine Beast Vah Ruta with the help of Prince Sidon of the Zora. When you asked what he discovered in the ancient machine, he had merely signed: A gift from Mipha. She said she’d heal me when I need it.
The statement had baffled you too much to ask any more questions…but now, the reality of his words click into place.
“You died?” you shriek, and Link reels back at your sudden volume. You scramble forward the last couple of inches and cup his cheeks, dragging your hands down to his shoulders as you cry: “Please tell me I didn’t just watch you die and be brought back to life by a goddess-damned ghost, Link—” Link’s eyes widen at your unholy words. Sure, he’s heard you curse and joke before, but never in this way. Never so desperately.
He pulls you down into his arms to avoid looking into your tear-filled eyes any longer. He can feel your chest heave as you sob, the fear and adrenaline of the past few minutes finally catching up to you. After a few ragged breaths, you reach your arms up from where they’re bunched awkwardly against his chest and wrap them around his neck, and suddenly Link’s arms are full of you.
You smell like blood and metal from the scuffle on the ridge, but Link can still detect the warm smell of sunlight in your hair above it all. There’s a tear in the waistband of your armor when he bands his arms tighter around you, pulling you ever closer when he realizes that you could have died too. And you wouldn’t have come back.
He tightens an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he guides your head onto his shoulder with his other hand. His nose brushes the tip of your ear, breathing in your sunlight as he runs a soothing hand down the back of your head.
“Goddess.” Link finds himself chasing you when you draw back suddenly and look at him with concern, ignoring the tears still running down your cheeks. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? I can’t believe I’m crying when you’re the one who just died—”
Link blinks as you continue to ramble, watching your face closely as you cup his face and turn it side to side, examining him. Your sudden change in demeanor is giving him whiplash and he finds himself wishing you were still tucked in his arms. He lifts his hands between you and signs your name directly in front of your nose to get your attention, forcing your eyes to cross so you can see his words.
I’m okay, he continues with a smile he hopes is comforting. I’ve died before.
Despite yourself, you find yourself laughing as Link finishes his sentence, and your giggles grow slightly hysterical when you focus back on his face to see him grinning. You’re an idiot, you sign in lieu of speaking through your laughter.
Obviously. I just died, he jokes again.
You laugh once more and tug him sharply back into your arms. His chin collides with your shoulder at the force of it, but you couldn’t care less. He hugs you tightly to him again as he feels your arms shaking around him. “Idiot,” you repeat.
summary: pro-hero psyche moves into your neighborhood, and you bond over your local convenience store <3 (y’all. when i tell you it took me a wholeass season to write this.)
warnings: fluff. just fluff
part ii
When you stumble into Kondō Convenience on a rainy summer evening, you nearly stop in surprise at the sight of another customer in the hallowed space.
Since you moved off campus last year, it’s been your Friday routine to stop at the convenience store below your apartment and get yourself a treat. The little corner store is usually pretty lonely, save for during the morning rush when practically the whole neighborhood stops in for coffee and a small breakfast.
You can tell the stranger is handsome even from behind — He’s clad simply in flowing black pants tucked into expensive combat boots, and a black shirt tight enough to emphasize the lean muscle he’s built up (though, most of the view is hidden underneath a thick purple scarf and an even brighter purple mop of hair).
"Ah, my favorite student,” your attention is pulled away by Kondō, the uncle that runs the store. He smiles at you kindly when you make eye contact over the counter. “How was your week?”
You smile at the man. “It was good. Thank you, Ojisan.”
“What will you be getting this fine evening?”
“I’m not sure yet. Any suggestions?”
“Well, our new neighbor is already exploring our caffeinated selection.”
New neighbor? You look back at the stranger just in time to see him turn around curiously. You’re immediately stricken by his arresting violet eyes, matching his coiffed mop of hair perfectly. He looks from Kondō to you and gives you a tentative smile. “What can I say? I’m a man who likes options.”
