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loveanddeepthroat · 2 months ago

Note

can i mc reader and sylus where mc ends up in hospital after a mission gone wrong and sylus shows up but she wants him to leave in case someone sees him there

Careless

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - You landed yourself in the hospital overnight after a mix up at HQ had you fighting too many Wanderer’s alone. You’re already bummed about being stuck at Akso, so the feeling of dread when Sylus turns up unexpectedly only adds to your unease.

Word Count - 2.3k

Warnings - Set in a hospital. Angst and fluff.

The incessant beeping of medical machinery echoing throughout the ward was getting to your sore head.

Akso Hospital was rammed full of casualties and emergencies, seeing as it was a Friday night. You felt a bit out of place amongst the partygoers and adventurous folk who had taken their fun a little too far.

In your opinion, you didn’t really need to be here. The eggplant coloured bruise on the right side of your forehead definitely looked a lot worse than it felt, but the doctors weren’t buying your claims that you weren’t in any pain.

Likely because you were wincing when you’d said it.

A night under their watch was what the doctor ordered, and it wasn’t up for discussion. You were just relieved that Doctor Zayne was working away for a week. He’d have checked you in indefinitely and scheduled an hour long lecture on why you needed to be more careful.

A mix up at HQ had the system only requesting that you attend a spontaneous Wanderer attack in Linkon Library. Just one had been reported, but seven of the ruthless bastards had accosted you the minute you stepped foot in the evacuated building.

Confident that you could handle them, you didn’t bother calling in for more Hunters. As it turned out, that confidence was misplaced, and the last thing you remembered before blacking out was a loud screeching sound. You had no idea what it was, but it hadn’t been important in your unconscious state.

When you eventually awoke in the hospital, Jenna had been hanging over you, immediately giving you the third degree for continuing alone. You should’ve known that the alert for only your assistance had been a mistake in the system, and you should’ve insisted that someone accompany you no matter what it had said.

She made sure to drill that into your head more than once.

Admittedly, you were glad to see the back of her once she had finally left. Your head was starting to throb with the volume of her voice, and all you wanted was the bliss of being unconscious again.

It was late now, and you were exhausted. Sleep was looking to be impossible tonight, however. There were several other patients on the same ward, all admitted with varying ailments. The injured man opposite you had done nothing but stare coldly from the moment he was wheeled in in a full leg cast.

You tried to speak to him. You offered him a polite smile, which was met with a sneer. Whatever his problem with you was, it was beginning to get on your nerves.

You just wanted to go home.

“Miss,” a softly spoken nurse greeted as she approached your bed. “There’s a visitor here to see you.”

You frowned, wondering if you heard her correctly over the hustle and bustle of the ward. It was well past visiting hours, and you couldn’t think of anyone other than your colleagues who knew that you were even at the hospital.

The man with the broken leg frowned, too. “What? She gets special treatment because she’s a so-called hero? I should get visiting rights, too!”

“Would you like me to let him in?” The nurse asked, ignoring the grumbling patient.

Him. That didn’t exactly narrow things down.

“Uhh,” you faltered, a little unsure. You didn’t want to cause any issues with the other patients. “Are you sure?”

The nurse nodded and smiled, though it looked a bit forced. It almost seemed like she was desperate for you to say yes to your mystery visitor.

“Okay,” you finally agreed.

The look of relief on her face was not lost on you. She quickly hurried away to retrieve whoever came to see you, leaving you to endure the displeasure from the man opposite.

“I used to be a mailman, you know? If it weren’t for me, people wouldn’t have had their mail. Do I get special treatment, though? No, of course not. You Hunters get all the glory and adoration. And I’ll tell you another thing—��

“You’ve told her plenty.”

Prominent footsteps sounded from the doorway, the atmosphere immediately becoming heavy and tense. You almost choked on absolutely nothing at the sight of him.

Sylus.

Your eyes flared, heart hammering against your ribcage like a drum. He couldn’t be here. The risk was far too great.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the grumpy man sneered back, looking him up and down, “…vampire.”

It was a colourful insult, and one that made your unwelcome companion chuckle. “If you’ll excuse us,” he began, the swirling red vines of his Evol appearing to drag the man’s cubicle curtain to a close at a leisurely pace. “Mailman.”

To your relief, there was no backlash from the irritated patient across the room. Although that did make you wonder if he wasn’t retaliating by his own choice, or if Sylus had silenced him somehow. The latter wouldn’t have surprised you.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” you hissed quietly. “You can’t be here, Sylus.”

Crimson eyes didn’t meet yours, his cold gaze set only on the bandages around your head as he approached your bedside, closing your curtain behind him. He didn’t quite look like himself. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, green and blue veins prominently making an appearance.

“I’ll think twice before taking advice from a woman who was very recently knocked unconscious amidst a 7v1 Wanderer fight,” he rebuked monotonously.

