v e e

25yo // she her // 💜🐢💋

[theunholyrogue]

🤍Vee’s Masterlist🤍

Current Fandom(s):

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Bay, 2012)

Fandoms to Appear (Eventually):

My Hero Academia

K: Project

Big Mouth

❤️💙Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles🧡💜

All writings are gender-neutral unless specified!

💚Various💚

Reactions: You Get Hurt (16+)

Reactions: You Get Sick

Reactions: You Have A Mask K!nk (18+)

Flower Crowns🌸👑

Birthday Shenanigans

Ask: Ōnamazu Partner

If Time Could Stop (16+)

Under the Mistletoe

Let Him In (any tmnt version x depressed!reader)

💙Leonardo💙

Never Leave Me (GN/Fem Reader)

ITCS: Leo’s Ending (16+)

💜Donatello💜

A Bad Day (Part 1)

A Bad Day (Part 2)

ITCS: Donnie’s Ending (16+)

❤️Raphael❤️

ITCS: Raph’s Ending (16+)

🧡Michelangelo🧡

ITCS: Mikey’s Ending (16+)

[cocoahun]

Unspoken

𑣲Synopsis: Donnie can't get his feelings out, until he does. How long will your feelings go unspoken? Wc: 17k

Tags: Bay!Donnie x fem!reader, no label, slow burn, tutor Donnie, mutual pining, eventual confession but he does take your clothes off in the first 5 mins, ooverly stressed Leo, some fight scenes/violence, emotional ineptitude, reference to the song 'dancing with a stranger'

ᥫ᭡

Donnie’s bed was warm. You’d spent the last three hours getting pelted by the hot, sticky New York rain as you failed in your endeavour to finish your errands for the day. First, all of the trains had been delayed because the city’s coalition of crackheads had decided today was the day they demonstrated their power. You had spent an hour outside with fat droplets bursting on your face as you waited for the bus instead, but to no avail. It seemed the bus driver just hadn’t wanted to pick up the passengers at the bus stop you were waiting at, and what’s more, drove past as such speed it soaked your legs with the grimy water collecting in the gutter that conjoined the road and the sidewalk. Another hour was spent trying to walk to a different bus station. Your phone ran out of battery midway and you resorted to very angrily stomping through the streets for shelter. Finally, thoroughly soaked through, undignified and ready to hit something, you made your way to the closest entrance down into the sewers and just prayed you’d find salvation in the lair.

Donnie had been grabbing a juice box from the kitchen when you’d squelched in looking utterly disgruntled. Mikey was closer, lounging on a beanbag by the lair’s entrance when you arrived and hopping up when he noticed your presence, bounding over with a big grin.

“Wassup, wassup, wassup! Uhh… You take a dip before you get here?”

You glumly stared at Mikey in response. Droplets of rainwater slid down the contours of your clothes and dismally dripped down onto the floor, leaving you with a personal puddle. “Funny, Angel.” You grit your teeth as you spoke, sighing heavily. You were sure the damp was entering your soul and giving you some sort of spiritual pneumonia. Donnie made his way over almost immediately after, a sympathetic look on his face. He did seem a little amused at the wet rat look you had going on, though. Adorable.

“Hey. You should get in the shower, you look freezing. How long were you in the rain for?”

You shook your head and shrugged.

“Um- maybe a couple hours? I left at 9 and I don’t know what time it is right now, so…”

“Three hours. C’mon, let’s get you dry. Don’t worry about the floor. Mikey can handle it.”

Donnie shot Mikey a half stern, half playful look and ushered you along. Mikey groaned exaggeratedly in the background as you both headed off towards the shower. Donnie’s large hands hovered beside your shoulders, unsure of whether he should touch you as he walked alongside you. You had started rambling.

“I’m sorry for turning up unannounced. My phone ran outta juice and the trains and buses were delayed and I couldn’t go anywhere to get out of the rain because apparently the stores have a limit on people getting shelter without buying something, which is ridiculous but they were full anyway so it didn’t matter if I bought something or not.”

Donnie was trying to listen, he really was, but he was more concerned about the way you were shivering and the waterlogged swell of your clothes. “Don’t worry, you’re always allowed down here. Here. If you’re okay with it, I can help you out of that?”

You hesitated, but then remembered the variety of embarrassing situations you’d been in with the turtles over the years and relented with a nod. This was just another one of those. That’s all this was.

“Right. Arms up.” Donnie peeled the heavy jacket off you, along with your sweater. He averted his eyes determinedly and busied himself with turning the shower on while you shucked off your heavy jeans. You were less than amused by the way they refused to come off and clung onto you as though suctioned by the rain.

“These- fuck- ass- jeans!” You heaved a breath once they finally came off, leaving you in your equally soggy underwear. You grimaced. Ew. Donnie almost laughed at the sound of your struggles. He rummaged until he found the nicer-smelling soap from the cabinet to leave in the shower caddy.

“Just leave them in the laundry bin, we can deal with the washing later. I’m pretty sure Mikey still has a big ass load of his stuff to be dried so we’ll need to wait anyway.”

“Thank you Don.”

Donnie left a couple of towels on the rail and very quickly exited, saying something vaguely about finding you some clothes. You weren’t listening, too busy stepping under the warm rush of the shower and sighing in relief; the steam quickly rose up to fill the bathroom. Salvation at last. As you sluiced the soap suds off your body and tried to forget the potential undiscovered waterborne diseases New York boasted, you thought about Donnie. You both had a strange dynamic. I mean, he’d literally just helped you out of your clothes like it was normal, doesn’t that count as strange? When you had first met the turtles almost three and a half years ago, you had been more concerned with keeping your distance: maintaining a decent balance of closeness while remaining apart. Your attempts to be poised had quickly become in vain with the sheer amount of life-threatening situations you’d been thrown into after meeting the turtles. There was being tracked down by foot soldiers, getting stranded underground with Raph and Donnie, having to deal with all the other problems that came with Leo’s insistence on your inclusion on patrols, not to mention the Krang’s quasi-invasion and subsequent disarray amongst the foot clan. After all of it, you had grown far closer to the brothers and less preoccupied with courtesy. Donnie was who you grew the closest to. He’d learned that he could rely on you to help him in the lab in ways the others couldn’t. Mikey was banned from the lab for a reason after all. You had the ability to reach where he couldn’t, had the same perfectionist trait that made him trust you’d do everything just as he told you to and the desire to learn and not just replicate. You loved when he taught you about complex things in simple ways and you quickly learned to get the gist of what he was talking about when he went into a lecture about planetary systems or biomechanics. After long nights working alongside him, or calls begging him to help you with your major’s material that turned into scheduled meetings where he’d help you with your assignments, things turned complicated. The calls often got sidetracked to the latest episode of a show you both liked, or the Knicks winning a game, or other ridiculous theoretical conversations. The two of you were complicated people with a complicated relationship, but you were eternally grateful to have found a friend and mentor in the purple turtle.

The squeak of the shower turning off pulled you from your thoughts and you instead focused on wrapping yourself up in one of the towels on the rack. Donnie had left you some of your spare clothes just outside, and you gratefully pulled them on. You and April had collectively decided to stash a change of clothes down in the lair for the next time you’d inevitably need it, and it had payed off once more. Though you did feel a little awkward about your underwear being right next to Leo’s stuff even if the leader in blue had insisted there was space for yours and April’s spare clothes. Mikey too had offered half of his and Raph’s shared wardrobe space, but you were a little skeptical of its cleanliness. You knew for a fact Leo religiously cleaned his room and taking up the cramped compartments both Mikey and Raph already needed to use hadn’t felt right. The orange turtle had definitely just asked for April’s sake, anyway. 

Feeling clean and far warmer than before, you padded right to Donnie’s bedroom to make use of his bed. Lord knew he hardly used it. He often opted to sleep in his lab or desk chair or the couch in the main area. The lair had a cold, damp, soggy sort of atmosphere due to the relentless rain above ground and you refused to catch a cold; you tugged the corner of the blanket around you to shield you from the possibility. Donnie wouldn’t mind. He never seemed to mind how you’d grown so comfortable regarding his things. As you huddled under the covers you spotted your phone charging in one of the ports beside the bed. You hid your smile in the blankets. The purple turtle truly was a sweetheart.

▹▹▹

“Leo, ion mess with this plan ‘a yours.”

“Yeah? Well we’re doing this anyway. Now listen up. We know Karai is taking over as leader of the foot clan, since Shredder is out of the playing field. I need our eyes across the city tonight, which means you—” Leo pointed at Raph “—need to focus on Downtown Brooklyn. Mikey, listen, you’ve got 63rd. Casey’s focusing on the NYPD gig at the bridge and April, you’re down scouting on lower east side. I’ll be around there.” The leader in blue reiterated your positions for the third time tonight, sighing heavily to himself and pinching between his eyes as Mikey gave April a big beam and thumbs up. He then turned to you.

“You’re posted near Red hook. Donnie, you’ve got the job of patrolling in the truck. But keep a low profile, would you?”

Donnie nodded in response, checking the time on his watch. You watched the way the tall turtle flexed his hands, his tridactyl fingers fidgeting to fix any loose straps on his gear. You yourself instinctively mimicked the action, checking your own comms and ensuring your pack was secured tight. The lot of you dispersed. The foot clan had become disorganised with Shredder out of the picture and only with Karai’s ascension to leader did they stand a chance. That was exactly what was happening, and tonight was the night the foot clan was going to hit the city, fully operational once more.

Initially you hadn’t been the greatest at these sorts of things. Leo and Master Splinter had seen your potential to be useful on missions and convinced you of your proficiency. Both you and April were good at remaining inconspicuous where the boys would stand out and your job tonight was to play innocent, patrol near the docks and inform the turtles of any foot clan activity by them. The lot of you were to act as a network, if one of you spotted the rise of soldiers the rest could relay it and, with the help of the NYPD, shut it down before it started. That was the plan at least. You really couldn’t stick around for long, not with the iron weight of the assignments you’d left to the last minute encumbering your thoughts. The idea of your beady eyed professor clacking on his keyboard with his grubby uncut nails to email you for the second time about your late submissions made you wrinkle your nose. One way or another you were shutting the foot clan’s shit down and finishing your pending work.

Two hours passed with no sign of any activity at all. You’d had a lovely conversation with an old man who seemed to have gotten the fancy to fish at this time of night, and you were too endeared to have any objections. Other than helping said man and his kit down to the docks there hadn’t been any further encounters. Your breath clouded as it hit the air. The cold of the evening began to penetrate your layers. The sky was dark and contrasted harshly by the lights of the city; wind blew in all directions and the endless noise of the sleepless citizens seemed to reach your ears through a muffler. You shut your eyes. The wind disturbed your hair and fluttered through your clothing. You felt your heart slow. Perhaps the sudden tranquility running through you was what prompted you to open your eyes again just in time to catch a dark shadow dropping down from a cargo container. Immediately the sound of your heartbeat entered your ears, your pupils contracted and you were as alert as anything. What was that? You had been hoping the bay would remain untouched, but the rational side of your brain knew that was implausible. The splash of the waves lapping at the edge of the bay and the usual bustle of the city were all that filled the air; gentle creaks and groans from the walled off construction site and the occasional muted yell pierced the night. Everything felt as though it was held in suspense for a moment. Before you could jump to any hasty conclusions you got closer to get a better look… Silence. Perhaps you’d imagined i- CRACK. The sudden crackle of your comms made you jump. You cursed and exhaled in relief when you realised it was just Mikey. You really needed to get Donnie on refining the long range comms system. Your relief was short lived once the sound of the orange turtle’s voice filled your ears.

“Dudes, we have foot soldiers coming out the underground. Hurry your shells over here, over.”

“Mikey we told you, you don’t gotta say ‘over’ every damn time.” The sound of Raph’s voice filled your ears and you almost let out a chuckle before Leo interjected.

“We have some trouble up here too. There was an IED that went off just a second ago. Casey, get ready, I’m gonna try to bring them to the bridge. Looks like about fifty of them. ATL Karai, Mikey.”

“ATL? Why are we talking about Atlanta right now, over?”

“Attempt. To. Locate!” You could hear the way the leader in blue was gritting his teeth even through the static-y audio of your comms.

“Guys, I’m seeing soldiers here, too. They must be all over the city.” April’s hushed voice could be heard. You scanned your perimeters, hoping she was wrong. That would really fuck up your night. Leave it to the foot clan to take a dump on your plans for peace.

“Ah fuck. Yeah, you’re right April. I got some trash downtown to take out,” Raph grunted. The blue glow from your tracker left highlights on your face. You checked their positions. Raph… Mikey… April… Leo… Your eyes flickered up away from your tracker a second too late, you were met face to face with a foot soldier. Shit! You hadn’t been paying attention. Comms. Tell Leo. You went for your comms and the soldier attempted to get a solid hit to your head with their elbow. It landed with a thump and you let out a yelp that thankfully carried through to the others.

“They’re at the docks!”

Donnie was coincidentally near the bay when the comms crackled to life and everyone clashed as they reported the foot clan activity popping up across the city. He swerved the truck the second he heard your voice. His heart rate spiked. The tone of your voice had sounded pained and he was starting to freak out a little. “Hang tight, I can get to the docks. Leo, what’s the plan?”

“Our mission is to minimise damage and lock up Karai. Focus on the objective people.”

You ducked under the second swing the soldier aimed at you, getting up close to hit the figure hard in the gut; the ninja doubled over and you used the butt of your trusty taser to hit them over the head. Thank god you’d curated your own set of essentials to bring on these missions. You spotted a couple of other shadows in the dark and, cursing, ran for cover. Despite the situation your mind was still on how screwed you’d be if you got home late. You ran through the different options you had in your mind: email your profs and say you were indisposed and hadn’t had a chance to finish, go radio silent until your next lecture, pull an all-nighter. None of the options seemed feasible and you silently lamented your poor decision to do your work tonight. The thought of employing Donnie’s help very briefly ran through your mind, but you knew full well you couldn’t bring yourself to keep the poor man awake. He had his own work to do. Quit being selfish. You ducked behind the rusty corrugated metal scrap left over from the construction site, sandwiched between a wall and the scrap with your head throbbing where the guy’s elbow had connected with your cranium. Holding your breath, you waited and listened for any sound. The others were talking over each other on the comms and you winced at the stuttering audio, praying it was inaudible to anyone who got close to your hiding spot, shutting your eyes for a second while you regained your bearings. Footsteps echoed. Their volume increased incrementally until you were sure if you didn’t move you’d be a sitting duck. Moving quickly, you sidestepped out from your hiding spot, holding the handle of your taser and keeping your elbows tucked close. I can do this, you thought. A throwing knife shot right in your direction as you emerged and the glistening edge grazed your arm, zipping past. Oh hell no, I can’t do this. You instinctively flinched away in anticipation of the second, but instead heard a dull twang as it ricocheted off a metal surface and you were left unscathed.

“You okay? Oh thank goodness. Right. Turtle time!”

Donnie had arrived. You felt a giant wave of relief flood your body. He kicked back and spun around, a couple more silver blurs rebounded off his shell; he used his staff to sweep two of the foot soldiers off their feet, hitting the advancing ones with the end of the bo. Spin, sweep, thwack, kick. You always loved watching him fight, the speed at which the movements were performed and the analysis and execution all at once baffled you. Donnie moved with a kind of fluidity that made you forget his size, he looked like he was floating. His combat skills were a form of art. The shadowy figures lay slumped on the ground and the tall turtle whipped back in your direction, coming back over to you once he’d ensured no one else was close by. Exertion made his voice a little lower. 

“Hey. We need to get out of here before any more ninja turn up. I was thinking if we use the truck, we might just be able to get across the city and rendezvous at the—you’re hurt. Hey, no, let me see.” Donnie frowned when he noticed your arm and you rolled your shoulder back so he wouldn’t fuss over it.

“Donnie, I’m fine, I’m just glad you’re here. You don’t have to-” You let out a big sigh as Donnie’s large hand gently pressed against your upper arm. He inspected the sliver cut into your clothing and the line in your skin that beaded glistening drops of red. His thumb swiped some of it away and he sucked in a breath at the same time you sharply inhaled. He fumbled for a patch in his tool belt, pulling down on the opening in the fabric to stick the sterile strip on your wound. He pushed to ensure it stuck properly.

“So. What d’you think?”

“What I always think. You’re amazing.” You inspected the patch and experimentally moved your arm. Donnie smiled.

“Not the greatest patch job in the world but I’ll take care of it once we’re in a safer location. Good to go for now. Let’s get to the truck.”

The two of you made it to where Donnie had parked after taking out several other soldiers. Donnie had a steadfast focus. The yellow and red ’Tartaruga brothers’ emblazoned across the side of the modded van stood out in the dim light of the streetlamp and you hopped in the passenger seat. You remembered doing the spot welding on the wires above the centre console a while back with the tall turtle; you’d had a gnarly crick in your neck after spending hours on the welding. It had been left untouched for a while before he’d enlisted your help. Donnie’s arm flexed as he started the van up and turned the steering wheel to round the vehicle onto the main roads, and you watched. You absentmindedly wondered if in the future you could do this again in a different context. Just you and Donnie on a night drive. That sounded nice. You’re on a mission, focus. You leaned over to switch on the main gps. Did Donnie really need so many buttons on the display? You eyed the little coloured dots that indicated where everyone’s location was. “There won’t be much traffic. Our ETA to the bridge is 20 minutes, but I’m gonna speed.” Donnie paused, looking over at you, then the road, then back at you. “You okay?” There was a faint ringing in your ears and you blinked. Your head pricked uncomfortably. The coloured dots of Donnie’s gps left light trails in your vision when the truck bumped over a pothole; long exposure was not on your list of effects your vision had. That wasn’t great. You blinked it away.

“I’m okay. Long night.” You tried to give him a smile. Donnie kept his eyes fixed on the road, not buying your response, but not able to press further, either. It was always like this with him. He could never find the courage to invade your mind, to ask the questions that actually mattered. He could touch you under the guise of helping you, but he couldn’t reach over to hold your hand. Now that he thought about it, there were all sorts of inconsistencies with the careful balance you both had. He’d helped you out of your clothes: that succeeded hand holding, right? No. You trusted him to help you and he had. That was all. He was the one agonising over every little detail and blowing things out of proportion. That had been to help you. Holding your hand now would just be presumptuous. But he wanted to. Greedy. The silent support would’ve probably helped him, too, but he kept both hands firmly on the wheel. Responsibility came first, like Leo said.

A good 15 minutes later you both reached the Manhattan bridge where the NYPD had gathered officers in charge of the operation. There had been a sort of barricade set up at both ends of the bridge that would serve to close in any hostiles who got in close. Leo had brought the foot clan to them; Mikey and Raph had also intersected with their respective groups of foot soldiers on their tails and were 2 minutes out from the force. If all went smoothly things would be wrapped up in the next hour. You hopped out from the truck, jogging over to where Casey stood beside Bureau chief Vincent with his hands on his hips. The man shook his head, cursing. “Dang it. No Karai.” You surveyed the scene: several black-clad figures bound together and being pushed down into the back of a police van. You looked to Donnie who was frowning but gave you a nod when he caught your gaze. As if sensing your want for information, he checked the holographic display on his watch.

“Mikey and Raph are a mile out. With the police covering the city attacks seem to be lower than the average at which they were when Shredder was in charge. We can only surmise that tonight the foot clan was… operating separately from Karai, probably with expendable recruits. It looks like she has some self-preservation.” He frowned again, eyes scanning your surroundings for Leo. You shut your eyes for a moment. Your head was still twinging, a relentless, cyclical pain that told you here and now to give up on your already half-hearted plans of an all-nighter. A touch to your shoulder snapped your eyes open once more.

“We’re moving.”

▹▹▹

The way back from the police department almost lulled you to sleep. Donnie offered to drop you to your apartment on the way back to the lair. You had gratefully accepted, leaning against the truck door and staring out of the window as Donnie drove. The quiet sound of the brother’s voices drifted from the back.

“I’m sayin’ they knew that we knew about their little stunt tonight. If Leo had listened when I said-”

“Alright, enough. I can admit tonight didn’t exactly go as planned, Raph. Now cut it out.”

“Did you guys see the amount of soldiers though? I was totally freaking out for a second there but it was like takedown city. I don’t even think they were trained, just guns in the hand and go.” Mikey gestured exaggeratedly, leaning back in his seat with a sigh and continuing to press his thumbs to his phone screen; a faint laser sound emitted from the game he was playing.

“Karai’s roping innocents into her ranks.” Leo spotted Mikey’s concerned expression and shook his head, stepping around to put a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. “Don’t worry little brother. We’ll handle this.”

“Man I’m tired of this junk. I ain’t doin’ the dishes tonight Leo, ’s your turn.” Raph mumbled. He ran a hand over his face to rub the sleep from it. Leo deadpanned.

“We have a rota.”

Raph imitated his voice under his breath “‘We have a rota.’ Control issues much?”

“Dudes I’m trying to beat my score on here would you please postpone this argument?”

“Shut up Mikey.”

Donnie parked in front of your dingy student apartment building, shifting in his seat and leaning across to open your door for you while you unbuckled. Your chest was warm where it had touched his forearm. The warmth of his skin lingered over your heart as you got out of the car and watched Donnie drive off. A tired walk later, you were back home. The door to your apartment creaked with effort as you opened it and closed it behind you. You kicked off your shoes, hopping in a frustrated circle to tug off the second one and almost falling over. The extractor in your little bathroom whirred to life and started up its loud humming while you attempted to wash your hands and splash water on your face. ‘Just a quick shower and I can start my work’ you reasoned, stripping out of the now dirty clothes from the mission. You took a minute to stare at yourself in the mirror. No bad bruises from the mission, thankfully, but you had a sneaking suspicion your hair was covering up a hefty splodge of dark purple. The ache in your skull told you as much. The shower washed away the sweat that had collected down your back. You towelled yourself off, flopping down onto your sheets completely bare and exhausted. A dog barked down the street. The tick of the boiler cooling down set a familiar pace to the evening, the cool night air flowing in from the old fire escape window and a warm, soft glow from the lamps you had everywhere spilled out over the floor. You reached for the neatly folded pile of clothing on the bed, hardly moving to tug on a pair of panties and a shirt before unceremoniously rolling over to sit up and locate your laptop and phone. It was late. Your head hurt and you still had inordinate amounts of work to do. You took a look at your phone screen and were met with the sight of several notifications: an email, a few messages in the group chat from Leo, the persistent settings notification asking you to update your phone for the umpteenth time and the latest notification was from Donnie. Huh. 3 minutes ago. You clicked on the notification, unlocking your phone to read it.