Your mouth twitches up at the tired, deadpan way he jokes. Despite having just met the man, you immediately decide you like him.
“You new around here?” you ask, walking over to join him by the row of fridges.
"Yeah, just moved around the corner. I'm Shinsou," he introduces himself with a small smile and a dip of his head. You give him your name in return.
“Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” you say, and you genuinely mean it. Shinsou smiles again, and you can’t tell if the shiver that runs through you is from that or the chill of the open fridge. You clear your throat and gesture to the different selections of canned coffee. “Any suggestions?” you ask.
“Uh...” Shinsou turns back to the fridge with a thoughtful frown. “I’ve actually never tried any of these brands. But, my friend has said good things about...” He reaches in and retrieves an amber can of cold brew. “This one.”
You smile and pluck the can out of his hand when proffered. “I do like caramel. Thank you, Shinsou.”
“You’re welcome,” he responds, and the slightly raspy quality of his voice as he tacks your name on at the end makes you look back up. His hair has fallen over his forehead and almost into his eyes, giving him a younger look in spite of the signs of stress that exist alongside his smile lines.
You feel a flush starting to creep its way across your neck and turn to walk to the counter before you embarrass yourself. “Well, I live just across the street if you want help learning the area.”
Kondō raises his eyebrows at you as he rings you up, and you give him a look, imploring him to stay quiet. You don’t know what made you say that, but the offer flew out of your mouth before you could stop it. In the year you’ve been coming here, Kondō has never seen you with so much as a friend, let alone even interact with anyone in the store outside himself. So, your immediate interest in the purple-haired stranger could not be more obvious.
Shinsou smiles at you as he joins you at the counter and lays 100 yen on the counter. “I just might take you up that.” He nods once more to Kondō before spinning around towards the door, coffee in hand. “I’ll see you around, neighbor. Ojisan.”
“Stay safe out there, MindJack.”
You frown and turn back to face Kondō just as the small bell above the door jingles to signal Shinsou’s exit. “‘MindJack?’” you prompt.
“That boy’s a hero,” your friend says reverently as he slides your can of coffee back across the counter.
You blink in surprise and look back towards the door, where the bell is still shaking at the top. “Really? What’s his quirk?”
“I’m not sure. But, I’d recognize a hero costume anywhere.”
“Huh. I’ve never seen him before either.” You reach into your jacket for your wallet and ask, “How much for the coffee?”
Kondō shoots you a teasing smile. “Psyche left more than enough to pay for both of you.”
~*~
The rains stop toward the end of May, giving way to the traditional blistering summer heat. You had taken a few summer courses upon yourself in the hopes of graduating sooner...but if you're honest with yourself, you probably should've taken a break. On the way home one evening, you walk past a group of kids shrieking and laughing as they run through a sprinkler park, and can't help but feel your jaw tighten with envy.
“Need another coffee?”
You gasp and spin around toward the sound of the voice, only to see no one. A dry chuckle meets your ears next. “Up here.”
You shade your eyes from the sun and peer upwards—Shinsou’s smirking down at you from where he’s perched on a traffic light, swinging his legs back and forth so you can see the purple undersides of his boots. His hair is glowing in the sun, casting a vibrant halo around his sharp features.
Okay. So you might have a thing for purple hair.
Or maybe it’s just the man attached to it.
The two of you have formed an easy comradery in the past few weeks that is both extremely good for you and extremely not. Instead of harboring a stupid, but ultimately futile crush on a Pro Hero, every interaction you have with Shinsou ends with a distinct air of possibility. A possibility that you absolutely refuse to entertain.
“What are you doing up there?” you ask incredulously.
“Surveilling.” Shinsou takes the last sip of his canned coffee before tossing it perfectly into the trash can below. “Mrs. Agawa’s cat got out again.”
“Ah. So she enlisted our favorite local pro hero?”