You scoffed. “I’m fine, if that’s why you came. Feel free to go back to—”

“Fine?” His face quickly turned from emotionless to severely unamused as he cut you off sharply. “That’s quite the contradiction, sweetie.”

You raised an eyebrow barely high enough for him to see your questioning expression. The gesture hurt, which wasn’t helping your case. “To what?”

He dragged a plastic chair towards your bed before sitting down, his ankles crossed in front of him. You couldn’t really read his demeanour. He almost seemed cross with you.

“To what I saw from Mephisto,” he responded tightly.

Mephisto.

That explained the screeching you heard before you slipped into unconsciousness. “And what exactly was Mephisto doing there?”

Sylus merely shrugged, offering nothing verbal in response. The lackadaisy gesture did nothing but piss you off. You’ve told him countless times to stop sending Mephisto out to keep tabs on you, and each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

He clearly was not pleased with you, but you weren’t stupid. He was here because you had concerned him. Sylus was a busy man, especially at this time of night. He wouldn’t have come just to berate you with words that could’ve been put into a text message.

Not that you knew where your phone was.

The atmosphere between you both fell into silence, only the sounds of medical machinery filling in the lack of conversation. You didn’t really know what to say to him, and he wasn’t typically the type to lose his words. But it was clear to see that he didn’t know what to say, either.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, his hands flexing in his lap. “I told you those guns of yours were pathetic.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my guns,” you mumbled with a roll of your eyes.

“So it’s a skill issue?”

You glared harshly at him, flinching noticeably as you did. You weren’t sure what was bothering you more, the pain in your head or the mood that Sylus was so clearly in.

His features softened ever so slightly as he recognised your pain. Still, that didn’t stop him from being an asshole. “It’s one or the other, kitten.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. If there was one thing you didn’t want Sylus to think of you as, it was weak. You weren’t sure why you cared so much, but you did.

“I suppose my guns are a little on the outdated side,” you murmured begrudgingly.

He smirked, his hands finally relaxing a little in his lap. The awkward atmosphere was slowly fading, which you were grateful for. You didn’t want to pry into his mind and make things worse again.

You buried your head a little further into the pillow beneath your sore head, letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. Fatigue was starting to settle in your body, almost dragging you into a swift sleep before your chilly hand was captured in a warm embrace.

Your eyes shot open again, finding Sylus out of his seat and leaning over you. His eyes were a bit wider than usual. “Have they checked you for a concussion?”

“Yeah,” you told him gently. The close proximity had you flustered. “I’m a little concussed, but I’m allowed to sleep.”

His brows drew together slightly as he studied you. You’ve both had these strange little moments before, when his mask slips away just enough to see his true feelings.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered in reassurance. “You should go, Sylus.”

He shook his head, his hand tightening slightly over yours. It looked like an effort, but he managed to smirk at you again. “Trying to get rid of me already?”

Beneath that facade of humour, he was a little bit wounded. You wouldn’t point it out, but you could see it. He was a stubborn bastard who wasn’t going to let you push him away, but he also didn’t like that you were trying to push him away.

It wasn’t as if you wanted him to go. Your relationship with him was…complicated.

Complicated in the sense that you weren’t in a relationship, but he had a habit of establishing a level of intimacy between you both that you weren’t blind to. Good morning and goodnight texts, constant invites to events as his plus one with no other reason than to be beside him, and random gifts left on your doorstep so often that your elderly neighbour recently asked if you were ‘getting some.’

A relationship with him would be very difficult to maintain. You both come from entirely different worlds that just could not merge. No matter how much you desired him, you had to maintain your composure.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” you sighed. “I just don’t like how careless you’re being by showing up here. Some people do worry, you know.”

He slowly lowered his loom over you so that his nose was just inches away from yours. You couldn’t help but swallow, feeling his steady breath on your lips as he spoke. It was intimidating and yet so intimate that you didn’t know whether to cower or cut him off with a kiss you never knew you wanted.

“You don’t think I’m worried about you?” he drawled in a rather serious manner.

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you not realise how it looked through Mephisto’s eyes when you were walloped a great distance across a library and crumpled to the floor like a lifeless body.” His teeth were gritted in his mouth, the word ‘body’ coming out tightly like his tongue was rejecting the word. “You’re not the only person who is worried here. Do not brand me incapable of such feelings.”

Your mouth went a little dry, tears threatening to invade your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in his worry, and you hadn’t meant for it to come across that way.

“I just don’t want you to risk your freedom for me,” you whispered shakily.

He lifted his hand from where it was holding him up beside your free hand, carefully moving some strands of your hair that had fallen over your bandages.

“I’d risk it all for you.”

He had never said such a thing to you in all the time you’d been acquainted. You knew that he would carry out every need you might have of him. You knew that he would listen to you sit and ramble on and on about anything, never interrupting you. You knew that he cared about you.

