"Crap!" Mikey hissed dramatically, groaning while splayed out on the dirty cement floor of the defunct subway station. You gasped and scurried over to him, skidding on your knees to his side.
"Oh my gosh, Mikey, are you okay?" you fretted, hesitantly reaching out to touch the fresh red marks on his skin.
"Obviously not," he scoffed, finally sitting up. "I totally wipe out." He pouted for a moment before his eyes wandered over to his skateboard, divided in two, and laying scattered on the abandoned train tracks. "Shit, my board!" He cried, limping over to the edge of the sidewalk and looming over it. "It's snapped in half! Goddamnit!"
"Maybe we should just go home?" you suggested, trying to pry him away from the ground by his shoulder. "We should get you patched up or you might get dirt in your scrape."
He sighed unhappily, and rolled over onto his shell, head drooping over the cliff. "Yeah whatever, just grab my board, would ya?"
-----
After a short trek back to the lair, you tossed your now crippled friend onto the couch while you bustled around the living space. "Maybe Donnie can fix it," you cooed in an effort to lift his spirits. "I'll take it to him on the way to get the first aid kit." Mikey sat on the sofa, heavily pouting. This was so lame. When you came back, you had the aforementioned kit, a bottle of alcohol, a rag, and no skateboard. "Good news," you chirped, walking over. "Don said it'd be an easy fix and he should have time for it in a few days."
"A few days?!" he whined. "What am I supposed to do until then?"
You shrugged nervously. It seemed like nothing could make him happy. "You can borrow mine until then, sound good?"
"I guess..." he sighed, propping his chin on his fist. His annoyance was short lived, attention caught by by something shifting in his peripheral. Looking down, he found that you'd situated yourself between his legs, peering up at him with the prettiest smile. "What are you doing?" he asked, heat creeping into his cheeks.
"Fixing up your knee?" you giggled. "It would have been awkward if I sat beside you and had to lean over you." This wasn't much less awkward, he had to admit, but he didn't plan on asking you to move. Secretly, he rather enjoyed the sight of you sitting between his knees.
"Whatever, just make it quick." he scoffed, averting his gaze in order to hid his flushed face. He once again hissed as you dabbed an alcohol soaked cotton ball against his tender flesh. He made moves to try and escape you, but he couldn't bring himself to tear away from your dainty grasp on his ankle. "Fuck, (Y/N), that hurts!"
"I know it does," you soothed, stroking a thumb against his calf. "But you're taking it like a champ." Something about the double meaning of your words, paired with the innocence of your smile did him in. You could pour that entire bottle of chemical onto his wounds right now, and he'd let you with few complaints, as long as you praised him like that again.
"I-I am?" he sputtered, relaxing a bit under your touch. You nodded proudly, dabbing his knee again, this time with a clean, wet rag.
You sure are," you cooed, unwinding a roll of gauze between your hands. "Doing so good, Mikey." The terrapin shudder at the way his name sounded when it left your lips. "Now hold still so I can wrap it, we're almost done."
His breath hitched at the way your eyes batted up at him, looking so deliciously oblivious to how incredibly seductive your tone was. "Y-yes, Mommy."
Your eyes shot open at his comment, and your hands froze in mid air. Your gaze darted to his, shocked and a little unnerved. "What did you just say?"
Mikey's entire world was falling down around him. He couldn't have possibly just said that, could he? There was no way he'd be that stupid! Frantically he searched for some type of excuse, to gaslight you into thinking you'd misheard. "Uh," he stalled. "Sorry. Heh, get it?" You waited with cautious eyes for the punchline of his joke, only for it to be farther delayed by awkward silence. "Like the meme, ya know? 'Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry.' Heh heh, it's funny!"
His hands trembled with humiliation as you eyed him like a rabbit would a dog, carefully packing the first aid kit and backing away. "That's...still pretty weird, Mike." As you set the kit on the kitchen island, you grabbed your bag, pretending to glance at your phone. "Uh, it's pretty late. I'm gonna head out..."
You couldn't leave the lair quick enough, and you made sure to grab your skateboard on the way out, no longer comfortable with letting him borrow it. He watched you leave, head hung in shame and the last few minutes playing on repeat in his mind before flailing back onto the couch to whine.