“Well, Blue Rider lives a street over. So, I guess that depends on if I’m your favorite.” You drop your hand from your forehead so he can see you roll your eyes spectacularly, regretting it immediately when you accidentally make eye contact with the sun.
You curse and blink furiously to clear the spots from your vision, faintly aware of the shadow of Shinsou's form dropping down from his perch to land in front of you. "Whoa there, you okay?" his deep voice rumbles through you, and you're grateful for his lean form casting a shadow over your face. Through your blurry vision, you see his hands reach for you tentatively before falling back to his sides.
"Yeah, sorry," you reply, but you don't really know what you're apologizing for. You risk a glance at his face, swallowing as he straightens up to his full height. You swear you can feel his body heat he's standing so close, but you cast that thought away quickly, blaming the bead of sweat that rolls down your back on the heat of the day.
You turn away from him to hide your blush and start back off down the street. “You're in second just for that, you cocky bastard.”
You bite your cheek to keep from smiling when after a short pause, you hear Shinsou jogging to catch up with you. He sidles up alongside you, hands shoved in his pockets and a goofy smirk on his face as he walks backward next to you. “How can I be cocky when you don’t even know my quirk?”
“Because you’re cocky despite my not knowing your quirk.”
Shinsou’s mouth turns up at the corners and, after a moment of thought, he spins around so he's now bumping shoulders with you. “Fair point.”
You look at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s smiling to himself slightly as you walk together, eyes scanning the quiet street for a hint toward Mrs. Agawa’s cat. “You’re awfully cheerful today," you observe. "Talkative too.”
Shinsou breathes out a laugh and finally turns his eyes on you. “You might be the only person to ever say that to me.” His eyes soften and drag over you slowly. “Must be something about you.”
Your heart stutters and you find yourself stumbling to a stop, a small smile growing across your face. “Are you flirting with me right now, Shinsou Hitoshi?”
There’s a faint flush decorating his cheeks as Shinsou steps closer to you. “And if I was?”
“And if I were,” you correct, and Shinsou rolls his eyes.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re flirting with me.”
“I am.”
You can’t help how the corners of your mouth turn up in a pleased smile at his admittance. You turn and continue walking before you say anything else, quite liking the fluttery feeling you've been left with. "Alright then."
A comfortable hush settles over the both of you for the next block and you close your eyes briefly, enjoying the sensation of the sun on your back. You inhale the distinct smell of early summer—sun-baked pavement after a night of heavy rain and the sweet aroma of blooming hydrangeas.
“What are you doing?” Shinsou asks.
“Just being.”
“Okay, well, you’re about to walk into a trash can.”
Your eyes fly open just in time. “Shit!” You dodge the offending obstacle and Shinsou laughs, catching you with steady hands when you stumble into him. After you push yourself back to your side of the sidewalk, you make sure to land a solid hit on his arm. “You could’ve said something earlier! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero?”
“You were clearly enjoying ‘just being.’”
“Jerk.”
Shinsou chuckles again and opens the door to Kondō’s, gesturing inside. “Will a coffee make it up to you?”
You cross your arms. “Two will.”
“Deal.”
You jump back with a shriek as a bright flash comes barreling out the convenience store door. Shinsou’s eyes widen and he sprints past you, already halfway through unwrapping his purple scarf.
“Shit! Come here, kitty kitty!”
You cover your mouth to quiet the flurry of giggles that threatens to rise out of you as your friend chases the fleeing orange cat down the street. And if you take out your phone to take a picture…well, that’s no one’s business but yours.
~*~
A hot wave rolls over you when you step out of Kondō’s a week later. The asphalt is steaming in the downpour after a blistering summer day, and you sigh inwardly at the feel of sweat gathering underneath your raincoat. You tug your umbrella low to your head and begin trudging down the block to your apartment building.
You kick up a puddle as you slow to a stop at the sound of a familiar voice calling your name over the pounding of the storm. You turn around to see Shinsou jogging toward you in his full hero regalia. The mask dangling from his chin is starting to gather water and his hair is plastered to his head, making his tired face seem a lot younger.