Don🔬: Hey. I’m available tonight if you wanted some help to finish your assignments.

You looked at the message with a completely blank face. Then you read it again and the tiniest of smiles began to form. God, Donnie was a lifesaver. You’d complained about the work before the mission earlier that evening to Raph with no idea at all that Donnie had been listening. You held your breath and typed out a reply.

You: Are you sure? It’s late and I don’t want to keep you up.

You set your phone face down, arm flung over your face as you lay there. His response came quicker than you expected.

Don🔬: I’m sure. Join the call when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting. 

You scrambled off your bed, sitting down on your squeaky desk chair and turning on your monitor. You winced at the sudden glare from the screen and blindly fumbled for your glasses to put them on. A couple of clicks later you were staring at yourself in the grainy video feed of a zoom call, preparing to join. You tugged your wrinkled shirt. The mini you in the box mimicked your movements. Donnie had called you like this countless times and every time felt just as nerve wracking as the first, the anticipation of seeing him got your gut all twisted. You clicked once more and were met with the usual sight of Donnie in his chair. The blue glow from his nook of monitors cast his face in soft shadows. You could see the other screens in the background as he scooted his chair closer and the fact that he was stripped of his usual gear. Donnie smiled at the sight of your rumpled appearance. “Hey. You ready?”

You had to swallow down your nerves, nodding and rummaging around for your notebook and a pen that hadn’t run out of ink. You preferred taking your notes physically even if half of them were illegible. The three assignments you had, two of which were almost third of the way complete, were promptly pulled up. “I’m trying to hunker down on my argument for the essay and I think I’ve almost got it so I’m good on that, but for um… this one,” you shared your screen so Donnie could take a look, “this one I have no clue how to start. Or finish. Or anything, really. I just don’t understand how to apply the stupid Herfindahl-Hirschman index in this context or what econometric and statistical modelling even is anymore and I’m sick of it. How is this even relevant? I also wrote down-” you pushed up your blue light glasses awkwardly as you rifled through your notes, “-this, about what the professor said on the assignment. I can’t actually make out the first half so it’s useless, but if you can decipher it then by all means.”

You had a stressed expression on your face that made Donnie want to simultaneously laugh and fix everything immediately. He swallowed, focusing on the material you’d provided him. He’d spent a while familiarising himself with the concepts you had to learn, and with his affinity for the mathematical sides of things he’d whizzed through it without issue. You on the other hand had always been the more creative sort, thinking largely in complex, abstract branches that looped around than focused, linear cognitions. He understood, he himself was similar, though he made more sense of certain equations than you did.

“Okay, let’s start by going through the concept and then you tell me how you tried applying the HHI to this context, sound good?”

You nodded. Donnie adjusted his glasses and pulled up the good old whiteboard function. “Sweet. Okay, so imagine you have uh- um, let’s say, a bunch of grapes.” Donnie began to scribble something vaguely resembling grapes on the white screen. The pen lagged on your end and after a glitch some misshapen purple blobs appeared. You smiled. “You split it so you have 1 grape, 2 grapes, 3 grapes and 3 more grapes. These are going to represent hypothetical market shares; 10%, 20% and so on, and you have to square these numbers.” Donnie squiggled little ‘2’s that looked more like mirrored ’S’s next to the poorly drawn grapes. He knew full well you were well acquainted with the topic, but knew the best way to teach you was to start from the beginning. Besides, this way was more engaging both for him and for you.

“Add them up and there’s your HHI. 2300. This one’s a moderately concentrated index since it’s less than 2500.”

“So 23 grapes,” you responded, and Donnie nodded with a smile. “Precisely. I’m not drawing 23 grapes so don’t get your hopes up,” he quickly added when he caught your hopeful expression. “We need to focus. Now, I won’t further insult your intellectual prowess by continuing, I think you got the point. Tell me how you tried applying it to this question?”

Hours passed without your awareness. Notes filled your lined paper. A lukewarm mug of tea sat on your desktop; you’d gotten up at some point to put the kettle on to keep you going. You had slowed down considerably, encompassed by the warmth of the duvet you’d dragged off the bed and the pillow you had atop your desk to save your elbows. The bruised-eye-blue of predawn clouded the sky and you had long since submitted your work, started completing the essay, and yielded to your drowsiness. Donnie himself was still awake. The long caffeinated nights and endless energy drinks had given him a sort of nocturnal ability that he found useful in moments like these. He was watching you slip away on his screen. The lightening sky was filtering in through your curtains and leaving your room with a comforting fuzzy quality that bathed your figure in deep blueish grey shadows. The clutter around his setup had increased overnight; a box of pop tarts was tipped over on his desk, several charts lay discarded with brown espresso rings staining their diagrams and an old knitted blanket Raph had made was hanging over the armrest of his chair and swung every time he swivelled around. He was speaking at a quieter volume so as to not stir you from your imminent slumber. You were squinting at your screen, trying to navigate the infuriating submission system your uni used while Donnie rattled on about the pros and cons of his ‘compact mechanic’ robotics project.

“-and bam! I got it. I knew it would be awesome when I printed the first prototype, but the detail on the final model really exceeded my expectations, inter alia. It’s still a work in progress, it’s just the outer shell- pun not intended- that I’ve completed. But enough about me. All done?”

You tiredly nodded; eyes straining as you went to click the final submission button of the night. You were very visibly nodding off. Your duvet was slipping off from around your shoulders along with your shirt sleeve. You suspired, gazing at Donnie on your screen with a look that made his heart stutter.

“Mmhm. ’Took forever.”

Donnie blinked himself back to his senses, watching you contentedly settle your head down on your arms, glasses askew. How he wished he could be there to take them off and put you to bed. But Donnie was a coward and in lieu of his wishes opted to longingly stare at you through his screen. “I’m beat.” You yawned, hair curling over your forehead. Donnie’s fingers twitched, itching to push it out of your face. He sighed. He needed to stop.

“You did it, though. Hard part’s all over.”

An almost delirious, satisfied smile formed on your sleepy face. “You helped. I don’t know…” you yawned again, “…what I’d do without you, Donnie. You’re the best. I love you.”

The words had slipped from you so casually Donnie hadn’t even registered them for a moment. You’d said it once or twice before in a joking manner, but nothing compared to hearing you say it in a soft, sincere tone, on the verge of dreamland and eternally grateful. He knew you were. You were always so thankful for the simplest of things he did. He felt like an idiot: here he was getting covetous and you were just grateful he was helping you. His own feelings were the anomaly. He buffered. You had fallen asleep, the imperceptible sound of your breathing entered his ears. He turned his computer’s volume to the maximum and just sat there for a minute. Your breathing evened out, not at all like the way you breathed when you were awake. He watched the neckline of your shirt shift as you slept, the bare skin of your shoulder showing. He ached to kiss it. He’d been aching to be near you for so long that he was going insane. An invisible line held him back. Respect, guilt, insecurity, hell, just straight up cowardice; all of it held him back. He moved one of his large hands up, slowly reaching his fingers towards the screen. You looked relaxed when you slept, your brow was no longer clouded with worry and your facial muscles were completely slack. Ignoring the possibility of smudging fingerprints onto the display, Donnie gently brushed his fingers over your image. His breathing was shallow, afraid of making any noise that could cause you to stir as he stroked the screen. Fuck. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Quietly, he went to leave the meeting. The black ‘this meeting has ended’ screen left him in a dimmer light than before, and he felt the loss of your presence along with it. He rubbed the hand that had been outstretched over his face.

“I love you, too.” Donnie whispered to the darkness of the lair.

▹▹▹

The New York skyline burned a fiery orange that melted up into a blue ombre. The city was alive tonight, more so than usual, with the brimming excitement surrounding the parties being thrown across the city. Vern had invited the turtles along to a friend’s private party, claiming they needed to take a leaf out of his book and make ‘friends in higher places’; presumably he’d meant the very same friend who would be throwing the party when he’d invited them to come along. The turtles were to be in safe hands, the party consisted mainly of rich sponsors, select NYPD officers looking to move up in the world, all sorts of models and friends of friends and extravagant New Yorkers who made party-going their thing. Vern relayed that he’d been granted the opportunity to bring 50 people of his choosing, 4 of which the host had insisted needed to be the ‘heroes’ of NY. Leo had been incredibly skeptical, as had Raph, but with Mikey’s budding excitement at the prospect of actually being part of the party for once they’d all begrudgingly accepted. They’d need to get used to being at least a little in the spotlight. Even if Leo had decided they needed to keep mostly to the shadows, these kinds of things were still expected occasionally. Besides, Donnie was double and triple checking that all the guests had signed some form of paperwork that involved not publicising the turtle’s attendance. It was rigorous. You and April were extended invitations.  You stressed about dresses. You loved and hated dressing up; the idea of getting all glammed up was fun, but in practice it was often the first of many stressors. Not to mention being around so many people while dressed up made you nervous. Being around so many people in general made you nervous. Since the two of you were heading to the party together, you went over to April’s to get ready. Makeup items were strewn across the bathroom counter of her apartment, April’s speaker blasted hype-music and after singing along and actually putting your dress on you felt far more confident about the evening. You took deep breaths in the car, smoothing over the bust of your dress. It was a little thing, flattering your body and glittering even in the dim lighting. You were a little wobbly in your elegant heels as you hadn’t had much practice walking in them, but you liked how the sparkly detailing matched your dress.

The venue was glamorous. It was an elevated club kind of building, with several floors and a few balconies that overlooked large grassy lawns. Lights littered the place (confusing the insects that used the moon as guidance) along with what appeared to be thousands of flowers spilling out from the bushes and wrapped around every pilar in sight. A cluster of tables filled the outdoor area and several smaller tables dotted the inside of the building. Caterers had set up in the junction between the indoor and outdoor area, boasting a wide range of food you knew full well you’d have never been able to afford with the money from your part time jobs. This was the real deal. The indoor area was a maze of glittering rooms, each with its own bar. The bartops were made of a sleek, polished white marble in the largest room, with pelmet lighting running under the counter and casting a soft diffused downwards glow on the barstools. The venue had lots of similar lighting features, with neon blues, purples and pinks casting colourful highlights on the guests. The now dark night sky contributed to the deep, club-like atmosphere of the place and you were suddenly glad your dress matched the vibe. Classy, but still very much a party dress. Bass thumped through the speakers into the night, setting a steady rhythm that matched the movements of the idle guests.

Donnie was way out of his element. He and his brothers were expected to make an appearance after accepting so he couldn’t have just bailed, but he was starting to regret accepting in the first place. His mind was on his work, far, far away from the sparkling outfits and glitz and glamour and bubbly alcohol. He had attempted to clean up some after seeing his brother’s outfit choices and realising his usual tech wear wouldn’t slide. The lot of them had got on his ass about making an effort. Mikey and Raph had gone the traditional 2000s route. Mikey was in an orange jersey shirt that he’d in one way or another donned under his shell; a couple chains glinted around his neck and he wore extremely baggy shorts that had his nunchaku stuffed in a pocket. Raph had found himself an equally baggy pair of jeans and been convinced by Mikey that jewellery was the way to go. The red turtle had somehow found a gold ring to fit around one of his thick fingers and wore one of Mikey’s spare chains, along with tying a red bandana around his bicep. Leo was more formal, with slightly threadbare suit slacks, a belt and a watch on his wrist. Donnie had rooted through his pile of sweats and cargos to find something viable and had finally settled on a decent-looking pair of pants, a black belt that sat lopsided and his usual purple forearm straps. He refused to be roped into the jewellery wearing, not wanting to relinquish his beloved watch. No way was he wearing Mikey’s old chain that advertised him as ‘M-dawg’ to the party. The purple turtle had been loitering around the entryway for some time now but decided to do a couple of rounds to get used to the place and shake off the nerves he was feeling.

Your first thought when you saw the venue was ‘holy shit’. Your second was also ‘holy shit’. The sheer number of guests overwhelmed you immediately. There were one or two familiar faces (April had introduced you to some of her colleagues before), but the majority were unrecognisable. You followed April like a lost puppy and let her do the talking while you assimilated. There are way too many people here. No way Donnie vetted every single one. You scanned the entryway for the turtles from your position in the far corner every so often. With no sign of any of them, you decided to split off from the brunette and head for the food vendors to take a look. Large platters were overflowing with food, your mouth watered the second the scent hit you. Pasta with a number of earthy toned sauces you couldn’t even begin to know the names of, little sandwiches cut into adorable triangles skewered through with toothpicks and surrounded by a charcuterie style assortment of grapes, cheeses and cold meats, tureens of fragrant soup with bread bowls positioned strategically around them, honey glazed chicken and some odd looking foods you didn’t recognise but knew involved overpriced caviar. Glossy picture-perfect strawberries on heaps of cake and cream, miniature eclairs flaked with gold leaf, round red glacé cherries, chocolate fondue. All sorts of other foods crowded the different tables and you eyed them all with fascination. You definitely needed a plate at some point. Yeah, no, I need a plate now. You went straight to the warmed porcelain plates stacked to the side of the buffet tables. The tiny little price tags beside each dish next to the cursive catering company name showed off how much the host had spent. Better them and not me! In your distraction you almost missed Mikey chowing down on a very full plate at a table in the corner. You refrained from laughing as you came over with your own plate.

“Angel, you seen your brothers anywhere?”

“Hm? Whaschujgm-min,” Mikey garbled with his mouth full, holding up one finger and swallowing before trying again. “I don’t know, I think I saw Leo by the bar. But you totally gotta try some of this, brah.” Mikey made a high-pitched contented noise. “Free food is the best.” You snorted. Mikey shoved one of the stuffed rolls onto your already full plate. The two of you inhaled the food and you managed seconds. It was so good you were considering splurging some of your own cash at some point, which Mikey advised you against and insisted all you needed to do was go to more parties for the free food. You bid Mikey goodbye after you felt considerably fuller. The lights glimmered hypnotically as you walked. Leo was still in fact by the bar, awkwardly conversing with one of the NYPD officers. You didn’t want to intrude and sidestepped past some glowing models to enter an adjacent room.

▹▹▹

‘This conversation sucks. It really sucks,’ Donnie thought. He’d been roped into discourse with one of Vern’s connections who seemed to think themselves an innovator. Donnie had been subjected to 20 minutes of the man’s self-important rambling and he was beginning to lose it, his eyes were flicking over the room and its decor in a bored manner and the guy still hadn’t taken the hint. Politeness features in conversation stated he needed to find a way out of this without attacking the negative face of Mr-whateverhisnamewas, but he didn’t exactly feel like hedging his way out of the conversation. The man had bright green, brown and yellow stripes on his tie that clashed horribly and he kept adjusting it like he hadn’t yet figured out the right length to fit around his neck. Corporate jargon spewed from his lips between the attempts at explaining his company’s work on space probes. Donnie could tell the quack had no clue what he was talking about.

“-And I said, that’s a particle problem! Ahaha!” The man guffawed. Donnie’s waning patience caused his eye to twitch. He hadn’t even been listening to what he was on about, attributing it to the dude’s incredibly disproportionate ego and belief in his own academic superiority. He wanted to correct Mr. Self-important shmuck. Instead Donnie offered a sarcastic curl of his lip and went right back to looking around the room. Despite the dim atmospheric lighting his eyes caught onto a glimmer in the crowd; Donnie’s whole world slowed. Relief inundated his body. You were wandering around the opposite end of the room, an almost empty glass of something peachy pink in your hand and an absentminded smile on your lips as you passed the guests. You were doing a good job of keeping it together with the amount of people roaming about the venue and the drink you had was to ease the tension. Melting ice clinked against the glass in your hand. It swirled around as you moved. Donnie’s eyes were then drawn to your dress. You had a short dress on tonight. Your skin glistened a kind of bronzed colour in the lighting set off perfectly by the cerulean hue of your dress; it sparkled with each tiny little movement you made, throwing circular reflections on your skin from the tiny sequins. The manganese blue and pale azure sparkles catching the lighting glued Donnie’s gaze to you like a magnet. Your sleeve slipped off your shoulder, and in your movements Donnie caught the back- or rather- lack of a back your dress had. A thin strip of the material went over where the back of your bra would usually show, extra lines of glimmering pale gold connected it to the dress; it reminded Donnie of drop line cake icing. Fuck, was he salivating? The purple turtle swallowed. The detailing rested against your bare back and slid with your movements. Your heels sparkled the same light gold colour, casting white glints in the darker corners of the room. Donnie was hooked onto your presence, feeling reassured at the sight of you and cursing himself a thousand times for not trying to find you sooner. He reluctantly looked back to Mr. Receding hairline.

“Sorry, excuse me, but- I need to go.” Donnie hurriedly pushed past the guy. He payed no attention to the sputtering sound the self-appointed scientist was making, focusing all of his efforts on making his way through the crowed to you. You, who was shifting past a couple in order to slip into the next room and out of sight. You left your empty glass on a side table. Donnie hurried his footsteps. He narrowly avoided a waiter. All that was on his mind was getting to you.

You slid into the next room. Immediately the volume of the music increased. People milled around with one another. You looked up to see a thousand tiny lights illuminating the ceiling. They mimicked stars and you stared in wonder at them. How had the venue even achieved that effect? Some of the lights looked like they were hovering close to the ceiling and when you squinted you could just barely make out thin transparent wires connecting the floating dots of light to the ceiling fixtures. Optical fibres? Whatever they were, they sparkled from the high ceiling like suspended fireflies. You took slow steps, eyes fixed on the general splendour. Unbeknownst to you, Donnie was a few feet behind, trailing after you. He pushed past a couple more people, apologising hastily as he tried to get closer. You paused to check your phone and Donnie took the opportunity to catch up.

“Y/n!”

“Donnie! Hi. Where have you been?” You immediately shuffled closer to the tall turtle with relief plastered over your features. Donnie matched your movements, reciprocally drawing in close. He dropped his head so he could speak to you better over the sound of the music. The two of you formed your own little bubble. You looked up at him. His appearance was taken in very quickly and you wondered if his brothers had forced him to abandon the heavy tech gear and cargos he was partial to.

“I was talking to- never mind. You um-” Donnie raked his eyes over you again. You seemed to glow in the dim lighting and he suddenly found himself unable to say anything about your appearance. He rerouted.

“When did you get here?”

“I think 30 minutes ago? I lost April somewhere and I just ended up exploring. This place is so pretty! It’s a lot of people though, I’m glad I found you. Or you found me? Whichever. I’m just glad you’re here.” You were always glad to see him. You sounded nervous, clearly more put off by the crowd than you wanted to let on; your composure was sporadic. Donnie moved closer. 

“I lost Leo by the bar.” Donnie looked up at the lighting, before pulling his gaze back to you. “I like the place, but it’s pretentious. Vern really knows ‘the right people’, huh.”

You smiled. “I’m working on a plan to steal the cutlery. I bet you if I sold one fork I could pay my rent three times over.”

Donnie chuckled. “We could test it out. Distraction theft could work. I’ll go ask where to find the bathroom and you can shove some spoons in your purse?” You laughed, free hand coming up to cover your stupid grin; Donnie’s eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed. You moved closer to Donnie to avoid the group trying to pass by, still giggling. Donnie’s hand hovered by your lower back; he’d been about to touch it to keep you out of the path of the guests but had stopped himself before he could. His fingers brushed the little sequins of your dress. Pretty. So pretty. You felt his body heat close and looked down with an affectation of decorum as the guests passed. Donnie gestured to the bar where the crowd was sparser. You nodded. He kept close as you both navigated to the shiny black counter, and you squinted at the various amber bottled lined up against the backbar. Your smile had momentarily slipped, and you put it back on, continuing to speak. “I don’t think your diversion tactics would work, Don. You’d just make it super obvious, no offence.”

“Offence taken; how would I make it obvious?”

“Act it out real quick?”

“Okay…” Donnie tried to get into character. He turned his head away and then turned back when he was confident he wouldn’t laugh. “Excuse me, do you know where the bathrooms are? I’m lost.”

You burst into peals of laughter. Donnie looked at you with a very confused expression. “What? That was good, right? Screw you, I know that was good.” He tried to quell his amusement but failed miserably and his lips morphed into a smile.

You snickered, “You sounded like a kid. We’d get caught in 5 minutes, tops.”

“Well when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

Your eyes were drawn to the bar once more and as you skimmed the menu a single word stood out. On the small chalkboard sign with drink prices and names written in various colours of chalk, the word ‘milkshake’ stuck out like a sore thumb. You perked up.

“Donnie, look!”

The tall turtle turned his head away from your face to cast his gaze on what had stolen your attention away. You drummed your fingers on the bartop in excitement.

“They’ve got milkshakes! We have to get one. Strawberry, right? I’ll get us one. Stay here. Don’t move. Where’d that guy go…”

Donnie watched helplessly as you tracked down the bartender. He hadn’t even had a chance to get a word in. God, you were cute. You knew what flavours he liked, too. It wasn’t revolutionary, you remembered little things like that, but at times like these it made Donnie feel like he mattered to you so much more than he did. Quit it. She’s just being considerate, Donnie, it’s not a fucking proposal. You returned after a couple minutes with a retro style milkshake in your hands. Whipped cream. Cherry on top. Scoop of ice cream. The works. You had a massive smile on your face and Donnie could practically see the cold pink glass reflected in your pupils. He must’ve been making a stupid face because you awkwardly smiled.

“It was way more expensive than I thought it’d be, so I could only get one. I got us two straws though. You don’t mind, right?” You batted your lashes at him unconsciously, holding up the two straws as evidence. He couldn’t protest.

“Yeah, that’s um- fine.” He swallowed and took the straw you handed him. You took the first sip, squealing immediately as the fruity taste hit your tongue. You garbled something about it tasting good and took another long sip, lips pursed with the effort of trying to swallow down half the glass in one go. Donnie laughed, inserting his own straw and taking a sip once you’d moved back. “Mmh. The flavouring isn’t artificial, it’s actually,” he paused to take another sip, “really good.” You beamed at him in agreement. You alternated leaning in to take sips from your respective straws, talking about how the place sustained the flowers on long nights like these, the logistics of wheeling in the massive marble slabs that made up the bar counters in each room and how Donnie was doing with his robotics project. He was focused on creating a mini mechanic that could build, fix and maintain his other projects. He got so lost in his excited rambling that he forgot to keep his distance. His legs were intertwined with yours while you faced one another on the barstools. His hand brushed against your own where he set it down on the counter between his gesticulating. His sentences were punctuated with ‘omigosh’s and before he knew it his throat was getting dry, and he leaned down to take a sip of the pink shake at the same time you did. Your faces were impossibly close. Shit. He faltered and almost choked, his heart stuttered and certainly not because of the amount of sugar he was consuming. You scrunched your nose, pulling away from your straw to giggle. Donnie coughed once.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” Wow. Great going, Donnie. Now you’ve just weirded her out.

You laughed, though he could tell from the way you looked down and focused hard on wiping the cream off your lip that you had been taken off guard by how close your faces had got. Were you uncomfortable? He fixed his gaze anxiously on you, trying hard to ascertain your feelings, but he couldn’t figure you out; the face you’d made was confusing and all he could conclude was you disliked being so close to him. He went to detangle his legs from yours, keeping his head down. You sighed.

“Y/n!” April’s voice cut through the crowd. She clacked over in her heels, holding two glasses of some gold bubbly liquid. She was smiling. Donnie was thankful for her merciful interruption.

“Donnie, you’re here too.” She took a second to glance between the two of you and quickly hit you a raised eyebrow that Donnie missed. The atmosphere in your little corner was as tense as a stretched spring. Full of potential energy. You raised a brow right back at her and the glasses she was holding. She was too tipsy to press further and smiled. “You’re coming with me, ‘kay? Donnie doesn’t mind, right buddy?” Donnie wanted to protest. He wanted to shake his head or grab onto you and keep you there next to him, but that was childish, and he was above that. You went to stand, throwing Donnie an apologetic look. “I’ll be right back.”

April tugged on your arm and squeezed it. She’d clearly had one too many drinks. You looked reluctant to leave Donnie like this, the unresolved air between the two of you lingered and wrapped around you. He wasn’t ready to end the conversation. No matter how awkward it had been, he’d liked having you to himself. Find a reason. Any reason. Say something. Ask her for a dance later! A sense of urgency filled the tall turtle as you began to turn away and he found himself reaching out; before he could prevent it Donnie was grabbing your hand in his larger one. 

“Wait. I-”

You looked at him. He looked flustered. You took a step closer again, not removing your hand from his. The look on your face was almost hopeful, albeit confused, and Donnie couldn’t speak.

“Be uhhh- careful. Lots of people ’n stuff,” he said weakly. Any hopes you had fell, and you just gave him a gentle, understanding smile and a nod before slipping away with an impatient April into the throng. 

▹▹▹

The guy April had introduced you to 15 minutes ago was nice, even if you weren’t interested. He reminded you a little of Donnie. He was tall, had blue rimmed glasses and a shy smile that kept you from leaving. You tried to enjoy the conversation. At the very least the man had a personality and wasn’t just clinging to small talk, even if he was shy. Your mind was elsewhere. Donnie had looked like he wanted to say something earlier. What was it? The thought nagged at you incessantly and you took another sip of the soapy alcohol in your hand. It made you feel even worse, so you slowly put it down and tried to focus on the man in front of you. The mawkish remnants in your mouth made you grimace. God this was gross. Everything about this felt gross. The part of the night where everything started to feel sticky and overwhelming had arrived and having to socialise wasn’t doing you any good. You wished you were back with Donnie and the milkshake. No, you reminded yourself, none of that matters. Focus. The guy was ducking his gaze and smiling.

“I thought they’d never make a movie adaptation of booster gold, let alone on the OMAC project. I guess the whole ‘hero comes back for one more job’ trope is pretty popular!”

You forced a pleasant smile. “I wonder if they’ll leave it inconclusive or move onto the whole blue beetle thing. I feel like it’ll probably just have an uplifting tone at the end or something. Most superhero movies do these days.”

The man nodded enthusiastically in response. You fidgeted with the hem of your dress just to have something to do with your hands. Suddenly, the guy blurted, “would you want to go dance with me?”

You lifted your head, surprised. Where did that come from? “Oh! Yeah…sure, I’d be down to.” A slow smile formed on your face and you nodded your head. What was the harm in one dance? This man was sweet in a way, and you needed to take your mind off things. Your thoughts had been straying in dangerous directions; places you’d never allowed yourself to go too far down for fear of screwing things up. You needed to stop thinking about Donnie.

You felt slightly guilty for not remembering the name of the man in front of you, but you took his hand nonetheless and let yourself be guided into the crowd. The lighting was dimmer there, full of flecks of muted yellows and blues and pinks that dappled over the moving bodies. The man in front of you pulled you closer. His hands were warm. Soft. They trembled in yours and you reflexively squeezed them. He squeezed back and slipped his hands nervously to your waist.

“Is this a good time to say I can’t really dance? I just wanted to… be uh… near you.”

You chuckled in spite of yourself. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. A familiar hum melted through the speakers as a new song started up. The guy’s hand brushed your bare lower back.

I don’t wanna be alone tonight

Your eyes widened slightly. A soft bitterness sparked in your stomach and you exhaled. Just your luck. Even the music refused to help you forget. You shut your eyes and focused on the bittersweet feeling of having someone close.

It’s pretty clear that I’m not over you… I’m still thinkin’ bout the things you do

You let the man swivel you around. The steady rhythm filled you up and you lost yourself to the atmosphere.

▹▹▹

Donnie felt nauseous. He’d finished off the milkshake alone. Your straw leaned idly against the edge of the cold glass, abandoned and making the scene even more depressing. He checked his watch again. 17 minutes. You’d disappeared with April 17 minutes ago. You had said you’d be ‘right back.’ How long did ‘right back’ constitute? Certainly not this long. He didn’t want to intrude on whatever you had going on, but there was something propelling him out of his seat. He was being selfish again, the cold stab of possessiveness branching through his veins and pushing him to find you; he couldn’t stand sitting there by himself. People had started to stare; he was used to the staring, being 6’8” and a mutant turtle, but their piercing eyes seemed to be drawn to the fact that he was alone and didn’t look like he’d be joined by anyone any time soon. He needed to find you. His heavy footsteps through the crowd became more hurried with each step. There was the sinking feeling that he was too late, that he should’ve said something earlier instead of chickening out and leaving his needs and desires unspoken. He cursed himself. Thud.

“Donnie? Ay, ay, what’s got you haulin’ ass?”

“Raph- Hey, I have somewhere to be, I’ll talk later- later.”

Raph’s brow furrowed as Donnie shoved past. The purple turtle had distraction all over his face and Raph wasn’t used to seeing his brother so frenetic other than when his work got serious and he locked himself in his lab for days.

“…Huh.”

Please be there, please be there, please be there. Donnie slid into the crowd of moving bodies. Music filled his ears. His eyes latched onto you in seconds; they instinctively searched for you in every room and every crowd. His eyes adjusted to the lighting and he stepped out of the way of an exiting trio. He was about to make his way over, disregarding the fact that this was a dance floor and he was butting in when he had no intentions as of right now to dance, when he noticed the man in front of you. Donnie’s whole world went cold.

Look what you made me do, I’m with somebody new, ooh, baby, baby I’m dancin’ with a stranger.

You had a small smile on your face as the brown-haired man in front of twirled you around and moved his hands over your waist. Your shoulders moved to the music and your hips circled. Donnie’s hand flexed. His mouth felt dry and his gut felt empty. It felt like someone was squeezing the muscles of his throat until his windpipe collapsed and he lost the ability to breathe. He assessed your body language in vain and found only politeness in it. You were clearly fine with dancing. But you remained poised. Donnie clung to the knowledge that you never acted so formal around him, but the dull throbbing in his heart began to overtake any bitterness he was feeling. 

Dancing with a stranger.

You dropped your gaze from the guy to look down at his hands on your waist. The sight felt wrong. Flecks of diffused orange light caressed your skin and sparkled off your dress. The melody cascaded over your bodies, flowing through your shoulders and moving you in tandem with the man before you, and yet it felt unnatural as anything. You found yourself wishing for a minute it was Donnie in front of you with his hands on your waist, tridactyl fingers caressing your back and head tipped down to focus all his attention on you; god did you almost feel like you could be dancing with him every time you shut your eyes. The man smiled down at you. You tried convincing yourself you could be okay with this; dancing with this man you knew little about, forgetting Donnie and replacing his image in your head with thin blue rimmed glasses and messy brown hair. The guy leaned down to put his face close to yours and you kept your head down, feigning shyness in lieu of giving away your distaste. Donnie looked away. He left the room silently, foregoing plodding back to the little bar the two of you had been sitting at, blindly pushing past a blur of faces until he found a secluded balcony. He had no one to blame for the melancholy he was feeling but himself.

It had taken you another eight minutes to wrench yourself out of conversation and away from the dance floor. You downed one of the shots left on a half full tray, wincing at the nasty taste and using it to tear your mind away from everything. A warm burning sensation courtesy of the alcohol did nothing to remove the stubborn lump in your throat. You really should’ve just stayed with Donnie. The longer that man kept you there the more grossed out you’d felt, and the persistence that seemed to have taken him over after dancing with you threw you off completely. He really had wanted to be ‘close’ to you. You felt your head spin. Thud.

“Seriously, is everyone gonna keep bumping into me, or- y/n.”

“Raph.” You cleared your throat. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s whatever. I guess I gotta keep out the doorways, huh. You seen Mikey?”

“No. He might still be downstairs. Did you…” “Donnie?” You nodded. “I saw him walkin’ through here earlier, but ain’t seen him since.” You sighed.

“Thanks.”

Raph eyed you. You had the same sort of look on your face that Donnie had earlier, and he didn’t like the wateriness in your eyes. He’d never seen you seriously cry; you were tough and he knew it. Crying wasn’t your forte, sure you’d let slip a tear or two on group movie nights down in the lair, but this looked different. Were you drunk? Seeing what looked akin to intoxication set him on edge. “You aight?”

“Mhm. A-okay.” Raph noted you looked like you were looking through him rather than at him. He sighed and patted your shoulder.

“You should get some water ’n get home soon. Ain’t lookin’ too hot.”

You offered him a small nod, before slipping further into the crowd. Raph was left to wonder what exactly was up with you and Donnie. He needed a drink.

The cool respite of the open balcony called to you. No one lingered around it, all of the guests and officials mingled among one another in the larger rooms of the building. The breeze curled through the wispy pale blue curtains and beckoned you close. You didn’t notice the tall figure leaning against the metal balcony railing until you got closer. The familiar sight of the turtle you were looking for met you. His eyes were red, though you couldn’t notice through the dark filter the night overlayed and your own distraction. His eyes flickered over to you. They widened. He didn’t know whether to act normal or not. He didn’t feel normal. No, he felt petty and heartbroken and stupid. Again he had to remind himself he was making a mountain out of a molehill. You were free to dance with whoever you liked. It wasn’t like he’d had the courage to ask you, anyway. ‘What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?’ Even Shakespeare couldn’t save you now, Donnie. Thankfully his thoughts were shut down by you speaking first.

“Donnie! There you are. I’m sorry I left you for so long. April wanted to show me a painting and then introduced me to some friends and I couldn’t leave.” You took some steps closer, leaning on the rail beside him. You blinked. The lump in your throat had somehow only grown bigger with Donnie there next to you.

“It’s fine, I promise. Did you have fun?” Somehow, his question made the nausea you felt worse. You tried to nod, but couldn’t. A tear spilled over when you blinked and you hurriedly thumbed it away. Donnie’s eyes widened. Guilt flushed through him, and he felt even more of an idiot for letting the tone of bitterness slip through his question when you clearly weren’t feeling well. Eyes red. Unfocused. Wobbled when she came over; there’s an 80% variable that there’s a 73% chance that it’s the shoes, but she did have a drink earlier and April probably pawned off that other drink she had. Be sensitive.

He fumbled. “Hey, what- happened? Are-are you hurt?” He gave you a once-over and you shook your head quickly. Your voice sounded small. “No, ‘m fine. I’m okay.” You fanned your face with a hand and blew out cold air. “I think I wanna go home.” Donnie nodded.

“I get it. I can drop you off, if you need me to. I feel like I’ve been here long enough.”

You swallowed.

“No, it’s okay. Leo would be pissed at you.” Your heart thumped dismally in your chest. Donnie stared. Out here in the cold night air it felt as though the two of you were in a different world. Your eyelids fluttered and the soft breeze stroked your face with its chilly hand. A respite. You turned to face Donnie. He was already looking at you. His glasses magnified his eyes a little and made it that much more noticeable when he blinked. It was endearing. He still looked worried, keeping a watchful gaze on you as though searching for any more imminent tears; he didn’t know how to handle tears, let alone yours. Rather, he didn’t know how to handle your tears without revealing his feelings. Everything in him yelled to pull you into a hug, or hold your hand, or anything that would take that dejected look off your face and show you how you could rely on him. It was foolish. He was already in a state of his own. Neither of you spoke a word, coexisting in the serene silence with your eyes on each other.

▹▹▹

Thirteen goddamn missions. How many more would you have to go through ‘till Karai was behind bars? They spanned over a month. Your university had upped your workload in the same month, and the stress you were under was immense. Leo had oh-so graciously allowed you to miss the other 5 missions they’d planned out when your deadlines came up and you couldn’t spare any time to run around the city. He was being lenient. Real lenient. You groaned into your mattress. Your body ached from the nights of running and hiding and infiltrating and scouting and decoy-ing. You were so sick of it. Ugly washed out bruises littered your knees and shins from who knew when; your body was tense and you could barely set one foot in your lectures without falling asleep. One of your lovely acquaintances had taken to silently taking your notes for you and sending them over after the lecture. Guilt rested on your shoulders. The fact that you felt more for Donnie than you wanted to admit had started to chew slowly at you, ever since the night of the party there had been a looming sense of loss in your heart. Entertaining the idea of someone else had only aggressively confirmed you couldn’t stand thinking of anyone in that way but your purple turtle. Your feelings stuck fast, insurmountable and unforgettable. There was no way to push them aside and move on the way you were so proud of being able to do with everything else. Fuck love. You were tired.

“Yo. Fellas, let’s go, let’s go.” Leo marched through the lair, banging his katanas together and sending resounding crashes bouncing off the walls of the lair. Raph reluctantly peeled himself from the couch where he’d been trying to catch some shut eye. Mikey jerked awake, falling off the tipped-back chair he’d fallen asleep at; the bag of peanuts on his lap fell to the floor along with the comic book he’d left open over his eyes. Leo had become progressively more uptight with the pressure he was under these days. Raph shot Leo an irritated look and adjusted his mask, retying it so it would be secure and suppressing a snort at Mikey’s fumbling. Donnie winced at the racket his older brother was making. He yawned and lifted his head off his desk. Drool formed a pool on his schematics. He patted around for his glasses. Ugh. What time is it? Donnie brushed stray wrappers off his desk and finally grabbed his thick framed glasses, thumbing to press down the lifted corner flap of tape that bound the bridge of his glasses together.

Getting out of the lair and across the city was a blur. Donnie did some tricks across the rooftops to wake himself up when they got out of the truck. His sleep schedule was thoroughly fucked. He hadn’t slept much at all since the night of the party; his mind was clouded with images of you in the arms of someone else, someone better, someone normal, someone human. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t the most insecure, but with time it had crept in and wormed itself into muscle and tissue like some kind of parasite and refused to leave. You acted the same way with him as always. It was just him. He was sucked back into feeling stupid for all the one-sided emotions constantly flowing through his mind; you were less than aware of the turmoil he was going through and one look at your sweet face every time he saw you only increased his resolve not to slip a peep on his state. Donnie focused on the missions, refining the tech for his robots, and helping you with your work. He threw himself into it with the abandon of a man with nothing to lose. Except, he was losing both sleep and his sanity. And probably his body’s ability to process caffeine.

“Mikey, throw me the rope.”

“Gotchu, brah. Go long!”

Leo jumped up to catch the coil of rope before it could go over the side of the building, shooting Mikey a look that the orange slider very blatantly ignored.

Donnie squinted at his watch. No messages from you. He knew you’d be there tonight; this was one of the missions you couldn’t miss. The amount of grief his older brother had given you for missing the one before was no doubt a factor in your acceptance this time. Donnie swiped at the pale blue hologram to open up the text thread from the previous night.

Yesterday, 21:58

Don🔬: Good job tonight. I can check your citations tomorrow but be proud of the work you’ve done!

Donnie cringed when he reread the message. Wasn’t that too impersonal? He sounded like an old man.

You: You’re a lifesaver Don, but I don’t wanna overwork you

You: Get some sleep big guy

Don🔬: Will do, see you tomorrow

Today, 23:20

Don🔬: We’re on top of the TCRI building, no sign of the foot yet

The purple turtle stared long and hard at the embarrassingly short text thread. He had a strong urge to delete the latest message, but that would be even more embarrassing than the text itself. You were in on this one. There had been absolutely no reason to text you, and yet he had. It wasn’t like you’d be actively checking your phone. You knew the plan. Baxter Stockman was back and working for the foot clan. TCRI and its projects had been handed off to the authority of another qualified scientist when Baxter Stockman had supposedly gone ‘missing’ after Shredder’s own disappearance. However, if Baxter was back, he’d need to get hold of his research. The best way to go about it was break back into his old workplace and steal anything he deemed a requirement for their new plan of action. Krang was still a threat, especially if the fool managed to take back his research and create a new portal opening out of spite. That’s what the foot clan were. Spiteful. Donnie ran a hand over his face and clicked off the hologram. His frustration curdled back into the ugly dredges of doubt and all he could do to keep his mind busy and focused on something other than how much he desperately wanted your attention was run through the mission plan again.

You were in the building. The unrestricted floor clearance tag you’d been given by the company for tonight was clutched in your hand and you thumbed the corner of the laminated card as you walked. You wondered if they’d let you keep it, or if you could get away with slipping it to Donnie by the end of the night. If the tech-savvy turtle really wanted to he could bypass any and all security measures, but you still wanted the satisfaction of being able to give him something useful. You inwardly groaned. Here you were, wandering the halls with one of the higher up scientists, waiting for the foot clan to burst through the doors at any second and you were busy thinking about Donnie. That seemed to be a common theme on these missions. You frowned and recited the plan. You were the boys’ eyes on the inside for tonight; the NYPD was only involved to the extent they could be without making it obvious to the foot that they were prepared for any infiltration, and had arranged for your placement in the building as a human alert button. You also suspected they wanted some extra information on what exactly TCRI were up to these days. You could do that. The people who worked late in the building were only aware that you were there to ‘help evacuate’ and needed complete clearance to be able to do so, not that you had a personal agenda to snoop.

“And this here is our modelling department. They work on theoretical models of the collider you saw at sub level 3, the basic functions of potential alternate dimensions, and scaling of our other general projects. We don’t have many people working late in here, apart from-”

“Sir!”

The older man next to you who’d been touring you around the facility sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose in a way that reminded you of the habit Leo and Splinter had. You smiled. The guy who waved was fresh faced and energetic, you could tell he was probably new from the way he looked so enthusiastic so late at night. The older man next to you gestured with raised brows. “As I was saying, apart from Mr. Walker there, no one else works late in this department.” You tried not to laugh. That made your job easier. If there weren’t many people on these floors, you wouldn’t have to worry about casualties…

▹▹▹

Donnie dropped down to crouch to the cold floor of the laboratory as the foot soldier swung an electrically charged pole at him. He grunted and swivelled so he knocked the soldier’s legs out, and as the foot member scrambled for purchase they sent a tray of beakers and pipettes crashing to the floor and leaking orange and blue liquid out onto the surface. “Look what you’ve done now! Contamination is a serious- issue-” Donnie felt a sharp prick in his calf and instinctively went to rip the cables off before he got electrocuted. The sound of his brothers fighting around him filled his ears. The alarm system blared over the sound of the chaos and Donnie heard the sound of a glass door breaking. He looked over to see Raph smashing through the hail of glass shards. Bullets sprayed and Donnie ducked down behind a metal desk, cursing under his breath at the absurdity of the mission.

“Donnie!” Leo yelled over the gunfire, “Where’s Stockman?”

Donnie stammered as he got back up and kicked a gun out of a man’s hands. “He uh- he should be held up two floors down. You guys gotta hurry up.”

“I’m workin’ on it.”

“Bogey on your 6,” Donnie ran up and thwacked the foot member who emerged out of nowhere with his bo. Leo clapped his brother on the shoulder.

“Good looking out, Donnie. Mikey, Raph, on me.”