“Hey, it’s the birthday—oh.” You inhale sharply when Shinsou barrels into you and gathers you into his arms. Despite your surprise, you return his embrace immediately, awkwardly squishing the handle of your umbrella between you two. “What’s wrong, jerk? Are you okay?”
You gasp when Shinsou pulls you even closer, lifting you off your feet slightly. His face is wet where it’s pressed against your neck and he’s shaking slightly…you can’t tell if it’s from whatever he’s feeling or the rain. “Rough day,” his voice rumbles through your chest like thunder, and you find yourself gasping slightly at the feeling.
“I can tell,” you mumble softly. You wrap your arms tighter around him, resting one palm on the cold back of his neck to warm it. “Want to come up and talk about it?”
He pulls back, breath warm where it sighs over your chin, and you find yourself chasing his heat. “Can’t. I gotta get back out there, every hero in the area is on this.”
“Ah.” You lift the umbrella off of where he’d let it rest on his tall head. “So it’s a fucked day.”
Shinsou finds himself chuckling despite himself, despite the things he’s seen and heard and done in the past twelve hours. “Yeah. Today’s fucked.”
“Well, you did say you weren’t a birthday guy,” you tease him with a small smile. Shinsou’s heart sighs at the sight, every inch of him relaxing at the quiet patience you seem to always have for him.
“I did get you a gift, though,” you continue, the hero stepping back slightly as you reach down and pull an amber can of coffee out of your bag. “Seeing you now, it looks like I chose correctly.”
Your friend’s lavender eyes blink once in surprise before his usual smirk is back in place. He plucks the can of coffee out of your hands and fixes his eyes on you. “Thanks, jerk.”
“Any time, hero.” You don’t know what made you say the new nickname, but you’re happy you did when a dusting of pink appears across Shinsou’s cheeks. “Sorry your birthday is fucked,” you whisper.
“Will you go out with me sometime?” Shinsou asks, and suddenly you find your face getting warm enough to match his. He chuckles nervously, warm breath ghosting over you from his proximity to you underneath your umbrella. “Sorry, that was blunt. But, I mean, it’s about time I asked, huh?”
“I…” You lick your lips. “I guess it is.”
Shinsou grins and shifts his feet, his downcast mood from earlier nowhere to be seen. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. I’ll pick you up.” Shinsou smirks once more before ducking his head and escaping the safety of your umbrella, back into the summer storm and whatever he’d been dealing with before. “Good night.”
He spills out the water that had gathered in the bottom of his mask before fixing it across his chin. This is your first time seeing the device up close, and you realize it's much more intricate than you thought. After a wink in your direction, Shinsou disappears back into the shadows and you stumble backward slightly as if the short conversation gave you whiplash.
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 : prohero!bakugo x gender-neutral prohero!reader. get together fic, Halloween edition!
𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 : “Fuck candy corn.”
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 : language (it’s bakugo), alcohol, gets a lil spicy at the end, but it’s sfw! :)
You walked into Bakugo’s life five years ago when he and Deku created Might Agency, and the nerd convinced him they needed to hire a sidekick. But not just any sidekick — no, as usual, the little asshole had a plan up his sleeve and gave him your resumé that same day. Upon one look, Bakugo immediately knew why Deku wanted to hire you.
“The Wonder Duo” had been involved in primarily high-profile crime since graduating from U.A. In order to expand, they needed someone who could work both in and out of the spotlight that comes along with the Pro Hero world.
You were fresh out of U.A., only a couple of years their junior, and had not only the perfect quirk for what they needed but the perfect skill set. You're basically a living battery — able to draw on the electricity around you and turn it into energy, where you then manipulate it and create glowing hot light. Not only that, but you took every business course U.A. had to offer on the side in case you ever had the chance to run an agency.
And so, fresh out of high school, you were stunned to be hired on to build the Undercover Unit at Might Agency.
Five years later, Bakugo knew you’d be the talk of the Halloween Gala before your glittering shoes even touched the red carpet.
The Halloween tradition started eight years ago as an excuse for Bakugo’s graduating class to dress up together and be assholes outside of the public eye. Ponytail hired a bunch of people to decorate her gigantic house, and their whole class got together to celebrate the holiday. But as they all rose to fame, so too did the event itself, until now it’s nearly at a Met Gala level of publicity in Japan.
Today’s dominating news story (masterfully planted by their agency’s manager) said it all: “After five years of groundbreaking undercover work, Pro Hero Celestial emerges to join the ranks above ground and train a new generation of underground heroes at Might Agency.”
You’re the elusive sidekick-turned-partner of Pro Heroes’ Deku and Dynamight. So he isn’t surprised when he’s halfway down the red carpet leading up to Ponytail’s house, avoiding as much of the press lined up behind the barrier as he can, and he sees every camera within his field of vision turn to the entrance of the carpet. And somehow he knows you’re there.
And later in the night, when he slips into one of Momo's million supply closets to see you standing in the corner, part of him isn't all that surprised that you had the same idea as him. Even if he does shout a loud "Fuck!" upon seeing you.
You simply take a deep breath to calm your heart rate after his explosive entrance, then casually hold out a small cup of candy corn you must have snagged from one of the snack tables. “Candy corn?” you offer.
“Fuck Candy corn,” Bakugo bites back. He shoves himself into the opposite wall and watches as you pop a piece of the nothing-flavored snack into your mouth. “The fuck are you doing in here?” he asks.
“Three ‘fucks’ in under a minute? That has to be a new record,” you joke dryly around a mouthful of your prize.
“Twinkles.” The only indication that the use of your nickname has an effect on you is a single blink before you go back to eating. Bakugo sighs and yanks off the stupid pirate hat and eyepatch his stylist had given him this year so he can focus on you better. “Why are you in here?” he tries again.
Candy corn now gone, you toss the cup dejectedly to the floor and cross your arms. “Hiding,” you respond vaguely.
“Hiding? From what?” he asks.
You roll your eyes and fix him with a glare, and Bakugo finds himself momentarily stunned by having your full attention on him for the first time especially when you look like that. “What do you think, Bakugo?”
He raises his eyebrows at the use of his last name. You haven’t used it since your first year as a sidekick, nearly six years ago. At that time, you called him solely “Dynamight out of respect, before eventually graduating to “Bakugo-san” a few months later when you got sick of his grumbling. But ever since you officially came on as a partner of the agency three years ago and the two of you got into your first screaming match, you’ve insisted on calling him solely “Katsuki” just to piss him off.
So, you calling him Bakugo sets off every friendship red flag Shitty Hair has drilled into him over the years.
He’s careful as he matches your position, propping his leg up on the wall behind him and crossing his arms. You look at him suspiciously as he settles in to wait, and Bakugo rolls his eyes, waving his hand impatiently. “Well?” he prompts.
You fix him with a glare, and he fights the shudder that threatens to quake through him. Apparently realizing that he’s not going to back down, you hug yourself and mumble: “I don’t want to be a publicity prize.”
Bakugo raises an eyebrow. “A ‘publicity prize?’” he prompts.
You gesture down at your costume, the diamonds along your sleeves glittering in the darkness from the slight movement. “Some tabloids are already calling me “Shining Seven,’” you complain. “I only hit seven in the rankings last week.”
“Only reason you didn’t earlier—”
“—Is because I was undercover, I know,” you finish with a sigh. “I’m just…I’m not like you and Midoriya. I’m not used to being in the spotlight, you know? And I was thrust in so quickly, and debuting dressed like this, everybody suddenly thinks…I don’t even know, but I swear if one more sidekick asks for a picture with me I’m—”
“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down.” Your friend finally steps forward and grasps your shoulders firmly. “How do you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once?”