You were lost, trapped in a maze of identical rooms that all connected to one another, full of sleek, shiny tech that you weren’t acquainted with. 2 foot clan initiates circled you like sharks. They had chased you through the laboratories; the unconscious body of the cheery Mr. Walker had been in one of the rooms you ran through. Naive. You had been so goddamn naive. You grit your teeth in irritation at the foot soldiers who stood ready to disarm you. Baxter Stockman jogged past the door. Your eyes widened. No wonder they’d wanted to corner you! This was all to clear an unobstructed path. You disregarded the soldiers and made a run for the exit; no way could you let that bumbling idiot reach the instruments and research he needed to recreate the Krang invasion, not now. A foot soldier kicked your knee in the second you tried for the exit and you groaned. Fuck, that hurt. You feigned being winded, doubled over in a show of pain greater than what you actually felt. According to Donnie’s scan of their gear, foot soldiers had concealed knives. Righttt there! You grabbed the handle sticking out by the initiate’s ankle, lifting and pulling it up out of its sheath; you stuck it in the back of the man’s knee and turned around to disable the other one before they had the opportunity to electrocute you. They collapsed at the exact moment a bang and hiss rang in your eardrums. Your blade clattered to the floor. White clouds of steam burst through the room’s vents. The clear sliding doors slammed shut and you coughed, panicked, whipping around to search for the culprit. A blur of black and red was barely visible through the smoke clouding through the room, the boiling steam suffocated you and you felt your clothes dampen and the familiar feeling of nausea. That wasn’t just water through those pipe vents. Karai’s voice rang singsong through the sealed doors.

“Poor thing. You can’t escape. Perhaps, if you had been more useful we could’ve spared you. Your apartment gave us all the information we needed.”

You gasped, avoiding the burning steam and picking up one of the tools atop the desk in a vain attempt to crack the glass. It was no use. You were going to pass out before you could crack it. Karai receded and disappeared after Stockman and you cursed, kicking the door in frustration and swivelling around, searching for any alternate exit points or anything else you could use to get out. it didn’t look promising. The boiling heat made your skin blotchy with condensation. You went for your comms.

“Leo? Donnie? Karai and Baxter are in lab,” you gasped, “7. Hurry.”

Donnie looked over at Leo in alarm at the sound of your voice.

“Leo?”

“We’ll get Karai and stop Baxter. Go find her.”

Donnie split off and his brothers ran to the lab you identified while Donnie booked it to where you had last been.

You were kneeling on the floor. Any oxygen you could suck into your lungs was inhaled with desperation. You swam in a haze, surrounded by pure white and coughing at the chemical taste filling your mouth and swamping your other senses. You folded over on your knees, pressing your cheek to the floor and wheezing. You wanted Donnie. You were terrified that these would be your last moments. Suffocation was one of the worst ways to go. You. Wanted. Donnie. You never got to ask him to go for a drive with you. You never got to tell him you regretted not staying with him at that stupid party. God that had been such a waste of your time. You choked at the sudden lump in your throat. You never got to tell him you love him. Tears pricked your eyes and you shuddered, clawing at the ground to attempt to push yourself back up and to those sealed doors.

Donnie entered the lab area, eyes wide and panting. White steam clouded the glass panels and he could only make out the silhouette of a downed foot soldier behind the glass.

“Shit! Doors, doors, doors… c’mon Donnie… no pressure, no pressure, it’s not like she could be dead in there.”

He frantically looked for the override to the sealed-off section of the laboratory. “Fuck!” Donnie swore loudly, punching in the buttons on the designated control panel hard and getting more and more urgent when it refused to work. He held his staff to the panel and with a ‘bzzt’ the wires shorted and the doors opened. Steam emerged in swathes. Donnie held his breath, squinting through the burning hot clouds and falling to his knees next to your small figure on the floor.

“Hey, y/n? Can you hear me? God, please be okay. Come here, I got you. I’ve got you sweetheart. Oh my god, oh my god, I’ll never let you go again.”

Donnie mumbled words that probably soothed him more than it did you. He cradled you in his big arms, exiting the contaminated area and finding a safe spot to crouch down.

You thought you were dreaming. Cool, clean, crisp air flooded your lungs and you gasped at the feeling of Donnie’s hands checking your pulse through your temple. The sound of his voice reached you through a silencer, gurgled and wobbly like you were underwater. Time moved slowly. Your ears popped and without warning every sound suddenly had sharp clarity to it; time sped up and you were thrust back into the present. Donnie’s voice brought you back. You pushed up with surprising speed and wrapped your arms around him the second you could move. “Donnie!” you cried.

He held you close, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and squeezing you so tight you thought you’d burst. “I’m here. I’m right here.” He didn’t give a shit about the wetness of your skin or the way you constricted his windpipe, all he cared about was that you were breathing. He pulled away enough to give you a once over. His hands held your shoulders. “Let me check your pupils. Can you breathe okay? A-are you experiencing any intense nausea? Does your skin feel itchy? What happened?”

You shook your head, grasping at him with a wobbly lower lip. He shut himself up and pulled you back in.

“Don’t go anywhere, please. Please, Don.” You whispered into his neck, feeling hot tears roll down your face. Donnie leaned back against the wall, resting your wet, exhausted form against his plastron and pressing his face to the top of your head with a great, shuddering sigh. His adrenaline ebbed away incrementally and he rubbed your back.

“I won’t,” he whispered back, “I promise.”

Even now, as he held you and you matched your breaths to his, he couldn’t get out the words he so desperately wanted to say. I’ll keep you safe. I was so worried. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. I love you.

Mikey had been the one to detain Stockman, and the guy was tied up and being subjected to Mikey flicking his face; the orange turtle was having boatloads of fun prodding at the scientist and making a mockery of him. Leo had finally caught Karai. The leader in blue gave her a serious but very subtly smug look. He was triumphant. Karai bowed her head in defeat. Raph was just relieved they’d managed to catch Karai. He couldn’t have dealt with any more of Leo’s griping. He sat on the edge of a table as the police department were radioed and a chopper arrived at the TCRI building.

Donnie refused to put you down. Maybe it was because you looked pitiful trying to walk. Your head lolled into his chest, you sniffled every few seconds and coughed when your windpipe refused to cooperate. If you had been in a more coherent state, you might’ve noticed just how easy it was for the tall turtle to carry you. How his arms flexed when he hoisted you up and the way he removed one arm for just a minute to wipe your face. He was so strong. It was easy to forget just how strong he was. Donnie let Leo drive the truck on the way back to the lair. He sat in the back with you leaning on his shoulder, arm around his thick bicep as you slipped in and out of sleep.

“Are we going home?” You murmured into Donnie’s arm with your eyes closed, and the purple turtle rested his big, three-fingered hand on top of yours.

“We’re going back to the lair. I need to check your condition and run a couple tests, but we could stop by yours. Did you need something from your apartment?”

You opened your eyes at his words, recalling your interaction earlier. “I can’t go back there, Karai said- she said- I think they broke in. Maybe. I don’t know when.”

Donnie’s face contorted into one of worry and he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over the back of yours. “If that’s true it might not be safe for you to go back there. That might be how they avoided getting caught in the first place…” Donnie’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I’ll call April and ask her if you can stay at hers, but for now you’re staying with us. Is that okay?”

You nodded and shut your eyes again. You leaned against his shoulder and sighed, burying deeper into his side when the truck bumped over a pothole. Donnie picked at the hair tie on your wrist. He looked at you, then at the way you had your arm hooked under his and then back down to the hair tie. He slid a finger under it, shimmying his index along your inner wrist until he could fit his second finger in. The hair band slid until it bound Donnie’s wrist to yours, and the slider intertwined your fingers and squeezed your hand. He hoped it would say what he couldn’t. He wanted to be stuck to you.

▹▹▹

“We’re doing this again, huh.” You groaned as you sat on the sink counter and let Donnie peel off the damp clothes that stuck to your skin. He’d taken a look at you and concluded you’d be fine after you hacked out the toxic substances, drank a load of water, consumed a wide assortment of medicine and got a hell of a lot of sleep. He tried not to smile down at you.

“You know the probability of this happening this many times should be really low. You’re an outlier,” he teased as he rolled off your shirt. You hummed tiredly when you put your arms back down.

“Maybe.” You got distracted by the soft purple of Donnie’s bandana ties resting on his plastron and reached up to rub the material between your thumb and forefinger. Donnie had his head down, watching you. “Donnie?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You looked up at him. His eyes widened a little and flickered off to the floor, to the wall; anywhere that wasn’t your face, but his gaze kept coming back to you. You opened your mouth. You closed it. Then you shook your head. “Thank you for being there.”

Donnie just looked at your small smile and took in a short breath as if to speak, to acknowledge the atmosphere in the little bathroom between you. He resorted to patting your elbow.

“Always.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “O-kay, shower time. I’m waiting right outside so yell if you need anything. And I mean anything, don’t ignore dizziness or blurry vision or any other symptoms. You wouldn’t believe the number of annual deaths from people falling over in the shower, it’s nuts.”

Your shower was long and miserable. You stumbled out halfway to purge the chemicals from your body into the toilet bowl and lay flat on the floor with your legs kicked up on the wall, wet and shuddering as you felt your circulation return to your head and the spasming of your facial muscles finally cease. Getting back in the shower had almost been worse. You finally emerged, woozy from the heat. The old shirt you wore as you sat on Donnie’s bed after your shower smelled like tea. Your skin was hot. The phantom feeling of Donnie’s hand in yours lingered; the purple turtle was bustling around the lair to collect a cold glass of water, some hard candy for you to suck on to get rid of the nasty taste in your mouth, and the rickety fan Mikey had commandeered and left next to the couch. At long last Donnie collapsed onto the bed next to where you sat, face smushed to his bedding with his glasses lopsided. You stared at the way his arms gathered one of his pillows to his face and how he exhaled hot air; the lenses of his glasses fogged up. You swallowed. Did he need to be this hot? Donnie pushed himself back up enough to look at you through his cloudy glasses and nervously licked his lips.

“You don’t mind if I’m here, do you? I can move if you want the bed to yourself… Actually, I think I’ll move, I- I don’t wanna crowd you.” Donnie’s voice petered off when you shook your head. Wordlessly, you reached out to take his glasses off and took your time folding down the temples and setting the pair aside. Donnie held his breath. You scooted down to lie flat on the mattress. The tips of your fingers brushed his forearm as you made a grabbing motion, and he lowered himself back down. Donnie’s heart was beating a mile a minute.

“Stay with me. You promised.”

Donnie had never folded faster in his life. He was just glad he was already lying down or his knees might’ve given out and he might’ve given himself away. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. His vision was blurrier without his glasses, but he reached towards you nonetheless and chastely held your hand. You squeezed his. He grounded you, you felt your muscles loosen and your mind shut off at last. “I won’t go anywhere,” He murmured. He pulled your hand closer, resting your joined hands by his face. You could feel his breaths hitting your knuckles. The two of you fell into slumber without another word, leaving the silence laden with a thousand unspoken words to tarry a little longer.

▹▹▹

You woke to the warmth of Donnie’s arms around you. Long, soft breaths skimmed your hair. It was comfortable in his arms, more comfortable than you’d been in a long time and you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You experimentally shifted your elbow. You didn’t think you could move, actually. Donnie’s grip was firm and impossible to wriggle free of. He had a thick leg between yours, his arms squished you to his plastron and he cuddled into you like he couldn’t bear to let you go. He was heavy. You groggily took the opportunity to nuzzle your face into the hollow of his neck. You wished this was what every night was like. A steady thump conducted through his chest to yours and you found yourself wondering if his heart ever sounded different, if his heartbeat had ever sped up or skipped a beat for the sake of love. This was painful; lying here next to him, held reverently in his arms and yet not knowing whether he felt the same way about you as you did him. You huffed against his neck and breathed in the scent of skin and grass and espresso and screwed your eyes shut tight in an effort to memorise this moment. A low grumble notified you that Donnie had woken up. You stayed very still, fearful he’d caught you in the act of breathing him in. A vibration ran from Donnie’s body to yours. He churred. You felt him nuzzle his face into the top of your head, no doubt still half asleep and probably assuming you were one of his pillows. You let it happen.

“…y/n?”

His voice. Lord, his voice. You nodded into his collarbone. “Mhm.”

Donnie’s muscles tensed and he gently pulled away from you, detaching his arms gingerly like he was scared you had been lying awake and uncomfortable for some time now. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face at the sudden lightness where before his body had been flush with yours. He reached for his glasses. Donnie didn’t dare move his leg from between yours, feeling like removing it too would be more awkward than leaving it where it was. You spoke before he could. “Did I wake you?”

Donnie shook his head as he slipped his glasses on. “No.” The silence stretched until the two of you broke eye contact and simultaneously fell into quiet giggles. You reached for his hand and he held yours; the corners of his eyes crinkled as he stared in wonder at you next to him in his bed. Donnie took a deep breath and focused on the way you held his hand to glean some courage.

“I have to say,” he swallowed, “you look nice when you’re sleepy.” He blanched. “Not in a weird way. I guess I noticed when you fell asleep the time I taught you cointegration.”

“You watched me sleep?” You squeaked, eyes wide.

“No. Not exactly… Sort of.”

You let slip a tiny, surprised laugh. Donnie looked mortified. Your heart thumped louder in your chest. “I had the same thought when we were in the truck together. That time I was posted by Red hook and you came to get me. You look nice when you drive. Super- um- focused?” You sighed and thumbed the soft scaly outlines along his knuckles. “I wanted to go for a drive with you again.”

Donnie’s eyes were wide. He was struggling to breathe. You hadn’t freaked out at his weird admittance- you’d been looking at him, too. You clearly expressed you liked his face. His expression, same thing, whatever. You wanted to be alone with him. Shoot. Was he smiling? He hoped he wasn’t smiling. He probably looked a fool. Hope burst behind his ribs. The dam that had been blocking his ability to translate his thoughts to words broke, and months’ worth of confessions at last spilled out in a wave. “I wanted to ask you to dance at the party, but I chickened out at the last minute and I’ve been regretting it the past month. And I wanted to tell you, you looked beautiful. I actually went after you to tell you but then I saw you with some-” Donnie scrunched his nose and struggled “-guy and I thought maybe it was better not to say anything. Which was stupid. I was so insanely stupid. And I have been stupid.” Donnie’s eyes found yours and his gaze intensified. His voice dropped to a murmur, quiet and intimate like he was scared to let you hear it but couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I love you. I want to be with you.” Donnie’s brows were knitted together in a needy expression as his hand trembled in yours. “I want to take care of you. I don’t deserve any of your attention and I’ve been trying not to want it, I swear I have, but I can’t help it. I love you.”

Your breath hitched and you felt your head spin. That look on his face was criminal. Donnie’s heartbeat through his wrist was ten times quicker than what you’d felt while he slept. Love. You had never been great at feelings; they were volatile, confusing things and in your mind people were impossible to rely on, but Donnie was your constant. He was your certainty, and he wanted to be. Your own shaky hand gripped him tight and without another thought your lips slammed against his. Donnie melted. His other arm pulled you closer by your waist and he kissed you back. Your lips were hot and plush and he kissed you again and again and again until he’d pushed you into the pillows with his enthusiasm. His glasses were askew and foggy again. You held his face to adjust them. The two of you panted. Your eyes glimmered when you looked up at him through your lashes and Donnie felt weak. “I love you, too. I don’t understand how you,” you kissed him once, sloppily, “thought you didn’t deserve my attention. I thought- I didn’t deserve yours.”

Donnie pulled you in for another kiss, letting out a small sound as your exhales mingled and your pretty, pretty hands wrapped around his neck. You were smiling so hard you couldn’t kiss him properly. “I’m dreaming. I have to be,” he mumbled as he planted wet kisses against your cheek. “You’ve always had my attention, I’ve been all yours for years.”

You pulled him in to kiss you again. “Years?”

“Years.”

You hiked your knee up enough to try to wrap your leg around him and keep him close to you. Your lips met his, softly, sweetly, pouring out all of the feelings you’d been too incompetent to convey. Donnie’s hands caressed your waist the way he’d dreamed of. The two of you knocked noses and giggled. 

The faint sound of music filled the lair as Splinter got up to start his morning meditation and hummed some old tune, smiling as he heard the sound of his son up early and the air of peace at last in the lair.

A/N It's finally done!!! I have so many fic ideas now that this is done with. Peep the cultural references. Hope you liked it! Taglist: @symbiosae, @hatothespanishpigeon

[jhaenyra]

　˚　˚̣̣ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ❀ ᰷ ⎯⎯͟͟ after slipping away from her royal guards, you, a lonely princess discovers a mysterious turtle-like creature living by a hidden lake. while donatello expects fear, you only see beauty | TMNT MEDIEVAL AU

tags:: #bay!donnie #donatelloxreader #princessreader

in this medieval au, you are the king’s daughter, a princess raised inside high stone walls where every movement is watched, measured, and protected. your days are filled with lessons in courtly behavior, embroidery, diplomacy, and the endless expectations placed upon a noblewoman. you are adored by the people, but also trapped by your title.

the castle overlooks a great forest, and beyond that forest lies a lake so still that the villagers speak of it as if it were enchanted. children are warned not to wander there, hunters avoid it at dusk and old women whisper that strange things live among the reeds.

you have heard the stories all your life and because of that, you are determined to see the lake for yourself.

one spring morning, after much pleading, you convince your father to allow you a short ride beyond the castle grounds. the king agrees only under strict conditions: a full escort of knights, attendants, and servants must accompany you. you smile sweetly, nod obediently, and then dismiss them all once you reach the forest path.

—your highness, we cannot leave you unguarded —one knight protests.

—i will only be by the water for a short while —you say—. if i cannot walk alone for a single hour, then what freedom does a princess truly possess?

reluctantly, they withdraw to a distance, and you continue toward the lake alone. the forest is quiet except for birdsong and the rustle of leaves beneath your slippers. when you arrive at the water’s edge, the sight takes your breath away. the lake glitters beneath the sunlight, surrounded by wildflowers and ancient trees. its beautiful in a way that the carefully manicured castle gardens never are.

you kneel beside the water, trailing your fingers across its surface. that is when you notice movement among the reeds. at first, you think it is a large animal. then the figure rises, and you realize it is something entirely different.

he is tall and broad-shouldered, his shell dark and curved like polished stone. his skin is green, unlike any creature you have ever seen, and his face is both unfamiliar and strangely expressive.

donatello freezes when he sees you and his first reaction is not aggression, but alarm.

—oh no —he mutters, backing away—. this is bad. this is very, very bad —you remain still, though your heart is racing. he glances around as if searching for an escape route, then pulls his hood farther over his head—. you’re not supposed to be here —he says quickly—, i mean, nobody is supposed to be here. not people and definitely not princesses.

—you know who i am? —you blink.

—everyone knows who you are —he replies before he can stop himself —then he seems to realize what he has admitted and groans softly—. great. now i sound like a stalker. i’m not a stalker. i just… observe things. from a distance.

despite your surprise, you cannot help smiling at the nervous rush of his words.

—you speak very well for a creature from the forest —you say.

—creature —he repeats quietly, his expression hardening.

he lowers his gaze, and you notice the way his shoulders draw inward, as though he is trying to make himself smaller despite his size.

—i should go —he says—, before you scream. or faint. or call the guards.

—why would i do that? —you reply and he looks up, startled.

—because i look like this —he says, gesturing vaguely to himself—: green skin, shell, six-foot-something-tall mutant turtle situation.

you take a cautious step closer.

—i have never seen anyone like you —you admit—, but that does not mean i find you frightening.

he studies your face carefully, as if searching for mockery or pity. finding neither, he seems even more unsettled.

— you really aren’t scared?

—no.

—not even a little?

—only because i startled you —you say gently.

for a long moment, he says nothing. then, with obvious reluctance, he lowers his hood; the sunlight catches the edges of his shell. his eyes are intelligent and curious, though shadowed by years of caution. you have spent your entire life surrounded by polished armor, jeweled crowns, and carefully chosen beauty, and none of it has prepared you for the strange ache in your chest when you look at him.

—you are the prettiest thing nature created —you say softly and he stares at you.

—i’m sorry —he says after a while—, i think i misheard you.

—you did not.

— princess, i appreciate the kindness, but that is objectively incorrect —he laughs once, short and disbelieving.

—why?

—why? —he echoes—. because i am not exactly what poets describe when they write about beauty.”

—perhaps poets have been looking in the wrong places.

that silences him; he looks at you as though he has spent his entire life expecting disgust and doesnt know what to do with admiration.

—you mean that —he says quietly.

—yes.

for the first time, his posture changes. he is still cautious, but some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

—you are unusual —he tells you.

—so are you —you smile at him.

—fair point.

you sit together by the lake, and slowly he begins to speak. donatello explains that he lives hidden within the forest with his brothers. he speaks of inventions and mechanisms, of water wheels and lenses, of the way moonlight reflects differently on still water compared to moving streams.

his words come faster when he talks about science, his hands moving animatedly as he explains ideas far beyond what most scholars at court would understand, and you listen with fascination.

—you built all of these? —you ask, examining one of the small devices attached to his harness.

—most of them —he says, trying to sound casual but failing to hide his pride—, they help me measure temperature, humidity, and water purity. i’m also working on a better filtration system, but the materials are limited out here.

—you speak like a royal engineer —you laugh softly.

—i’ve read a lot. libraries are easier to visit when everyone assumes the hooded figure in the corner is just a very dedicated monk —he rubs the back of his neck.

you laugh again, and the sound seems to surprise him, but he begins to relax. the two of you talk until the sun starts to sink lower in the sky. when distant voices call your name, donatello stiffens.

—your escort —he says—, you should go before they find me.

—will i see you again?

—i don’t know if that is wise —he hesitates.

—perhaps not —you say—. but i would like to.

he looks toward the water, then back at you.

—if you return —he says carefully—. come alone.

you rise and take a few steps toward the forest path. then you pause and look back at him.

—thank you for trusting me —you say.

—thank you —he replies, his expression softening—, for looking at me and seeing something other than a monster.

you leave the lake with your heart changed and from that day forward, the enchanted lake is no longer a place of fear in your mind, but it’s the place where a princess met the most beautiful creature nature ever had created.