“Probably hanging out with Midoriya too much.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Bakugo growls, and he’s relieved when you chuckle under your breath. A pair of laughing voices passes outside your hiding spot and you both go quiet as you wait for them to pass.
Looking at you as you peer through the crack in the door to the party beyond, Bakugo realizes this is the first time he’s properly looked at you today. You’re draped from head to toe in robes of midnight blue velvet, the color imitating the night sky perfectly. Hundreds of glittering diamonds are embedded throughout the fabric, making it look like you’re glowing from within, the effect emphasized by the luminescent lotion your stylist gave you to put on.
To finish the look, your features were dusted with just the barest hint of makeup, simultaneously enhancing your natural features and accentuating your heavenly appearance. Finally, a halo diadem of jewels and stars is laid to rest atop your head.
You look astral. Eternal. Your stylist had dressed you as a Deity of Light.
Katsuki clears his throat, and you turn your bright eyes on him at the sound, eyes immediately furrowing in confusion when he won’t meet your eye. You blink in surprise as he mutters, “I’ll be right back,” and sweeps the curtain aside.
His fiery blush has faded into a frustrated scowl by the time he reaches the open bar set up in one of Ponytail’s dining rooms and orders “two of whatever the most popular drink is.” The bartender nervously shoves the drinks toward him less than a minute later, and the hero grunts in appreciation before heading back to you.
You’re still there when he yanks open the door and shoves a large, neon green cup in your hands. It sloshes over with the force of his handover, splashing your overlapped fingers with whatever the mixed drink is made up of. “For you,” he insists.
You startle a little bit and wrap both hands around the cup, looking down at the mysteriously foaming purple drink, then back up at him with those cosmic eyes. “Did you put anything in it?” you ask with faux gravity.
Bakugo scoffs, “fuck off,” and crosses his arms, and you giggle into your drink. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment on the music or harmless tease at each other’s costumes. You finish your drinks together, simply enjoying each other’s company and listening to the party booming throughout the rest of the house.
Eventually, the two of you find yourselves seated shoulder to shoulder on the floor, and you ask: “Bakugo…why are you in here?”
He scowls and cocks an eyebrow as he looks at you. Your face is starting to get a lovely flush from the drink he brought you. “What, I can’t be in here?”
“I didn’t say that. I asked why you were here.” You lift your head off of his shoulder so you can look at him clearly, and tilt your head to the side with a small smile at whatever you see. “Though I’m not complaining,” you tack on.
Katsuki’s eyes widen at the meaning behind your words, face going hot as your gazes hold. A smile spreads slowly across your features at his stunned silence, and the last of Katsuki’s brain cells go out the window at the sight. Your smile quickly turns into laughter, and Bakugo assumes that he’s probably never looked more like Dunce Face than he does right now.
“Shut up,” he insists, still flushed red and lacking his usual vitriol. “I can’t believe you’re not embarrassed to say that out loud.”
“If anyone else were sitting next to me, I would be,” you admit, settling back into the wall with a smile. Your voice is quieter, more hesitant when you say: “I guess I’m just comfortable with you.”
He blinks in shock, pulling away from you at that last, quiet confession. With the way your voice got small, plus the mild flirtation not only earlier but in the past, plus the alcohol running through his veins, the realization hits him like a truck.
A part of him has known he’s had feelings of you for a good while now, but it’s a part of himself Katsuki never acknowledged. He was always too busy, whether it be with the responsibility that is building an agency from the ground up or just hero work in general. The two of you have orbited around each other ever since you met, working in the same place and tasked with the same end goal, but taking different routes to get there. Katsuki was your main supporter when you decided to put anonymity behind and work on training the new generation of underground heroes. He was the one to talk to Deku and convince him to implement the Underground Unit so that you could come on full-time.
You’ve been an integral part of Katsuki’s life for years — a star in his galaxy.
Only now is he finally realizing why.