A/N: im not too proud of his this came out, but i had it in my drafts for a long time, and i couldn’t just delete it, so im posting it despite having mixed feelings with this one shot.

[theunholyrogue]

oh... thank you for not deleting it 💋

[chososprettygirl]

⡴ gym teacher!sukuna has an embarrassingly known crush on school nurse!reader

lowkey wanna turn this into a full oneshot

if he heard one more twelve year old’s squeaky voice whispering to one another, saying he’s ‘got a crush on the school nurse’ he swears he’s gonna write up the whole grade.

god, it’s even worse when one of the eighth grade girls come up to him when he’s on lunch duty.

“mr., mr. ! did you know the nurse mentioned she likes tall guys when i went into her room for a tylenol !”

“what does that have to do with me ?” he grumbles, scrunching his face while the girl and her friend stare up at him.

“well everyone knows you like like her—”

“GO SIT DOWN!”

he swears the whole lunchroom conveniently goes quiet when he yells that as the girls squirm away back to their tables and start whispering around gossip.

and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.

“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”

“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.

“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.

he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”

“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.

you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.

the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.

the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.

he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.

“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.

you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).

“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.

“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.

and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.

“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”

yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”

“is it cause you have a crush on her—”

sukuna tenses before cutting him off.

“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”

yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.

“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.

he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.

yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.

sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.

just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.

“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”

ignore typos i was too lazy to fix any

[liahcharms]

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“

I’m sorry but I laughed hard, IT WAS SO RANDOM

[anduiyao]

Kiss, hug and lift up high~

It's just a very uninteresting little thing.

(The part about H was mainly based on Day 2, his reaction when y/n hugged H)

[delulu-julia]

Interrupted make-out

(When ur kiss with them turns into a full-blown make-out until someone walks in) (Romantic, gn reader)

It was accidental kiss. But then, one second you’re just catching your breath — next, you’re pressed up against a wall or couch or the floor, and their hands are everywhere but respectful. And of course… someone always walks in.

Leonardo

The kiss deepens. It’s slow, burning, as if he was waiting too long for the perfect moment. The embers of a fire that’s been waiting forever to ignite. You’re gripping the edge of his plastron, pulling him closer. He’s got one hand on your waist, the other trembling on your cheek

And then — boom.

“…Leonardo.”

He freezes. Back stiff. Lips still ghosting over yours. You slowly look past his shoulder—

Splinter is standing in the doorway. Dead silent.

Leo practically teleports away from you.

“SENSEI—! I—I was just—”

“Yes. I saw.”

“It wasn’t— I mean, it was, but not—!”

Splinter sips his tea.

“Train harder. You’ll need more focus next time.”

And walks away.

You snort. Leo dies inside, not being able to look at you this time

Raphael

It’s intense. Hot. He’s got you against a wall, your hands tangled around his neck, his grip rough on your waist. He’s kissing you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance. You can’t breathe — and you don’t want to.

And then, suddenly

“RAPH—?! What the actual—”

Raph turns his head, lips still slightly on your neck.

“What?! I’m busy!”

“I can see that! In the middle of the dojo?! Really?!”

“You walked in. That’s your fault.”

You hide your face. Donnie flees. Raph just smirks and goes “Now where were we?”

Donatello

It was supposed to be one kiss. Maybe two. Now you’re both sitting on his bed, your legs over his, his bo forgotten on the floor. You’re straddling him, and the way he’s kissing you —careful, desperate, like you might disappear —is enough to melt every inch of you.

Then—

“Dude—WHOA—SORRY—!”

Donnie gasps so hard he headbutts you by accident.

“OW—Donnie!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO—WAIT—GET OUT—!”

“I’M ALREADY GONE BRO GOOD LUCK!!”

You both collapse in laughter. Donnie’s face is red for days.

Michelangelo

You’re laughing, lying on the couch, and suddenly Mikey’s on top of you, kissing the air out of your lungs. It starts fun —then it gets heavy. Hands. Tongue. Teeth.

You moan his name once, and he loses it. He kisses you like he’s starving. And then—

“WHAT THE—”

“OH COME ON, NOT ON THE COUCH—!”

Mikey doesn’t even stop. He just yells:

“CLOSE THE DOOR OR JOIN IN, GUYS!”

“MIKEY—!”

He throws the nearest pillow at them

Been felling sad and wanted something super fluffy, so decided to write dis. And yeah, for everyone who requested, I’m so sorry, I didn’t have energy to do ur request, but I hope I’ll get better lately🙏 it might be a little short guys. So yeah go kiss ur turtle!!

[yaizastuff]

First kiss headcanons with TMNT boys? (Separately, hope it makes sense lol)

YAS IT DOES I LOVE IT.

ehem ehem...

FIRST KISS HEADCANONS TMNT BAYVERSE X FEM! READER

Leonardo

Leo’s the slow burn of slow burns. He doesn’t rush a damn thing, especially not something as intimate as this.

He’s been fighting the urge for weeks, but every time your hand brushes his arm or you smile up at him after a mission… the control cracks a little more.

You notice him stealing glances. That stoic face flickers, eyes soft, mouth tense like he’s biting words back.

When you ask, “What is it?” he exhales, the type of sigh that sounds like surrender.

He leans in a little too close, still trying to hold onto his composure. His voice drops “I shouldn’t… but I really want to.”

His hand ghosts over your jaw before he pulls back, testing you, giving you a chance to stop him. You don’t.

The kiss starts feather-light, almost hesitant. Then his discipline dissolves, his other hand slides to the back of your neck, deepening it.

When he finally pulls away, forehead resting against yours, he whispers “You’re going to ruin my focus.”

You smirk, breathless: “Good.”

.

.

.

Raphael

Raph’s the type to fight his feelings like they’re another enemy to beat. He’s all bark until it’s about you, then suddenly he’s tongue-tied.

The first kiss doesn’t happen soft. It happens loud, after one too many teases, one too many looks.

You’re arguing about something stupid (probably him being reckless again), and he smirks, all cocky “What, ya worried about me or somethin’, sweetheart?” You roll your eyes, shove his shoulder — and he catches your wrist. That’s when the mood shifts.

His grin falters. The heat in his eyes changes — not anger anymore, but something dangerous in a different way.

He steps closer, testing boundaries he knows damn well he’s about to cross.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna do somethin’ you won’t forget.”

You whisper, “Then do it.”

That’s it.

He kisses you like it’s the last fight he’ll ever win — rough hands, firm grip, but still holding back just enough to not scare you.

When he breaks the kiss, his voice is low “Now you can worry ‘bout me all you want.”

.

.

.

Donatello

Donnie’s crush on you? Obvious to everyone but him. He overthinks it to the point of paralysis

The first kiss isn’t planned. It’s a glitch in the system.

You wake him gently, brushing his shoulder — and he startles, knocking over a wrench. His face goes red instantly.

You laugh, leaning in to help him, and that’s when you realize how close your faces are. He freezes.

His brain short-circuits: words fail, calculations gone. Just heartbeat and warmth.

You whisper something teasing like, “What, no smart comeback this time?”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking to your lips, then back up.

“I can… think of a few responses.”

Before he loses the nerve, he leans in, soft, uncertain, trembling. The kind of kiss where his hand hesitates halfway before resting on your waist.

It’s shy at first, sweet, but there’s passion simmering under it, the kind that only builds from long, quiet yearning.

When he pulls away, he’s breathless and dazed, mumbling, “I think I just discovered a new law of attraction.”

You grin, “Yeah? You gonna write a paper on it?”

“Only if you’re my co-author”

My poor guy's brain is overheating lmao

.

.

.

Michelangelo

Mikey’s been flirting since day one, but it’s usually jokes, nicknames, cheeky winks, until this night (oops)

The laughter fades, replaced by this hush where you both realize… something shifted.

He’s looking at you, smile softening, the goofiness melting into something almost tender.

“Y’know, I joke a lot” he says, voice suddenly low “but this right here? Kinda feels like my favorite dream.”

You tilt your head, teasing, “You dream about me often?”

He grins, but there’s a blush creeping up his neck. “Only the good kind, angel.”

Then he moves closer — his hand brushing your hair back, fingers lingering a little too long.

You can feel his breath when he murmurs, “Can I?” (HE IS SO CUTE)

You nod.

The kiss is sweet, but alive, all warmth and smile and heartbeat. He tastes like bubblegum and adrenaline.

Halfway through, he chuckles softly against your lips. “Damn, I’m gonna need a sequel.”

You laugh into the kiss, hand on his chest, feeling it race.

[jaguna]

“You shouldn’t want them all to think the same. It’s their different points of view that make the team strong.” - Splinter

[fyreball66]

💜❤️🧡💙

[noctiva]

Kinktober 2025 - Day Three!

Wear Me Like A Locket

Tim Wright/Masky x F!Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

WC: 7.1k

Summary: Your boyfriend Tim really needs to learn how to let loose.

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, breath play, asphyxioplhila, tim is a sweetheart, slight sadism + masochism, choking, vaginal fingering, sloppy makeouts, unsafe sex, little bit of dirty talk, teensy smidgen of body worship if you squint, unsafe sex, creampie

-

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

-

Tim Wright was a good man.

Say those words where he’s there to hear them, and he’ll refute you before you can even finish the sentence.

In his mind, there wasn't a single thing about him that could be classified as anything other than rotten. His temper, his lack of a desire to make close relationships, the scars on his knuckles and the blood that stained his palms.

Even before he had been picked up and dragged into a life that forced brutality out of him, he still wouldn’t have classified himself as ‘good’. Lacklustre at best.

Solitary. Closed off. Always choosing sarcasm over voicing his feelings in a collected, healthy manner.

Tim Wright wasn't a good man, from his own perspective. But to you? He was nothing short of perfect. You would’ve never fallen for him if he was half as rotten as he liked to believe he was.

Romance had been the last thing on your mind when you had found yourself caught in the untangleable web that was the proxy lifestyle. Hell, you hadn’t even viewed it as an option - too busy trying to keep your mind from splitting in half completely the first time you had witnessed a death with your own two eyes. Being a proxy meant sacrificing a part of yourself, in favour of staying on the good side of an entity you could never even dream to comprehend.

You had to sacrifice your humanity - feelings included.

Or, so you thought.

Your feelings for Tim had crept up slow. None of it was fast or intense, it was something that festered. Something that nestled deep inside you with the first look he gave you, only to grow more and more with each passing day. Taking up more space in your heart with every word he spoke, and every cigarette he chose to share with you.

With you.

You’re not quite sure what you had done specifically to wriggle your way into his personal bubble, but it happened just as natural as everything else with him. Nights spent together on the porch of the proxies’ shared cabin, multiple feet between the two of you with silence stretching through the air around you. That, turned into him inching closer - closer - until he was sat on the step right next to you.

The first cigarette he had extended out towards you was the moment you had realized it. The spark that jumped from his fingers to yours when he brushed against you for just a second. The way the air had gone thick - the sound of crickets and owls going mute as your eyes flitted up to meet his.

Tim had felt the exact way you had. There was no time for romance, in a place like this. No room for it, in a life already stocked to the brim with pain and misery.

He was a rational man. He knew that even attempting it would lead to nothing but more anguish.

All of that fizzled out just as quick as the tobacco you burned.

One look was all it took for all of his rationality - all of his logic - to go straight out the window. Wind in your hair, moonlight bouncing off of your skin, lips curled around the filter of his cigarette - staining the filter with lipgloss that he’d taste when he took it back from you.

Reeling him in, just as he had you.

A symbiotic relationship that neither party wanted to accept.

But you really can’t expect much from two people kept in close proximity to one another, trying in earnest to bite back the feeling brewing in their guts and crawling up their throats.

Tim is more stubborn than you. A few bottles of beer was all it had taken to remedy that little fact.

One night alone in the living room with him, civil conversation quickly turning into tension so thick it wove a noose around your neck. Creeping in closer, eyes scanning across him with an appreciation you hadn’t allowed yourself beforehand.

The curve of his jaw, the way his throat bobbed when he took another swig from his drink. The stubble trickling down his neck. The veins in his hands as he curled his fingers around the neck of the bottle.

Closer; the scent of him. Tobacco and musky cologne, bordered by the twinge of the malt liquor staining his breath. You had wondered to yourself if he tasted just good as he smelled.

You found that out later that night, when the hormones lingering in the air between the two of you became too much to bear.

You remembered how his thumb had traced along your jaw before he tugged you in close. How his deep brown eyes flicked down towards your lips for a few seconds. How he paused - debating it, weighing the pros and cons.

You remembered how he had thrown it all to the wind the moment your gaze locked with his. The hitch of his breath, the way his grip had tightened just minutely before he had pulled you in to close the last few inches of gap.

You remembered the taste of beer on his tongue.

You remembered how he had fucked you. Slow and tender, lips pressing kisses against your neck as his palms smoothed over every inch of skin he could find. A stark contrast to how he portrayed himself - reserved and cold versus soft and sweet.

A good man. Not letting the violence that followed him around bleed into the aspects of his life that mattered most.

You knew that he could, if he wanted to. You had seen him, witnessed it yourself how easily he could incapacitate a target much larger than you. How he could stop someone’s breathing before they could even realize what had happened.

He’d never show that side to you. Even when the hookups turned more frequent. Even when you finally put a label on it all.

Maybe that was why you started craving that he would.

But Tim? He was just too good of a man.

It was like he was trying to preserve you - the one good thing in his life. He couldn’t bear the idea of ruining that, of scaring you off. He couldn’t bear the thought of accidentally hurting you.

He had thought about it, when you were laid out so pretty beneath him - all soft and vulnerable. So fragile. It would be so laughably easy to just reach out and…

No. That wasn't him. Or maybe, he just didn’t want it to be.

(Or, he just didn’t think you’d be able to handle it.)

Whatever the reason was, you found yourself wishing that just once he'd just let himself sink into it. Cut the restraints. Let himself feel everything - nothing held back.

You knew mostly everything about him. His humour, his personality, what he liked and didn’t like. You wanted to know the rest. His strength. The violence that simmered in his veins. That untapped side of himself that he’d never let you reach.

You poke and prod over time, but Tim was either ignorant or ignoring you - because every time you guided his hand to your throat he only let it linger for a couple seconds before it was slipping away again. Every time you begged for more, for him to give it to you harder, he just barely scratched the itch. Always holding himself back, like he was scared of who he’d become if he let himself concede to your wishes for once.

It wasn’t that he was a bad lay - far from it, in fact. It was just that you knew that he could give you more.

You could always see it, no matter how many times he denied it. The way his eyes darkened. How his fingers twitched against your hips like he was just dying to sink them deeper into your flesh. To leave bruises. Draw blood. Really, really make you scream.

You knew that he wanted it, maybe more than you even did - and that little piece of knowledge kept the flame of your desire burning.

It grew hotter with each day. With each cigarette shared. With each soft touch of his hands against your skin. With every lowly murmured breath of your name on his lips.

It’s not long until you stop being patient. Not long until you stop the subtlety, and just downright ask for it.

“Tim…” It’s late at night, the sound of nocturnal wildlife just barely audible through the slightly cracked window in Tim’s bedroom. The air outside is cold, but his sheets are warm. So are his hands, which lay splayed against your abdomen - his thumbs smoothing soft circles against your hipbones. So are his lips, and his breath, his mouth leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down the column of your neck. You can feel his stubble scratch at your skin, a soothing abrasiveness that sends a shiver down your spine.

Tim was always so warm. His presence engulfing you in heat like a crackling campfire, especially like this - when you were laid right beneath the source of it all.

His hands skirt upwards, rough and calloused as they creep over the grooves of your rib cage. Each touch felt deliberate - practiced - like it always did. You feel a soft hum rumble out of his chest before he lifts his head out of the crook of your neck - deep brown eyes darkened by the haze of desire as he gazes down at you.

“Hm?” He raises an eyebrow, his fingers trailing a path along the underside of your breasts - featherlight, but still enough to raise goosebumps on the back of your neck. “What is it?”

You always find it hard to speak when you’re drowning in eye contact with him, and right now is no different. Your heart stutters when his gaze trails up the line of your neck, before lingering on your lips. It catches in your throat when his eyes finally flick up to meet yours. Your find yourself thinking that Tim looks best like this - bathed in the warm, low lighting of his room, gazing down at you.

His eyes swam with something you were quite familiar with. That darkness that flickered around the edge of his irises. Those deep seeded feelings he always kept shackled - trapped in a cage you could never reach them.

But… You could try.

“You don’t have to be so gentle with me all the time, you know.” You murmur, shifting a little to lean more into his touch. “You always act like you’re scared you’re going to break me.” You pair the words with a shaky little smile, hoping that it makes you look less awkward than you actually feel. You hadn’t ever been so bold about it, more so keen to giving hints that he would brush off every single time.

To actually say it feels like a sin, especially when his eyes pin you to the sheets like a butterfly against a board.

There's a beat, then another. A few moments where nothing but the sound of your breathing, and the electric fan whirring in the corner meet your ears. Then, he speaks - low and careful, like he had practiced these lines for if you had ever asked that.

“I could never hurt you, sweetheart.” He murmurs softly as his hand drags upwards, sliding up your chest to cup your cheek instead. His thumb smoothes over your cheekbone, soft and reverent, so tender it makes your chest ache. “Don’t ask that of me.”

And god is it difficult to argue, with words like spun silk being spoken right down at you. Tim’s voice always buckled you, low and smooth - like it was finetuned to rise goosebumps on your skin with just a few words. When he paired that with a sweet little pet name? It was absolutely deadly. He knew that just as well as you did. Sometimes he would take advantage of that fact.

Right now, was one of those times. You knew what he was doing, though his words were sweet enough to give you a toothache. He was trying to get you to drop it. To shut you up, without actually having to ask you to do so.

Any other time it would’ve worked, but not right now. Not today.

“You can, though.” You breathe back to him, your cheek warming under his touch. “I’ve seen it, you know. You’re not all soft like this all the time.” That might’ve been a deep cut, definitely wasn't something that you should’ve actually brought up… But you just couldn’t help yourself.

You had seen it. Had watched him exhibit the strength - the brutality - he refused to show around you. Every single time, it made your blood hot. After every mission, it was a common scenario for you to be tugging at Tim’s jacket before he even got inside the cabin.

It was something that you marvelled over, got wet over. And yet Tim always held it just out of your reach.

His reaction is pretty much what you had expected.

“That’s not me, though.” He tells you, his voice low and cautious. “That’s… That’s something else. You understand that, don’t you?”

You did. You had this conversation with Tim multiple times before, actually. The person he was when blood stained his hands was someone that he completely separated himself from. As if blaming all of his crimes on someone else would lessen the weight on his chest on a day to day basis.

You knew it wasn’t that simple, there were more nuances and details that Tim just refused to share with you - but the fact of the matter was this; regardless of if he wanted to accept it or not, that darker side was a part of him. It lived in him, even now, just waited to be awakened once more when it was called upon.

“It’s you, Tim.” You murmur lowly, slowly lifting your hand to rest it against his chest - right over his beating heart. It’s frantic, betraying just how composed he was trying to portray himself. “It’s in here. It always is. You just like to ignore it.”

He twitches, his jaw tensing as his eyes track the movement of your hand. You feel his heartrate kick up a few more notches.

“I don’t like ignoring it.” He admits after a few moments, letting out a shuddering breath before his eyes flutter closed. Those five words are more than you’ve ever gotten out of him on the matter. “I just don’t want to… Subject you to it.”

There it is. That guilt that always festered within him. That fear, that if he truly gave in like you were telling him to, it would ruin everything he had built with you up until now.

And here you were, trying to convince him that the results would be the direct opposite.

“But I want you to.” You whisper the words out, but they sound so loud in the silence of his bedroom. “I’m asking you to. I wouldn’t be this persistent if I wasn’t serious.”

He knew that was true. Whenever you really, truly wanted something, it was usually in the palm of your hands by the end of the day. You had a certain knack for worming your way through life, collecting the objects of your desire. He had been withholding this from you for weeks now. No wonder you had grown so impatient.

“I know that.” Tim breathes out roughly as his eyes flutter back open, immediately locking back on you. On your face, so open and trusting. Was it really his right to exploit that? “I just… I don’t think you really understand what you’re getting into.” His hand slips back, ghosting over your jaw before his fingers thread into your hair - his palm cupping the back of your head. “It’s one thing to watch me on the field, but like this? To you?” He exhales softly, the breath coming out rough, like he’s fighting with himself. “I just don’t want you to look at me differently.”

“I wouldn’t.” Your response is immediately, so is the way your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. “I’m asking for it.” You reiterate that point, hoping that it sinks in deeper this time. “Besides, if you do anything I don’t like, you know I’d say something.”

That seems to ease something within him, that little bit of tension leeching out of his veins.

“I know.” He breathes back to you, his eyes tracing over your face as his hand slips forwards again. Fingers dancing along your jaw like they’re memorizing the shape of you beneath him. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’d tell me if I go too far?”

And that sounds more like surrender than any answer you’ve ever gotten from him.

“‘Course I would.” You murmur gently, holding his gaze as your hand starts to slide down lower - tracing along the contours of his chest as it travels down his abdomen. Feeling the skin that lay beneath the fabric. “I just want to know you, Tim. Inside and out.”

And how could he ever argue with that? When you’re looking up at him so sweetly while you say it? Caressing him like he’s someone to be cherished?

His hand moves again, grazing over your neck before it finally settles around your throat. His hands were much larger than yours, you had always known this, but really feeling how his touch dwarfed you? How his fingers curled around the circumference of your neck like it was nothing? You just can’t help the shudder that wracks your body, and of course, Tim notices it.

You watch in real time as that dark fog starts to creep over his warm brown eyes.

“You do, don’t you?” He asks softly, his fingers pressing down lightly on either side of your throat. It’s nothing major, not yet, just a soft pressure that makes his presence impossible to ignore. It makes your hips twitch like someone desperate, your knees knocking against his hips as you try to bring them together.

God, and he had barely even done anything. Had it really always been this easy after all? “This is… Christ, you really have been waiting for this, haven't you?”

You nod almost immediately, because trying to act coy wasn't the course of action right now. Whatever he was offering, whatever he had been fantasizing about - you wanted it. If slapping him in the face with that fact was how you had to go about it, then so be it. You knew the rewards would be so sweet to reap. “You said not to be gentle,” He mutters as his fingers twitch against your pulse point. “What does that even mean to you?”

That answer, is an easy one.

“It means to do whatever you want.” You clarify gently, lifting your body off the mattress just a little - just enough to make his grip press into you a little more firmly. “I can take it, Tim. I swear.”

You watch him fight with himself. Feel his fingers tighten around your throat just minutely, before they relax once more. He was fighting tooth and nail not to give in, to not be swayed by you and those pretty eyes of yours.

But that didn’t work last time he tried to resist you, now did it?

“God, you’re impossible.” And then his grip is tightening. Not enough to cut off your air supply, just enough to really make you feel it. Pressed right up against your pulse that throbbed frantically under his fingertips. Just a fraction of his strength, you knew it was, but it already felt so good already. You could only imagine it when he really gave in. “This what you want from me? Really?”

“Don’t act like you don’t want it too.” Your voice comes out soft, just a tad strained as the force of his grip makes your body buzz. “I know you, remember? I can see it in your eyes.”

That seems to set something within him off. He had always tried to keep that part of him smothered around you, and had honestly thought he had done a good job at that task. You though, were acknowledging it. Encouraging it. Coaxing it out.

He was weak for you, you knew that. And Tim? Well, he had grown tired of fighting that fact a long time ago.

“Maybe I do.” He exhales softly as he tightens his grip a smidgen more. This time around, he can see the effects of it. Your eyes widen just a little in surprise, your body tensing up beneath him as his palm presses against your windpipe. Still able to breathe, but it’s harder now. He would’ve pulled away in a second if he hadn’t noticed the flicker of excitement in your irises. “I was just trying to be nice, you know? Wanted to treat you how you deserve.”

Tim leans down lower, the tip of his nose brushing against yours before he breathes out his next words. “I always thought this world was too harsh for you. Didn’t want to be a contributing factor in that.”

“You aren’t.” You gasp out, eyes fluttering as that full pressure in your skull starts turning into something more insistent. The dizziness hits like a truck. It’s not something that eases you into it, it finds you at your most vulnerable and sinks its teeth in deep. “You-Youre a fucking miracle in a place like this.”

Tim can see it, how your eyes start to go a little foggy. Any other night he would’ve pulled away - wouldn’t have even let it get this far - but tonight he knows you want to be pushed. He can’t just keep denying you forever.

He squeezes. Tight enough to steal the air from you completely. Your pulse flutters under his thumb - frantic, panicked. But your eyes? Tim doesn’t think he’s even seen you more blissed out.

Your eyes, though wide from shock, are foggy and unfocused under drooping lids. Your lips are parted in a silent gasp, the faintest of smiles twitching at the corners of your lips.

You hadn’t been lying. This is what you had really wanted.

And Tim was a good man, so who was he to deny this kind of pleasure from the woman he loved most?

“You really think so, huh?” Tim breathes, the words fanning over your lips. “You really think I’m a good guy. You really put faith in me.”

His grip loosens, just for a few moments, letting you steal in a few ragged breaths of air before its tightening all over again. It feels like you didn’t get quite enough, barely quelling the wooziness in your veins as your only way of air closes up all over again.

It’s overwhelming, and frankly a little scary. Realizing just how much he had been holding back from you, sprawled on the sheets beneath him like a feast to be devoured. “I’ll let you believe that, if you want. Just know that I think you’re wrong.”

Then, he dips down to close the final few inches of gap. Tim’s lips meet yours as his hand stayed locked around your neck, leaving you lightheaded and breathless as you struggle to properly kiss him back. It’s sloppy as his mouth moves against yours, desperate in a way he’s never shown you before. You could feel how much he needed you in every press of his lips against yours, you could taste the lust on his tongue when it slipped into your mouth.

You’re left grasping at the front of his t-shirt like it was a lifeline, stars dancing behind your eyelids as the lack of oxygen makes your whole brain feel like static. It’s something you couldn’t even dream of describing properly. Tingling on the entire expanse of your skin. An ache in your lungs that felt just as lovely as it did agonizing. The sound of blood rushing in your ears. The vertigo when he tugged you in closer.

It was disorienting in the most addictive way. It was terrifying, just as much as it was gratifying. Here you were, laying your life in the hands of a man who could end it at a moments notice. You just had to trust that he wouldn’t.

That faith? It was the last nail in the coffin that was your desire for him.

You just barely get out a ragged whine that slips from your mouth into his, your lungs having to strain just to get that small sound out. It’s enough to have Tim’s grip relaxing.

You gasp in air greedily, your chest heaving beneath his as the sudden flood of oxygen makes you dizzy all over again. It feels like he’s just brought you back to life. It only makes you tug him in closer. “You alright?” Tim asks softly, gently smoothing his thumb over your racing pulse.

It takes a few moments for you to regain your bearings, waiting for the stars to fade from your vision before you respond.

“Do it again.” You breathe out, and maybe Tim should’ve expected that response. It does stun him for just a moment, his fingers twitching against your neck, before he shakes his head and lets out a fond sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, I figured.” Finally, he releases you, instead choosing to ghost his touch down the length of your abdomen. Hovering over the swell of your breasts for just a moment, giving a gentle squeeze before his hand continues on its way. “I will, alright? Just let me at least get inside you first.”

You sure as hell weren't going to say no to that. So, you lay back and let him as he gently tugs the hem of your shirt off, still breathless when he pulls it off of you completely. Your bra comes off next, because Tim always needed to see you bare. Always needed every single inch of your skin accessible to him.

He lavishes each new patch of skin with wet kisses and warm affection, groaning softly into your bare chest as he nuzzles into the pillowy soft flesh. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He presses the words into your skin as he leaves a path of kisses down your sternum. “Hooked me from the first day I saw you.”

“Didn’t act like it.” You murmur back playfully, tracking the sight of him as his lips moved against your skin near reverently. He acted like the taste of your skin was something orgasmic in itself.

“Yeah, wanna know why?” Tim mutters into your skin, giving one light nip under your breast for good measure before pulling away fully. His hands don’t though, wandering down lower, giving your hips a cheeky little squeeze before his fingers curl under the waistband of the sleep shorts you were wearing. “Because I knew you’d ruin me.”

It’s easy for him to tug the fabric off of you, you lift your hips on instinct. “You had that look in your eyes.” He muses as he tosses your shorts onto the floor. “One look, and I knew I’d be lucky to make it out alive.”

“Says you.” You giggle softly, your hips twitching immediately when he drags his hands down your thighs - bringing your panties with them. The soft scratch of his blunt nails on your outer thighs makes your shoulder bow in minutely.

“Yeah, says me.” Tim huffs, sitting back once you’re fully bare just to look at you. Taking in every dip and curve of your body with rapt attention, his breathing going shallower with each second you took up his line of sight. “You’ve already killed me a million times over.”

“Have I?” You ask softly, the muscles of your stomach twitching under his touch as his fingers trail from your navel down between your thighs. His touch is gentle, yet self assured, but the moan that slips from him the moment he feels just how wet you are already? That was a pure reaction.

“Yeah, you have.” He breathes out shakily, sliding his fingers through your folds before he finds your clit. He wastes no time rolling the swollen nub under the pad of his thumb. The sweet little hiss you let out in response sounds like music to his ears. “Because I let you. If I had to be destroyed by anyone, I’d rather it be you.”

Hearing that as his fingers work against you would’ve sent you to your knees if you had been standing. He was just too skilled in every sense of the word. An expert at making you fall apart with just a few words, or just a few touches. “All this?” He drags a finger through your core, scooping up some your slick just for emphasis. “I’m addicted to it. To you. I used to be fine on my own. Thought it was better.”

His middle finger circles around your entrance gently, a wordless warning before he sinks it into you nice and slow. “But then I met you.” He pumps it into you languidly, curling it slowly, pressing against all the right spots to have you writhing against the sheets from just one digit. “And now I can’t go a single day without you.”

You’re already so ready for him that he quickly realizes he probably doesn’t even need to finger you open. With how easy the second finger slides in next to his first, that fact is solidified. You were aching for him. He could feel your desire throb around him with each press in. “God, you hadn’t been kidding, huh?” He murmurs incredulously, scissoring his fingers open just for the hell of it. Just because he liked feeling your walls stretch out for him. “This really does get you going.”

A few more teasing thrusts of his fingers before he pulls them out, wiping them off on your thigh to smear the slickness against your skin. “You’ve been real insistent today, so how about we keep that energy?”

He strips his own shirt off, tossing it off to the side to join all of your clothes on the floor. Then, his fingers hook under the waistband of the sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He doesn’t hesitate before tugging those off too. Can’t, not when you’re so desperate for it. “Tell me what you want.”

Right now that was an easy task.

“Fuck me, Tim. Please-“ You gasp out. All subtlety is lost, any semblance of restraint thrown to the wind as you feel your own wetness drip down your thighs.

“Ah, c’mon. Say it nicer than that.”

You knew what that meant. Tim had always made a point to never say he fucked you. He made love to you. He worshipped you. And though that was true on every other night, that’s not what tonight was about. Tonight, was about satiating a hunger.

“No, Tim.” You choke out, voice shaky but no less firm. “I want you to fuck me.”

That message is heard loud and clear. The desperation in your voice is like a shot of adrenaline straight into Tim’s brain, and just like that - the shackles are broken. He just can’t hold back anymore, not if he wanted to stay sane - and with you begging for it so sweetly? He'd have to be a much better man to refuse.

“Jesus christ-“ He groans out, hesitating for just a split second before finally stripping off his boxers. Then; he presses in closer. Grips your hips and drags you down the bedsheets to meet him. “See? This is what I’m talking about.” He mutters as he grinds his cock down against your weeping cunt, slow and filthy. “Fuckin’ killing me.”

Then maybe he shouldn’t look so good while you do it.

He takes a moment to just let himself slide against your heat, getting himself nice and dripping with you before he even sunk in. It felt divine. The way you twitched when his cock head nudged against your clit was a lovely bonus.

His soft groans made your blood feel hot, your skin buzzing with anticipation beneath his grip on your hips. You felt restless, nudging your hips back to try and get more of him.

All of that is remedied when he finally sinks in. It’s slow and gentle, just how he always is. Letting you feel every single inch of him, stretching out around him so beautifully. Your cunt just welcomed him in like he belonged there - hot, soaked, and so tight it made him feel dizzy. He'd swear on his life that you got better every single time. “Fuck- That’s it-“ He groans out softly, a shudder wracking his spine as he presses in closer and closer. Savouring every goddamn centimeter of the heat wrapped around him as his hips came to meet yours. “Perfect every time.” He murmurs reverently. “You drive me insane.”

The feeling was mutual. Tim just filled you up so good. Had your toes curling the moment he sheathed himself fully. It felt like he was just made to be there, and quite honestly you were pretty sure he was. No one else could make you feel like this, you knew that as an unequivocal fact. In your opinion, you and him were two halves of a whole - being like this just made you feel so undeniably complete.

His hips grind into yours before he slowly pulls out, a wrinkle forming between his brows as his face scrunches up in pleasure. “Could never say no to you.” He groans out. “No matter what it is, it’s always useless for me to fight.”

“S’just because I want to know you completely.” You choke out, fingers curling into the sheets beside you as he presses back in. Filling up that space he had left empty and aching, soothing the way you just burned for him. “Don’t-Don’t wanna feel like I’m missing out on something.”

Surprisingly, that earns a soft laugh out of Tim.

“FOMO?” He chuckles lowly, rolling his hips into your slow and deep, his chest swelling every time your expression twisted in pleasure. “That’s what this is about? God, you’re something.”

But as he had said before, it’s always useless for him to fight.

Your stomach flips as you feel one of his hands creep upwards again, your thighs trembling around your hips as he keeps that nice steady pace. The ecstasy was already practically seeping out of you and into the bedsheets below, but the excitement of what was to come only made it increase tenfold.

He smoothes up your stomach, glides across your chest before finding its home curled around your waiting throat - head tilted back against the pillows, at a perfect angle to just grab. So, he does. “You were right, by the way.”

A soft squeeze, not enough to cut off your airflow but enough to cut off circulation. Still able to gasp in air, and yet the lightheadedness was already starting to creep back in again. “I wanted to see you like this.” A shaky whine spills from your lips as his hips start to roll in deeper, sharper - a neediness to his actions that you hadn’t before encountered. Combined with the haziness taking over your mind, it felt like heaven. “And you want to know something?” You watch as his lips stretch into a dark little smirk. “You look even better than I imagined.”

And he felt better than you imagined. It was everything to you right now. Tim was everywhere. His grip was firm and solid, making you feel so fragile beneath him as his hips ground into yours.

With your head in the clouds, it all just felt more intense. Your own breathing sounded louder, your heartbeat pounding so loudly you were half convinced it had migrated to your ears. Your body barely even felt like it belonged to you, tingling and sensitive all over as you squirmed beneath him.

His left hand kept you pinned though, nowhere to run. Exactly where you wanted it to be. “Should see how pink you’re getting.” Tim murmurs down to you, his voice rough as his gaze dances over your features. “Looking like you’re gonna pass out.”

He gives you another moment of reprieve as his grip loosens, and that’s the exact moment he decides to snap his hips forwards hard. His cock bullies through your heat, sinking into the base so quick it makes you choke on a breath you were already struggling to take in. The sparks of pleasure that buzzed through you nearly made your vision white out completely, thighs twitching as your cunt clamped down onto him. “Shit-“ Tim groans out. “Knew you’d like that.”

And so he does it again, and again, stealing the remaining breath from your lungs as he picks up a pace that has you near drooling. Pressing up against your g-spot harshly on every thrust in, having you downright squirming on his dick as you struggle to keep up with the new intensity.

It felt like he had picked you up out of shallow water and thrown you straight in the deep end. It was intoxicating. “Fuck, you really do.” Tim grins down at you, stroking his thumb along your neck as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. “Can feel it. Gonna cum all over me just because I’m choking you a little?”

Definitely. You weren’t even ashamed about it.

“Tim, please-“ You beg, rocking your hips back to meet every single mind-numbing thrust. Your hand is trembling when it lifts, but you move it anyway - resting it overtop of his to press his hand down firmer again. “P-Please-“

You really didn’t need to bed twice, because Tim was giving in before you could even start the last bit of that sentence. His fingers curl tight, completely closing off your airway as his restraint starts to fray. Hips borderline slamming into yours now, he keeps you pinned to the sheets by just the grip on your throat. Watching how your eyes roll back. Raving over the little droplets of drool that deep out of the corner of your mouth.

It’s an absolutely intoxicating sight. But the way your walls start to flutter around him? That’s even better.

“Yeah, there it is-“ Tim pants out, keeping his grip form as he drives his cock in deeper. “Go on and cum for me, sweetheart. Show me how much you love this.”

You would’ve even if he hadn’t asked for it.

But when you do? It’s a glorious thing. Easily the best orgasm you’ve had in your life, and it isn’t even close. With the lack of oxygen already making you dizzy, the influx of dopamine makes you nearly black out - an absolutely wrecked cry tearing out of you as your release hits you like a freight train.

You squeeze around him like a vice, hips jerking and limbs trembling like he had fucking exorcised you. It almost felt like it, with just how intense it all was. Teetering on the edge of consciousness as your walls pulse around his throbbing cock, you wouldn’t have even been mad if he let you completely pass out.

He doesn’t though. He wanted you awake for this next bit.

Tim releases you right as he’s following you over that edge of bliss. His grip going slack as his whole body shudders, a ragged groan ringing out into the air as his hips buck into yours. You greedily take in air as your body welcomes his spend, filling you up with warmth that only adds to just how sated you feel right now. So damn pleased, that a little unconscious smile tugs at your lips as your eyes flutter closed.

It takes Tim a couple minutes to notice it, too busy trying to piece himself back together above you, but when he does he can’t help but snort out a laugh.

“What’re you smiling about?” He asks fondly, his voice still deliciously raspy.

What a question. Because what isn't there to smile about?

But, you’re a little too dazed to spit all that out right now, so all you say is;

“You.”

Which seemed to be the perfect answer for Tim.

-

HEYOOOOOOO day three!!!

this one’s for all my tim girlies that have begged me to write about him <3

[ropuchinv]

[werecreature-addicted]

people are always like "Oh a vampire wouldn't get horny while drinking someone's blood, that's like getting horny while eating a sandwich" and like man have you never had a really good fucking sandwich?

[radio-jupotter]

The sandwich i had for lunch didnt moan and scream and squirm against my body and then become limp and pliable when i was done now did it

[radio-jupotter]

(Via @morganpdf )

[pupucino]

[eresdinamitanena628]

[adaki]

Hey anon from September 12th 2024 that wanted Huntsman!Masky 💀

[cxquious]

when the angst is leaving u so emotionally vulnerable you want to vent to someone but cant because its a fan fiction.

[myplague]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!

summary: Halloween just got real... freaky.

↳ I wrote this for halloween last year and kind of forgot about it till like a week ago—oops. since i refuse to let a calender control me happy halloween!! everyone is like 21-22 for the plot.. TRUST

↳ f!reader x butch cowboy hange

↳ wc: 9.8k

↳ cw: Hange is a freak, nsfw, kinda angsty at the end, kinda shitty writing ngl… mdni!!

“Whyyy did we decide to do this?”  

You whined to your roommate over the loud music, your shared house now overflowing with intoxicated college kids in costumes.

Most of them were strangers, though a few familiar faces in the crowd gave you the slightest bit of hope that your place wouldn’t get completely trashed.  

Armin — your roommate and best friend — stood in the kitchen archway, staring out into the chaos in sheer disbelief.  

“Do we even know half of these fuckin' people?” He looked down at you, baffled, lighting his fourth cigarette of the night.  

“I highly doubt it,” you muttered, annoyed with the situation you’d both put yourselves in.  

The party itself wasn’t even your biggest concern.  

The cleanup was.  

And for such a small town, there were way too many damn people in your house.  

You let out an exaggerated sigh. Might as well loosen up — being sober wasn’t helping. It was a party, after all.  

Reaching behind your ear, you pulled out the joint you’d rolled that morning. Quietly, you placed it between your lips and sparked it. That’s when you felt it — something you hadn’t noticed before.  

Someone was watching you.  

You didn’t know from where — but you could feel it.  

Exhaling smoke, you glanced up at Armin, who now leaned against the counter across from you. His attention had shifted back to the archway.  

“Took you long enough!” he called out, extending a hand toward the unfamiliar faces weaving their way in from the living room.  

Armin’s friends.  

Armin had always kept you at arm’s length from his other friends, despite how close the two of you were.  

You’d met them a handful of times over the years — at family barbecues, brief run-ins, holidays — but never long enough to form anything beyond surface-level greetings. Any time you tried to get closer, Armin made a big deal out of it.  

You always assumed it was because, in a way, you were practically his sister.  

The two of you were inseparable — so much so that your parents had practically let you live with his family throughout your teen years.  

Calling Armin your safety blanket was putting it lightly. He was the reason his parents funded your figure skating in the first place. You owed so much to them — and to him. In a way they’re your family too. 

Still, as much as he denied people’s constant teasing about hidden romantic feelings, even you had started to question it over the years.  

Not that you’d ever admit it to him — but every partner you had seemed to get pushed out eventually, one way or another – always never good enough for you.  

He always claimed it was because you didn’t need distractions. That a gold medal was the only thing that mattered.  

Funny, considering he wasn’t the one out there skating.  

The more your thoughts spiraled, the more you needed a drink. You sighed, hopping down from the kitchen island and throwing Armin a glance — one he didn’t return — before strolling over to the fridge.  

You couldn’t help but feel... left out.  

Sure, you had your own friends.  

But something about the way Armin shielded you from his world made you feel like you were always missing something. 

Eren was your only other close connection—your other roommate.  

The three of you had known each other since diapers, and sometimes, you couldn’t help wishing Armin was more like him. 

Eren was simple in the best way — loving and dependable. Exactly what a best friend should be. 

Armin never got weird about Eren.  

Probably because he was too busy trying to play wingman, always trying to push you two together — or so you told yourself.  

You bent down in front of the freezer, letting the chilled air roll over your face as you half-heartedly surveyed your drink options.   

Seconds passed… maybe minutes. It was hard to tell with the cold numbing your thoughts.  

Then you felt it — the unmistakable presence of someone standing over you.  

Startled, you glanced up, catching the vague outline of a figure reflected in the fridge door’s polished steel.   

“You should really be more careful, pretty.”  

A low, southern draw curled around your ears like smoke.  

You jumped slightly, standing up a little too fast and spinning around.  

“Excuse m—”  

 You were about to snap back — attitude already lacing your words — until you looked up.  

Standing closely in front of you was someone taller, unfamiliar, and far too pretty to be ignored.  

“Everyone here can see right up that little dress, darlin’. You really oughta be more aware of your surroundings.”  

Their voice was smooth and smug, a slight tilt to their head accompanying the teasing smile on their face.  

Your eyes widened in realization. All the blood in your body seemed to rush straight to your face.  

God, how long had you been standing like that?  

You glanced down at the frilly babydoll dress clinging to your frame, the hem barely skimming your thighs.

Embarrassed, your eyes slowly traveled back up to the androgynous stranger now looming in your space.  

An unfamiliar face. Just what you needed.  

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied with a giggle, nudging the freezer door closed and offering them a drink with a dopey, flirtatious smile.  

You brushed past them, heading back toward the counter you’d perched on earlier — the hem of your dress swaying with every step.  

“So... you a real cowboy?” you asked over the music, eyes scanning their outfit.  