The only thing he can find himself saying as he looks at you in that dusty closet is: “You’re comfortable with me,” with disbelief stark in his flat voice. Your eyes are still so bright when they lock with his in the dark, and they widen as he leans across you, bringing his face closer to yours. “Same,” he whispers.
“What?” you ask, eyes flitting all over his face.
“I mean same,” he repeats, and you gasp as Katsuki takes your hand in his. He’s practically laying across your lap now, and his face is oh-so-close to yours. “I mean,” Katsuki sighs and fights the instinct to scowl as he searches for the right words. “I’m also comfortable. Around you.”
Your gaze on him doesn’t falter as he looks away and reaches for his empty cup, wishing there were still something in it at least to have something to do other than look at your all-knowing face. But eventually the feel of your attention on him pulls him back to you, and Katsuki blinks when he sees you smiling shyly.
“Dynamight,” you say in a teasing tone. “Are you hitting on me right now?”
Katsuki scoffs again and leans back into the wall. “I’m not not hitting on you,” he grumbles.
“You’re not kidding?” you ask, leaning into his space so he’s forced to look at you.
Your proximity sends his heart into overdrive, and he suddenly finds himself dropping his cup so he can pull you into him, nose to nose, breath to nervous breath.
“I don’t kid when it comes to you,” he breathes against your mouth.
And then it’s you who throws your arms around Katsuki and pulls him into a messy, clumsy kiss. A faint whimper escapes you at the first touch of Katsuki’s tongue on yours, and the sound shakes him right to his toes. “Fuck,” he growls against your mouth, barely able to breathe from the force of your embrace. “Come here.”
Your whimper is needier this time as Bakugo wraps his arms around you and fully hauls you against his chest, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re oxygen. The only thing you can do is hold on, arms draped around his neck like a western damsel in distress. He holds you just as tightly, and you feel him shudder against you as he breaks the kiss in favor of closing his mouth over your pulse point.
“Yesss,” you hiss between your teeth and arch into Katsuki, closing your eyes and reveling in the feel of his solid, solid shoulders underneath your grasping hands. “Katsuki—”
“Baku-bro? You in there?”
You shriek and jump away from Katsuki at the sound of Kirishima’s voice, covering your mouth with your hands. Bakugo is already on his feet and reaching for the door handle, grasping it just in time to pull it closed as his friend tries to open it. “Go away, Shitty Hair! I’m busy!”
“...In a closet?”
“A stupid sidekick spilled their fucking drink on me,” he lies smoothly, glancing at you as you get to your feet in the corner. “Needed a quiet place to clean up.”
“For an hour?” A snicker sounds from the other side of the door, and Katsuki glowers deeply at the realization it’s Kaminari.
“Fuck off, Dunce Face! I’m not going out there fucking shirtless!”
“Alright, alright,” Kirishima says, ever the peacekeeper. “We’ll be in the main hall when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Bakugo takes a deep, centering breath as he listens to his friends walk away before he turns back to you. Your arms are crossed, leaning against the back wall with a hesitant smile on your face. That won’t do.
“Well,” Bakugo says, harnessing his worked-up liquid/adrenal courage one last time. He steps forward and wraps his arms around you, bringing your hips together in a small bump. This time, he doesn’t stop the shudder that runs through him when your eyes meet his, and he revels in the sound of your small, stuttering gasp when he runs his hands down your arms. “Should we rejoin the party, Twinkles?”
You shake your head in disbelief and reach up to fiddle with the frayed ties of the open white shirt of his costume. “Shouldn’t we talk about this?” you whisper.
Bakugo shrugs. “I mean, we could talk about it now.” You relax into his arms when he leans down to kiss you again, and you find yourself swaying slightly and blinking bubbles out of your eyes when he pulls away. “Or we could talk about it later.”
You hesitate for only a moment before you’re rolling up onto your toes and hauling Bakugo down to your height so you can kiss him properly. “Definitely later,” you insist against his mouth.