Dark blue jeans, a black flannel unbuttoned and rolled at the sleeves, and a fitted white tank that clung to their lean body.

Their black cowboy boots had clearly seen dust and stirrups — the leather worn in a way that only came from real work.  

You hopped back onto the counter, cracking open your drink and casually looking toward where Armin had been standing — now empty.  

“Well, how’d you guess that, darlin’?” they replied, that thick southern draw as smooth as aged whiskey.

They leaned against the counter beside you, taking a swig from their drink.  

You tilted your head at them, awestruck.  

Dangerous.  

“What can I say? I’ve got a good eye. No one I know would drop that much on a real silver belt buckle just for Halloween,” you teased, giggling as your gaze lingered — maybe too long — on the detailed buckle at their waist.  

It gleamed like something old, something earned.  

Placing your drink between your thighs, you lit your joint again and took a slow drag — your lips forming a soft “O” as you exhaled.  

They watched you — the way your lips moved, the smoke curling around your pretty features.

You were intoxicating, maybe even more than the weed you’d been smoking all day. They’d never wanted something — someone — as badly as they did right then.  

But before they could speak again, they noticed your gaze shifting — not directly at them, but slightly above.  

You were looking at their hat.  

A black cowboy hat, the base encircled with black onyx set in polished silver. The stones smooth like river glass, quiet and rich. 

The onyx gleamed under the kitchen light, twinkling like extra sets of eyes, pulling you in—while the silver setting spoke softly of quiet wealth.   

It was the kind of piece that turned heads — not just because it was beautiful, but because it made you wonder what someone did to earn it.  

You were lost in it for a second, until your eyes slowly returned to their face.  

They were licking their lips, still watching you — curious.  

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, as much as one could with a party raging in the background.

Their eyes never left you — studying the way you suddenly looked flustered, even though they hadn’t said a word.  

A faint smile tugged at the corner of their mouth.  

Like they knew something you didn’t.  

The conversation unraveled quietly between glances — tension building like static, not sharp, but slow and warm. The kind that raised goosebumps on your arms.  

Excitement.  

Curiosity flowed between you as you exchanged glances—a silent game of cat and mouse, subtle, electric, and inviting.  

To both your surprise, you were the first to crack the ice.  

“So, you from around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” you asked, trying to mask the fact that you’d been staring a little too long—something they had quietly noticed.  

Your confidence started to waver the moment they shifted from leaning on the counter, turning to you to get a better look at your face – something they also took notice of.   

“I’ve lived here all my life,” they said, that same smug look still playing on their lips. “But I seem to know everyone here... except you.”  

Their hat cast just enough shadow to catch the light from the dim kitchen overhead, making it hard to tell if they were amused or intrigued — certainly both.  

“Yeah, well, Armin made good and damn sure I didn’t have any distractions from skating,” you replied with a small smile, shaking your head. “Starting to see just what he meant.”  

Holding eye contact with the hot stranger in front of you was suddenly proving to be a lot harder than you expected.  

You shifted slightly on the counter, taking another slow hit from your joint.  

“Arlert? He’s... cute.”  

They laughed, shaking their head — but the sound faded as realization slowly crept in. The wheels turning behind their eyes as they looked back at you, really looked.  

They knew who you were now.  

Armin had always made it painfully clear you were off-limits to everyone, and seeing you up close, it suddenly made perfect sense.  

Everyone had assumed it was because he wanted you for himself — and now, standing this close, they were beginning to think everyone had been right.  

Before they could say anything, they noticed the way your eyes drifted back to their hat — your gaze low, glassy, completely unfazed by the mention of Armin.  

Not that you cared. You knew exactly how Armin was when it came to you. Unbearable— suffocating at times.   

Your gaze fell back on them — big brown eyes glistening, that sweet smile spreading across your face like you hadn’t just stirred something dangerous.  

You tried to focus, tried not to embarrass yourself. But your brain was moving a mile a minute from the weed and the drinks.  

Unfortunately, your mouth moved faster.  

“Your hat is so pretty. I wish I had one,” you mumbled with a frown — and the second the words left your lips, a fierce blush crept up your face.

You realized too late you'd said it out loud, not just in your head.  

Your heart pounded in your ears, loud enough that you swore they could hear it too.  

They looked at you with the faintest crease in their brow, caught somewhere between confusion and amusement.  

And then — much to your relief — a low chuckle slipped from their lips. Tilting their head, they watched as you went through every stage of internal panic. Pitiful. Adorable.  

“You could try this one if you’d like, darlin’. I don’t bite.”  

Their voice was sweet, almost gentle — a stark contrast to the teasing look on their face.  

They reached up and took off their hat, revealing long brown hair and a face so effortlessly pretty it made your chest ache.

The warm kitchen lights caught just right, casting a golden glow across their features, like something holy.  

They reached out and smoothed your hair with one hand, fingers lingering in your strands before gently placing the hat on your head, adjusting it just slightly.  

You were, without question, the cutest thing they’d ever seen.  

A wicked smile tugged at their lips — one that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.  

“Do I look pretty?” you asked, your voice soft, almost breathless.  

You tugged at the hem of your dress absentmindedly, trying your best to subtly press your thighs together.  

They caught it. Of course they did.  

“Oh, baby,” they murmured, eyes darkening, “you’re a sight for sore eyes.”  

You felt like you were melting — their praise going in one ear and straight between your legs.  

“You think so?” you asked sweetly, teeth grazing your bottom lip.  

They tilted their head, drinking in the sight of you — your little outfit, now perfectly crowned with their hat.  

“Mhm. You’re a real cowgirl now, darlin’.”  

Your heart nearly stopped as their hand found your thigh, slow and deliberate. They leaned in, lips hovering just shy of your ear.  

“You know what they say…” they whispered, voice dripping in honey and something sinister. “You wear a cowboy’s hat, you gotta ride the cowboy.”  

There it was — that saccharine tone delivering the filth you’d silently been praying to hear.  

Their voice was all sugar, but the look they gave you as they pulled back was pure fire.  

The heat of their hand on your thigh was intoxicating — or maybe it was just the weed. Either way, you were already far gone.  

If you weren’t so distracted, you might’ve noticed that same hand slowly creeping up beneath your dress, fingers toying with the hem of your lace bloomers.  

You gazed up at them coyly, still playing with the frills of your dress, doing your best to hide the blush rising on your cheeks beneath the shade of their hat — now perched proudly atop your silky red hair.  

“Really? I had no idea,” you purred, batting your lashes, the picture of faux innocence.  

Before either of you could say another word, you made the next move.  

You snubbed out your neglected joint and hopped down from the counter with a little bounce, flashing them a teasing smile as you stepped close — just close enough for your voice to land like a secret between the two of you.  

Fingers curling around the front of their shirt, you tugged them down to your level.  

“Want another drink, darlin’?” you asked sweetly, drawing out your accent just enough to make both of you laugh.  

You pulled away just as quickly, your expression soft and playful — innocence worn like perfume.  

Now it was their turn to be caught off guard, though they masked it well.  

They watched you carefully, studying your pretty face, the way you thought you had the upper hand.

How cute.  

There was something unreadable in their eyes as you turned away, hips swaying, frills bouncing with every step as you sauntered across the now-empty kitchen — their hat slipping low over your bangs, casting shadows across your mischievous smile.  

You bent over the freezer, searching for something cold, your matching bloomers riding up just enough to be criminal.  

You looked back over your shoulder with a knowing glance — and it nearly knocked the breath out of them.

A picture-perfect moment they wished they could frame.  

This is gonna be a long night.  

You’d both learned quite a few things over the past hour.  

First, the stranger’s name — Hange. You thought it was cute. Fitting, even.  

Despite their rugged exterior and silver tongue, they were… surprisingly eccentric. Sharp-witted, a little unhinged, and completely unapologetic.   

The scar over their left eye? Earned working on their ranch. The roughness of their hands? Proof enough that they were, in fact, a real cowboy.  

Since they already knew your name, your introduction was kind of unnecessary.   

They, however, learned you were dressed as Strawberry Shortcake — a detail that clicked for them watching you make your slow, frilly walk toward the freezer earlier.  

A mini gingham babydoll dress, trimmed in frills and ribbons, complete with a strawberry-printed apron that left very little to the imagination.  

Your deep cherry-red hair had been carefully styled, decorated with delicate red and pink lace ribbons — now flattened beneath their hat.  

They noticed the scar just above your right brow, a faint line from when you’d face-planted on the ice as a beginner skater – something you detailed to them earlier.  

Gently, Hange had traced it with a finger, listening as you rambled on — your words spilling in every direction thanks to your third, maybe fourth drink.  

Not that they minded. For once, they didn’t have to do all the talking.  

They watched with interest as the thin ribbon strap of your dress began sliding down your shoulder, something you were blissfully unaware of as you snubbed out the last of the cigarette you’d been sharing.  

Quietly, Hange reached over and slid the strap back into place, their fingers dragging a subtle trail of heat across your skin. A small, careful smile tugged at their lips as they shifted closer — painfully close.  

The scent of vanilla and tobacco clung to them, warm and heady, curling around your nose like a promise.  

And just as you leaned in to close the gap, they pulled back ever so slightly — enough to make you frown in frustration.  

So eager already.  

“You gotta earn it, baby.”  

Their lips ghosted over yours, making you shudder — your thighs squeezing together so tightly it felt like they might catch fire.  

A pathetic sound slipped from your parted lips — just loud enough for them to hear.

You’d never had to beg for anything in your life… and yet here you were, nearly in tears over a complete stranger.  

You managed a faint, “Please,” your glossy eyes doing most of the pleading.  

For a moment, a flicker of faux pity crossed their face. Then they leaned in, closing the space between you.

The taste of tobacco, vanilla chapstick, and alcohol swirled through your mouth — intoxicating and warm.  

Not nearly long enough.  

A soft whine escaped you when they pulled away.  

They chuckled at your expression, shaking their head.  

“Not good enough.”  

Their hand drifted to your hip, rubbing slow, coaxing circles into your skin. The look on their face was almost endearing — almost.  

All their teasing had you half-melted already.  

So much for Southern hospitality. 

And that’s how you ended up here. 

Whoever said cryin’ won’t get you nowhere was a damn liar.

You begged — until your voice cracked, until your eyes shimmered, until Hange heard exactly what they wanted. 

All it took was one more impatient little please, just loud enough for someone outside the kitchen to hear, before they finally gave in —letting you practically drag them up the stairs. 

As soon as you crossed the threshold of your bedroom the atmosphere changed – you found yourself between Hange and the cold surface of the door, slightly arching away from it.  

In one swift motion you reached for the door handle behind you and click went the lock. 

Not one word was exchanged before the gap between your faces closed once more, this time more heated and needy than the kitchen. 

Hange swiftly lifted you as though you weigh nothing, not even breaking the kiss. Taking a few steps before gently sitting down on the bed, pulling you down into their lap.  

Their wandering hands quickly slipped under the fabric of your dress. Gently and carefully, they rub little circles in your hips – a soft whimper escaping your lips at the contact. 

You clung to them as they slowly kissed down your neck, their hands beginning to roam around the rest of your body – squeezing and touching wherever they pleased. 

Their lips roughly latched onto your neck – wet and warm, biting and sucking leaving nicely calculated bruises.

Their soft lips take away from the pain; making you forget that visible marks were most likely going to get you into some trouble later.  

When you desperately ground your hips down into their lap, the thin fabric of your bloomers was the only thing separating you from them – you were more receptive than they had imagined.    

A sharp gasp spewed from your lips when you slid forward, your core brushing into their belt buckle a bit. Hange chuckled lowly, nipping at your collarbone – their hands making their way back to your hips.  

One of their hands snaked between the two of you, carefully they rubbed tight calculated circles over your clothed cunt – ones that sent shivers down your spine.  

For a split-second Hange pulled away, gauging your reaction – a crooked smile on their face as they watched you slowly unravel above them; your big brown eyes pooling with tears as you stared back at them.  

Their other hand found the back of your neck, pulling you down into a rough kiss – perfectly needy on both ends. Mercilessly pushing you down into their calloused hand, earning more pretty noises out of you.  

Carefully as to not pop the bubble the two of you had created, Hange pulled you down with them as they laid back into the mattress of your cloudlike bed.  

They moved their free hand to your hip once more, guiding you slowly back and forth against their rough hand – feeling everything through your flimsy bloomers, including the nice big wet spot that had formed.  

You moaned softly against their mouth; this time your hands were the ones wandering – or trying to at least.  

Hange was beginning to grow tired of the fabric that was separating them from their prize – you.

They swiftly pushed you forward, lifting you off them slightly – a pathetic whine bubbled from the back of your throat.  

Snaking their arms under you, they hooked their fingers under the hem of your damp shorts before looking up at you. 

They smiled another saccharine smile, one that was warm and endearing – eyes saying something completely different; something that would have worried you had you not been out of your mind right now.  

“May I?” Hange asked sweetly, tugging at the fabric before letting it go with a snap!   

You nodded way more eager than you intended – but again that was not enough for Hange.  

They sighed, looking back at you with a teasing, taunting expression. 

“Come on, baby, I know you were raised better than that. Answer me.” 

Any clever rebuttal you’d had died in your throat as you met their gaze – almost daring you to try it.  

You bit your lip, a small crease forming between your brows, tears threatening to spill over your lashes—a quiet plea barely escaping your lips. 

You needed this. You needed them. 

“Oh darlin’, you must not want it as bad as I thought,” they teased, laughing softly. 

You shook your head desperately, trying to summon the courage to say the words they wanted to hear. An amused smile played on their face as they waited patiently. 

You stared back pitifully, struggling to find the right words. In that moment, they were the headlights, and you were the deer caught in their beam. 

“Go ahead, baby. I’m waitin’.” 

Teasingly, Hange traced the waistband of your shorts, their blunt nails grazing your hot skin. Hot was an understatement—wherever they touched felt like it was on fire, and you could hardly bear it anymore. 

Meekly you finally spit out the words you were trying to say. 

“Please — I mean — you may. Please, I need you, please,” your gaze silently pleading with them along with the words you managed to finally get out.

Knitted brows and glossy eyes was enough they supposed.  

You’d never begged like this before—not for anything, and certainly never been this needy for someone you’d only just met.

Fortunately for you, the person beneath you was more than willing to give everything they had. 

A satisfied hum came from below you – a rush of cold air hitting you as Hange wasted no time helping you discard your shorts from above them.

Your knees planted on either side of their head, giving them a view they’ll positively never forget. 

They paused for a moment, gazing up at the thin lace fabric of your thong practically already exposing you — wanting to bury their nose in your sweet scent.  

Without a second thought they ripped straight through the flimsy fabric, not giving you time to protest before they shoved it in their pocket — hands moving right back to your hips.  

They took a good look at your wet cunt, awestruck — wickedly they smiled up at you, gripping your hips a bit more bruisingly than before. 

A chuckle left their throat— their hand moved over your thigh removing their foggy glasses throwing them somewhere in the bed.  

“Alright, cowgirl—show me what you’ve got!” 

 Hange gave your hips a firm squeeze—fully pulling you down onto their face before you could get any semblance of a sentence together. 

They moan at your taste, pleased at how easily they got you in such a state – vibrations coursing straight through you.  

“Taste’ so fuckin good baby,” Hange mumbled into your heat— your cunt welcoming them like a warm embrace.  

Your hand quickly found their hair —pulling gently so as not to hurt them.  

“ohmygod !” You choked out— their tongue quickly finding all the places you need them.

Strings of muffled moans and praises slipped between your folds as you gently rocked your hips.  

Calloused fingertips dug into your sides when they felt you try to lift off their face a bit – not giving you room to let up, hovering was not an option they were willing to give you anyways. 

If they were to die right now, they'd do so happily. 

The way you tasted consumed them—like sweet cherry pie after a long day. Their tongue finds your entrance every so often, coaxing more of your juices into their mouth.  

Needily you rock your hips; beginning to fully fuck their face— the tension in your stomach building further when you hear a muffled chuckle from below you.  

Your hips stuttered – feeling Hange’s nose bumping into your pulsing clit as they guided your hips back and forth across their face. 

A broken whimper pushed from the back of your throat— fat tears spilling over your waterline.  

“Ah fuck!”  

Your hips find a nice rhythm with the steady hands moving you — without a second wasted they pull another pretty sound from your throat when their tongue finds your dripping hole.  

You moved your hand from Hange’s hair — adjusting the hat perched atop your head so it wouldn’t fall off.  

You’re a real cowgirl now. They said so themself.  

Shamelessly you rolled your hips as they fucked you with their tongue — riding their face like your life depended on it. One hand keeping the hat on your head, the other planted behind you as you leaned back slightly. 

Looking over, the mirror of your vanity gave you a full view of the lewd scene.  

You looked like a complete mess—tear stains mingled with streaked mascara down your face, your lipstick faded, and your cherry red hair clinging to your cheeks. 

But you didn’t care, not with the way Hange was making you feel—touching you in ways your own hands, or anyone else’s, never could. 

You desperately try to find focus, anything to keep from cumming so fast – Hange's nose rubbing against your clit every time they bounced you made it impossible to focus on anything else.  

The way this looked — the way they felt, it was all slowly becoming too much.  

Trying not to break you moved upright again, grabbing at the fingers digging into your right hip giving you something to hold on to; they clasped their hand with yours – a perverse sense of comfort. 

You threw your head back, grinding into their nose a bit harder this time – jaw going slack, they had you seeing stars.

Your grip on their hand tightened, a broken whimper of their name followed – firmly they squeezed your hand back.   

The movement in your hips began getting sloppier, using their face as though it was second nature; they fit where you needed them, like they were made just for you. 

You were close – dangerously close; Hange knew it too.

The way your hips stuttered every time your slit swiped across their face was enough to tell them that; losing the rhythm you found in the song playing on the other side of the door.  

You missing Kiss Land is definitely going to raise some eyebrows later. 

You tried your best to lift off Hange's face but their grip on your hip is unwavering — instead they push you dangerously closer to the edge; their tongue making tight calculated figure eights around your sensitive clit. 

So close – so, so close.  

Your hips spluttering with every movement — every sloppy kiss and suck Hange gave you just to get you a bit closer to where you wanted to be.  

The white-hot feeling began to creep through your insides; begging to spill through your body. Your teary-eyed gaze crept downward, the sight of Hange between your thighs almost sending you over the edge alone.  

“God- fuck!” you choked out — your bone breaking grip on Hange’s hand tightened following another rough suck on your sensitive clit.  

You bit back a cry when they gazed back up at you — gasping when they pushed you forward again with their free hand.

Your palms planted firmly into the mattress now, hot tears teetering the edge of your waterline.  

Hange didn’t give them time to spill, their hand left yours to give you support as you slightly hovered above their face—now giving them a beautiful view of your wet cunt. 

Swiftly their other hand crept under you giving your neglected clit a few gentle circles before plunging a slick covered finger into your warm wet embrace. 

A quiet curse left their lips— now knuckle deep in your cunt, slow paced and steady.  

 A quiet gasp left your lips as they added another—quickening their even pace.   

“Come on baby, let it out,” their sweet voice rang through your ears, like an angel—from below.   

Quickly the intense white-hot feeling began bleeding through your body with full force, like the earth itself were shifting on its axis. 

“Ah, I can’t – I can’t.”  

Your cries only pushed Hange more. 

“Yes you can cowgirl – come on give it to me.” they teased, their fingers brushing just the spot they were looking for.  

The lewd squelching of your pussy music to their ears as they listened to you unravel above them — strings of curses never heard before falling from your lips.     

Hange now desperately began pushing you to your release — they couldn’t wait another second; hastily pushing your pulsing clit back to their plush lips – licking and sucking harshly, coaxing you to your orgasm.  

Fingers still steadily bullying your tight hole, repeatedly touching that velvety spot inside you that made your head spin. 

They were fucking your pussy like they’d never see you again, and by all means they were not going to let that happen. 

Unconsciously you fucked their mouth, trying to match the rhythm of their fingers working their way in and out of you.

By this point, your brain was practically mush — if they asked your own name, you couldn’t have told them even if you wanted to. 

“Please– Hange!”  

Your broken cry only made them chuckle — pulling their face away from your wet cunt, they paused. Their fingers still at a steady pace pulling you closer and closer to breaking. 

“Aw, you always this polite?” 

The faux pity in their tone left you certain of the smug expression on their face. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to disappoint them — god knows what that might do to you now. 

You whined a paltry yes; your arms almost collapsing beneath you when Hange planted a sloppy kiss to your throbbing clit.  

“You ain’t gotta ask baby, go ahead.” they averred; fingers curving tastefully inside you. 

Hange’s mouth found you again, like it was meant to be there — licking a fat stripe up your slit before their lips wrapped around your clit again.

Slender fingers hammering you into release from below. 

A nervous laugh bubbled up from your throat, breaking through a string of cries and pleas — your hips beginning to stammer uncontrollably.

With one more thrust of their fingers the earth finally shattered beneath you.  

 “Hange!!!”  

Their name rippled from the back of your throat like a hymn—a burn unlike any you’d ever felt before, coursing through your body with an almost biblical intensity. 

You dropped to your elbows, your cries now muffled by the plush mattress beneath you.  

Another breathy, anxious laugh slipped out – that was, right before a gush that nobody has ever been able to give you graced Hange’s face as they fucked you through your orgasm – shamelessly drinking in everything they could get out of you.  

“god, y’ made a fuckin mess baby” 

Breathlessly, they licked you clean – not wasting a single drop of your sweet release. Your body, mere centimeters from their face, now shaking – still stuffed full of their rough fingers.  

The hand that had held you suspended now traced circles into the soft skin of your thigh, attempting to soothe your trembling body.

The tenderness of their touch felt worlds apart from the wild ride they had just taken you on. 

Hungrily they finished cleaning you with their mouth – before sliding from underneath you breathlessly. The loss of contact earning a low whimper from your throat – too fucked out to even form a sentence. 

They quickly got up, shedding their boots to climb fully onto the bed with you — there's that southern hospitality.

Gentle hands found your still-twitching body, guiding you to your pillows and laying you down with a soft touch, stroking your hair as they did. 

“What’d I tell ya? You’re a real cowgirl now,” they laughed, tending to you with a tenderness that felt second nature, despite having only met two hours ago.  

They kept stroking your hair, their free hand tracing soft circles on the skin of your lower back.

Slowly, your breath began to steady—their scent wrapping around you, a comfort you hadn’t known you needed after such intimacy.  

As you lay there, nestled against their chest, a thought crossed your mind—you could get used to this, having someone.

Lucky for you, Hange was thinking the exact same thing.  

As of now, letting Armin isolate you was a thing of the past.  

“This might sound insane, but... do you maybe want to stay? Even just for a little while?” You chuckled, still catching your breath, your face pressed into their chest. For a beat, Hange didn’t respond, making you lift your head in nervous anticipation. 

Their nonchalant expression only deepened your anxiety—utterly unreadable, with a slight squint in their eyes.

The hand that had been stroking your hair now propped up their head, eyes locked on yours. 

Then, suddenly, the tension broke. They laughed. 

“God, you should see the look on your face—priceless! I think... I can barely see you right now!” 

They giggled again, their amused grin a sharp contrast to the nervous expression still etched on your face—brows furrowed, lips slightly frowning. 

“That’s not funny! Oh my god!” You shook your head, your anxious expression barely faltering.  

“No, it’s hilarious. There’s a difference!” They laughed, poking the space between your brows with their index finger.  

“But yeah, after that... I figured it was pretty much a given. I'm a real gentleman baby, remember?” They pinched your cheek, effortlessly wiping the pout off your face.  

Given how taunting they were just moments ago, the contrast was striking—how easily they now cared for you after only a few hours together. It felt more genuine than anything you’d experienced, ever. 

Their grin widened as you lightly slapped their chest playfully, finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. 

“Don’t go pouting at me again, darlin’. You just found out how that ends.” They laughed, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before leaning back and pulling you down to rest against their chest. 

A comfortable silence settled between you, and for a moment, you forgot you should’ve probably gotten up to remove your makeup and get ready for the night—since you two definitely weren’t going back out there—until your thoughts drifted elsewhere. 

You lingered on the thought for a moment, the silence stretching between you, before you suddenly broke it. 

“Soooo... may I return the favor?” you asked, looking up at Hange with a sweet smile.

They stared back at you for a moment, uncertainty flickering in their eyes—before a grin slowly spread across their face. 

“Wow, somebody’s got manners now,” they teased playfully at your sudden boldness. 

“Oh, come on—please, don’t make me work for it. It’s only fair!” you said, a sudden need creeping back into your body like a slow-burning fire. Your hand slid down toward Hange’s stomach almost eagerly. 

“Well... since you asked so nicely…” 

The rest of the night blurred together—sex, sleep, and then more sex.

The next morning, when you woke up, the light of dawn leaking through the cracks in your blackout curtains only added to the pounding in your head, amplifying the ache in your body.  

The events of the night before replayed in your mind, and despite the blaring headache, you groaned in blissful recollection.  

You gently shifted, hoping to get up to close the curtains fully and get some more sleep— as if on queue Hange groaned, tightening the arm they had wrapped around your torso. 

“Sneakin’ out on me already? We just finished.” Hange mumbled, their voice muffled by your hair.

You giggled, but quickly winced, holding your head—laughing even hurt. 

“This is my house, dumbass,” you half-whispered, mindful of your headache and trying not to trigger theirs.  

“I’m just getting up to close the curtains so we can get some proper sleep, baby.” You murmured, gently stroking their hand that was draped over you with your thumb. 

Another groan from Hange followed your statement as you lifted their arm off you to get up. 

Carefully, you sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, making sure not to move too quickly. You pulled some ibuprofen from the bedside table for the two of you to take. 

As you opened the bottle, you noticed the carafe by the bed, usually filled with water, was completely empty. 

Fuck. 

Groaning, you pushed yourself upright. Your first step — and every wobbly one after — felt like walking on Jell-O fresh out of the fridge. 

As quickly as you could manage, you waddled to the window, fully closing the blinds and curtains.

Almost instantly, the dim darkness soothed your pounding head. 

When you turned around, the sight before you left you breathless—Hange’s toned, sleeping body wrapped in your sheets. Even their wild hair looked beautiful, almost godly. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies,” Hange said, startling you, not even bothering to open their eyes. 

They reached out, motioning for you to come back to bed, completely unfazed by the fact that you’d been watching them sleep. 

"I need to grab some water – we're fresh out, and honestly, I feel like someone just kicked my head in and beat me... with a bat," you muttered, scanning the bed for shorts, or any clothes for that matter. 

Unsurprisingly, there were no clothes to be found. Only Hange's discarded glasses were left behind. 

You plucked them from the bed placing them on the bedside table, surprised they weren’t in pieces, considering you two were fucking like jack rabbits all night. 

You shuffled over to your drawers, tugged on a pair of black sleep shorts, and padded toward the bed, only to spot Hange’s flannel from last night crumpled on the floor like it was daring you to reach for it. 

Bending to grab it sent a twinge through your legs, and you caught yourself on the bedframe. 

From the bed, Hange’s chuckle rang out at the sound of your struggle.

You shot them a glare — not that it mattered; without their glasses, you might as well have been glaring at a wall. 

“Need some help?” Hange giggled – propping their head up with their hand.  

“or should I get you a cane?” 

“and let you play nurse?” you shook your head, smiling. “Careful you might talk yourself into a job.”  

Their mouth curved slow.  

“Darlin’, I already took the job last night. And trust me — I passed the interview with flying colors.”  

You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure you bribed the interviewer.”  

“Oh, I did more than that,” they said, grin widening.  

They sat up with a lazy stretch, shoulders rolling like a satisfied cat. Swinging their legs over the side of the bed, they rubbed at their eyes, the sheets sliding low enough to bare their chest.  

Heat curled low in your stomach before you could stop it. 

You sighed and slipped into their flannel, the fabric still warm with their scent.  

You shuffled forward until you were standing between their knees.

Their hands wasted no time, hooking into your hips and tugging you closer with an impatient pull. 

“I’m thinking you might need a pelvic exam — put those hips through a lot last night,” they teased, eyes squinting in a playful smile. 

“Well, cowboy, you can’t even see me. Pretty sure that’s a liability,” you teased with a grin. 

“Good thing you don’t have insurance,” Hange murmured, their voice low and amused. 

“Don’t worry—I’m great with my hands. Promise.” Their thumbs kneaded into the soft curve of your hips, coaxing you closer, the heat between you impossible to ignore. 

You giggled under your breath — almost falling for it. “I have to get water, remember? It’s early, and there's always still strays from the party lurking around. Gotta make it down there before they start rising from the dead.” 

A low, unsatisfied grumble rumbled from Hange — stepping out of their warmth suddenly felt wrong.  

You turned away, waddling toward the closet just a few feet off, your joints feeling like they were being held together with paper clips.

Ice time on Monday was going to be brutal. 

Carefully, you pulled out a large Titan Athletics t-shirt you were sure would fit them, along with a pair of gray sweats you’d stolen from Reiner ages ago. 

You tossed the bundle their way, laughing when the shirt smacked them square in the face — completely forgetting their less-than-stellar eyesight.  

“I’ll be back quick, promise,” you said with a grin. “Unless, of course, you’d like to join me?”  

Limping— more than walking— back to your side of the bed, you grabbed the bedside carafe and Hange’s glasses.  

You paused to watch as they slipped on the shirt you’d tossed over, completely forgetting you’d cut the neck out of it.

The wide collar dipped low, skimming their collarbones and cascading over their breasts in a way that was almost unfair. 

Despite their broad shoulders and toned biceps, the shirt still hung cutely oversized on them as they stood up to slip on the grey sweats.

“I’ll go with you —gotta piss first though, god,” Hange muttered, their voice pitched slightly higher, probably from the lingering ache as they pulled on the equally oversized sweatpants. 

You handed them their glasses, then wandered over to kick the stray clothes you’d both abandoned hours ago away from the bathroom door beside your closet.

Honestly, it was a miracle neither of you had tripped during your trips earlier. 

“I’ll head down first—assuming you remember how to get to the kitchen,” you teased with a giggle, stepping aside as they passed.

You caught the slight wince when they flicked on the bathroom light.

Poor thing.  

You shuffled to your bedroom door as quickly as your sore legs would allow, unlocking it with a click.

The moment you swung it open, the smell hit you like a sucker punch—booze, weed, and sweat all tangled in the air. 

Stepping out of the warm atmosphere you and Hange had built into the sticky hallway flooring made you wince.

With a sigh, you turned right toward the staircase, silently cursing yourself for choosing the upstairs bedroom just because it was bigger. 

You hobbled down the stairs, wincing with every step but silently grateful your stomach wasn’t betraying on the way down.  

At the bottom, you casually stepped over a body sprawled out at the last step, sleeping so peacefully you almost felt bad for not tossing a blanket over them… almost. 

A few more steps brought you to the kitchen archway. You peeked around the corner, doing a silent little victory dance when you saw it was empty—well, empty-ish.  

Just a few random guys and Reiner, still in his god awful Dracula costume, sprawled out on the dining room floor. 

You snorted. Hockey players… nature’s proof that you really can sleep anywhere – like oversized housecats. 

You strolled into the dimly lit kitchen, the only light spilling in from the window—now heavily guarded by Reiner and his loyal disciples. 

You’d have to grab your phone later and snap a picture before they woke up; this kind of blackmail material didn’t come around often. 

Careful not to disturb the sleeping horde, you tiptoed your way to the fridge.

You set the carafe on the counter and swung open the fridge, instantly abandoning the idea of filling it when you spotted the stash of untouched water bottles you’d bought for the rager still sitting there.  

Jackpot. 

Curiosity got the better of you, and you cracked open the freezer—only to find every last drop of booze completely wiped out.  

Not even a sad half-melted ice pop left behind. Wow… does nobody care about their health? 

You slammed the freezer shut and snagged four water bottles from the fridge, nudging the door closed with your hip.

When you turned around, everything in your hands nearly went flying as a startled yelp escaped you. 

“Eren—what the hell, man?” you whisper-yelled, clutching the bottles like they were lost treasure. 

He stood in the opposite archway looking thoroughly disgruntled, his long hair a tangled mess and his shirt nowhere to be found.

Fake blood flaking from his mouth and chest — something you didn't even wanna question.

Combined with his bleary green eyes, he looked less like a party guest and more like a cryptid you’d catch on grainy security footage at 3 a.m. 

“Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you,” he grumbled, trudging past you to the fridge you’d just raided.  

He yanked out a water bottle and chugged it like it was the first drink he’d had in years. 

“Hey, do you have your phone on you?” you asked with a giggle, tilting your head toward the pile of comatose hockey players in the dining room. 

Eren glanced over mid-swig, brow furrowing. “Why?” 

“Why do you think genius? Look at them,” you said, grinning like a lunatic. 

He swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirked.  

“Fine. Worst angles only. Though you already took gold for ‘most wrecked’ last night.” 

“I didn’t even see you last night, Jaeger,” you said, brow raised. 

“I know you didn’t,” he replied, crouching to get an unflattering close-up of Reiner’s drooling face, “but I saw you drag a very familiar cowboy up the stairs while I was grabbing a drink. And you missed Kiss Land, by the way. Tragic. I even played it twice for you.” 

He didn’t even look up as he kept snapping photos, each one somehow worse than the last. 

You swallowed, hard.  

“Relax — I’m not your stalker. The only person who loses sleep over what you do is Armin. I didn’t tell him, but… pretty sure he’ll catch up eventually,” Eren said with a smirk. 

“Yeah, well, after the night I had... I’m done letting him isolate me under the guise of ‘keeping me focused.’ He’s my best friend, not my coach… or my fuckin' boyfriend,” you huffed, annoyance bleeding into your tone. 

“Uh-huh. Tell him that. I’ll have popcorn ready.” Eren said dryly, thumbing through the heinous photos he’d just taken—photos you knew he was definitely posting to the university gossip page. 

“Honestly, I’m proud of you—managing to get laid in this house without Armin finding out is a fucking Olympic sport." Eren chuckled, shaking his head.

"You know how many times he’s grilled me about girls? I’m starting to think he’s in love with me too.” 

He freezes mid-scroll. “Not—fuck, I didn’t mean—” 

“You knew?” Your voice spikes. 

Your eyes went wide. “Wait—so the possessiveness, the gatekeeping, the whole judging my partners thing… was exactly what I thought? And you just… sat on that? Seriously?” 

A laugh — half-disbelieving, half-exasperated — slipped out of you. Your fingers curled around the counter’s edge, knuckles blanching. 

Eren shifted his weight, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Unreal. You’re telling me you just put that together?”  

Eren chuckled, the sound half-sympathetic, half-mocking.  

“It was not exactly subtle to anyone but you, brainiac. You’re smart—usually. But this? Yeah, everyone else figured it out ages ago. You were the only one in the dark, dude.” 

From behind Eren, a groggy southern draw slipped into the air, light and mocking.  

“So it wasn’t just a rumor, huh?”  

You turned toward the voice and found Hange leaning in the kitchen archway, glasses slightly askew and hair messily framing their face.  

You’d completely forgotten they’d said they were coming down.  

“How did you not see it?” Eren asked, scrolling on his phone again, his casual tone making it clear you should’ve figured it out a long time ago. 

“From the day the three of us moved in here, it only got worse. I might take pucks to the face professionally, but I’m not blind twin,” Eren said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he recalled the first party you all threw in this house. 

“Remember that first party? Armin lost it when that girl left your room. Full lecture—even after you said you just gave her clothes ‘cause you spilled your drink on her. Which, by the way, turned out to be true,” Eren said, shooting a glance at Hange.  

“He was drunk. He apologized,” you muttered, your gaze flicking between Eren and Hange—both of them sharing a look you couldn’t quite read. 

“Yeah? And how many times has he run the same play since?” Eren said bluntly, the air in the kitchen tightening. 

“If you keep letting him get away with it, it’s only gonna get worse. You’ve got sectionals coming, and trust me—it’s not because of anything he did.” 

A warm hand settled on your back—you hadn’t even noticed Hange slip away from the archway. 

They stayed quiet, offering only a small, knowing smile and a light squeeze to your shoulder, careful not to overstep given you’d met less than twelve hours ago. 

“Look I hope im not overstepping but he’s got a point – and god forbid he says anything to me about it because i will hogtie his ass.” Hange said lightly — their threat nicely coated in their sweet tone.  

“I'll buy the rope myself if I have to,” Eren said, eyes lighting up like he’d just found a new hobby. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that,” you sighed, cracking open a bottle of water from the counter. 

“Wouldn’t mind what?”  

The air in the kitchen went still.  

Eren immediately buried himself in his phone, while Hange arched a brow and adjusted their crooked glasses.  

You froze for half a beat before turning toward the source of that precise, cutting voice—unmistakably Armin’s. 

Even hungover, he was surgical. Calculated.  

“Well, why’d we stop talking? Eren?” Armin’s tone was cold—too cold—making it clear he’d heard everything.  

The weight in your chest doubled. Hange’s warm hand pressed lightly at your lower back—a steady anchor – unspoken comfort. 

“We weren’t talking about anything important—just a party recap,” Eren said, oozing nonchalance as he tapped post on the photos of Reiner’s sleeping costume reveal. 

“Interesting.”  

Armin strolled past the three of you, grabbing a mug from the cabinet before heading straight for the coffee maker.  

His eyes flicked to Hange’s hand on your back—the first thing he noticed when he walked by. 

“So, where’d you get off to last night? Couldn’t find you anywhere.” His passive-aggressive tone made it clear—a storm was already crackling in the air around you. 

Now or never.  

You couldn’t keep folding under Armin’s weight. It was time to stand your ground. 

The words that followed seemed like anything but.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” you teased, a giggle slipping out—though your eyes told a different story, daring him to test the waters.  

Both Eren and Hange blinked, caught off guard by your sudden playfulness in the face of Armin’s sharpness. 

Eren, more than anyone, knew you were about to light a fire under Armin’s ass if he dared embarrass you in front of Hange. 

Armin’s jaw flexed, the faintest tick betraying the smile he fought to keep. 

“Careful,” he said lightly, though the warning in his tone was unmistakable. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you.” 

You scoffed. He’s gotta be fucking joking. 

“Excuse me?” Your voice was firm, and Hange’s hand — once gently rubbing your back — curled into the fabric of your shirt, as if ready to hold you back. 

“I mean, people who care about their reputation usually don’t fuck random strangers and then play house the next morning.”  

His tone was deceptively casual, but the jealousy bleeding through was impossible to miss. 

“But that’s just me, I guess.” 

For a moment, you were speechless — heat rising in your chest as the air between you snapped and hummed like a live wire.  

The comment made Eren look up from his phone, disbelief flashing across his face. 

“Armin don't be fuckin' rude, we have guests. And let’s not pretend you’re some saint,” he said, the easygoing tone gone from his voice. 

“Oh, come on, Eren—you’re always babying her. That’s why she runs to you crying every time we disagree. You don’t know what’s best for her,” Armin said, each word dripping with poison.  

He turned, leaning back against the counter, and took a slow swig of coffee before letting his gaze slide to Hange. 

“And now that you’re here,” he added coolly, “looks like she’s got someone else to whine to… until you run out on her, of course. Presumably today, since you’re just a hookup.” Armin scoffed. 

“What are you talking about? We’re going on a date later, aren’t we, darlin’?” Hange glanced at you, mischief written all over their face.  

Just to twist the knife, they leaned in and pressed a light kiss to your temple. A coy smile on your face when you gazed at Armin.

Armin’s grip on his mug tightened, knuckles blanching as the coffee inside trembled with the force. 

“A date,” he repeated, voice cracking. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he forced a thin smile.  

“Right. I’m sure that’ll last.”  

Eren didn’t even blink – his mouth curling into a sly smile. 

“That's crazy from a guy who’s never been on one,” Eren said lazily. 

“If you spent less time worrying about who Y/N has in her bed, maybe you’d get laid too.” 

He glanced just long enough to get under Armin’s skin. “Besides, they've got wayyy better odds than you—they totally fucked last night, and she’s... actually interested in them.”  

The last line landed like a twist of a knife. 

Armin scoffed. “You’re full of shit, Jaeger.”  

His mug hit the counter harder than necessary, coffee sloshing over the rim. “You think I don’t see what’s going on here?” 

Hange sighed, shaking their head with a low chuckle. “I’m guessing you’re gonna tell us anyway, huh?” 

If looks could kill, Armin would already be in pieces on the floor—you’d never thought he’d stoop this low. 

Especially after a fresh hangover — he was giving you more of a headache than the alcohol.

You’d knew that if anything would send Hange running for the hills, it’d be Armin. Yet when you looked at them, they were just as furious as you and Eren.  

Their hand, still firmly gripping the back of the flannel you were wearing, was a silent tell of exactly how angry they were at his antics towards you.  

Before Armin could get another insult out, you cut in—aiming to end this before it spiraled any further. 

“You know what? No. I’m not doing this with you, Armin,” you said, sharp and steady.  

“I had a great night—clearly most of us did.” You gestured toward the hockey boys still sprawled on the floor like a fleet of lazy house cats.

Then to Eren — who, without a doubt, did something nefarious last night.  

“I’m not apologizing for who I chose to give myself to, and I sure as hell won’t let you insult them in my presence.” 

You snatched the water you’d pillaged from the fridge off the counter with one hand, Hange’s arm with the other, and made for the kitchen archway without looking back. 

“You are my friend—not my coach, not my manager, and you sure as hell ain’t my fucking boyfriend, Armin,” you shot over your shoulder, stopping just under the arch.  

“When you come to your senses and stop being a possessive dick, I’ll be here. Until then, excuse me—I’ve got a hot cowboy to ride and a date to get ready for, you rude son of a bitch.” 

It was silent for a beat — the low hum of the fridge suddenly amplified with the tension.

A low whistle cut through the room—Reiner, half-buried in his costume on the floor.  

“Hell yeah, get some!,” he grumbled — voice groggy, tugging the cape over his head like a blanket before rolling back into the darkness of the dining room table. 

Eren grinned like he’d just watched someone get dropped in a quick draw.  

“Damn twin… tell us how you really feel.” 

He gave Armin one last look—equal parts pity and disgust—before shaking his head with a low laugh and heading for his room.  

Armin stayed frozen in the kitchen, simmering. 

This wasn’t over. 

For you, though, it was. 

The moment you stepped into the room, the air changed—quieter, heavier.

The warm solitude you and Hange had shared before the storm still lingered, but the energy felt different now. 

You shut the door behind you and leaned against it for half a beat before locking it, the click feeling like drawing a final line between you and the shitshow outside. 

“I’m sorry about hi—” 

Your words never finished.  

Hange’s mouth found yours before the apology could even form, warm and certain, the kiss gentle enough to soothe but deep enough to erase Armin from your mind entirely.  

The tension in your shoulders melted, replaced by something slower, heavier, coiling low in your stomach. 

When they pulled back, they didn’t step away.  

Their smile was all heat wrapped in mischief, hands still firm at your hips, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles that made your pulse speed up. 

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, darlin’,” they said, tilting their head just slightly, eyes locked on yours like they could see straight through you.  

“I just remember you’ve got a cowboy to ride… and a date to get ready for.” 

They leaned in until your back brushed the cool wood of the door, the faint smell of coffee, smoke and the essence of the night you two shared clung to them curling into your senses.  

One thumb slid higher, grazing your hipbone in a way that felt almost accidental—except it wasn’t. 

“Probably best we start with the first one.” 

© myplague | don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work

[nekrott]

fucking freak

[bebx]

Basically Hwang In-ho and I