But you were still in the dark when it came to the extent of that care.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he murmured.

Thankfully, you caught yourself before you were about to shake your sore head. “Just…trying to figure you out.”

A smile slowly spread across his lips. A real smile. It was enough to make your heart flutter, embarrassingly made noticeable by the heart rate monitor you were hooked up to.

“It would require a lot of brainpower to do that, sweetie. Maybe lose the concussion first,” he said in his typically sarcastic tone.

You managed your own small smile, which blossomed into a chuckle. This was the side of Sylus that had you coming back to him whenever he asked for your company.

His real side.

He kept his hand atop your head, avoiding the bandages completely. His thumb swiped gently over the parting of your hair, pulling you off to sleep again. You were pretty sure that he was doing it on purpose to force you into rest, but you were in no position to argue with him. You were officially exhausted.

“Would you really like me to leave, kitten?” he asked in a soft whisper as your eyes fluttered.

The very thought of him leaving made you a little upset. Despite your attempts at convincing the doctors you were fine, you damn well were not. You needed his comfort, and he needed to know that you were safe and on the road to a speedy recovery.

“No,” you whispered, succumbing to the soothing strokes on your scalp.

A soft brush of his lips was the last thing you felt before you finally drifted off, feeling secure enough to do so with his company.

“Good,” he’d whispered back before you fully clocked out. “I’ll always be careless so long as I get to you.”

A/N - Long time no fic post. I apologise, life has been crazy. I haven’t proof read this cause honestly I’m just too tired so I’ll read over it in the morning and edit any mistakes. Hope you’re all doing well! 🖤

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illyrianbitch · 4 months ago

Text

Safe

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Azriel's night is troubled by a nightmare. He finds a soothing remedy in the arms of his mate.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, nightmares, slight mention of gore, death, and torture. fluff, sensual, slow, sleepy sex!!

Word Count: 3k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All that surrounded him was screaming— sharp and jarring sounds that filled the air, echoing against stone walls. Bodies littered the ground, twisted and broken, red and bloodied, faces contorted in agony. If he squinted hard enough, Azriel could force the colors to blur together, could convince himself that the crunching underneath his boots was the sound of crisp, fallen Autumn leaves— not bones. Not the people he’d killed.

Somewhere, a fire roared, consuming everything in its path, turning the world into an inferno of despair. He felt it in his hands, felt a burst of agony and pain. He heard crying somewhere distant, somewhere far enough to where it became white noise— but his own cheeks were wet. He was crying too. His hands were on fire. He was eight again. And nothing had changed.

A face—your face—emerged, eyes wide and red-rimmed, tears streaking down your cheeks as you sobbed uncontrollably. You mouthed something, the words strained and straggled as you attempted to scream. He swore it was his name that your lips let out, that you were begging for help.

Azriel sprang up, his heart pounding as a thin sheen of sweat ran down his body in a cold chill.

His gaze landed on two things first: the nightstand, where Truth-Teller was carefully, purposefully tucked into the side of the wood, and then to you—his beautiful, sleeping mate.

Azriel's chest tightened, the fear and anguish from the dream slowly dissipating as he focused on the rise and fall of your chest. Still, remnants of his nightmare clung to him like a shroud. He ran a trembling hand through his hair.

The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of moonlight through the thin white curtains. Azriel took a deep breath, grounding himself in the reality of your presence, the safety of your shared bed. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch light and careful, as if afraid to wake you. He smiled at your sleeping form, at how he wasn’t uncomfortable with his scarred hands against your skin— not anymore.

His shadows seemed to be sleeping as well, their dark forms curled around you protectively. All except for one lone tendril which hovered near Azriel, an insomniac companion mirroring his unrest. He let it twist lazily around his hand as he withdrew it from your face.

You stirred slightly, murmuring something in your sleep, and Azriel felt a wave of relief wash over him. He leaned back against the headboard, still breathing heavily, but the rhythm gradually calmed. He positioned his wings into a comfortable lay behind him.

Azriel closed his eyes, welcoming thoughts of the first time he’d met you. He reminded himself that you were here, beside him, and wouldn’t be taken away. His mind replayed the memory of your first meeting, of the way his chest tightened when you smiled at him— he had been a goner since that first day. He thought about your first kiss next, how nervous he had been, how you took his hands and pressed your lips to his, how your lips tasted of berry from the pie you both shared. The memories combined with the smell of you, with the warmth of your body next to him, slowly soothed the last remnants of his terror.

“Az?”

His eyes shot open and he looked over as you lifted yourself up, rubbing your tired eyes—still heavy-lidded and soft. The shadows around you stirred, a few of them joining the lone one that drifted around Azriel's hands.

“My love, did I wake you?” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head slightly, a small smile playing on your lips. “No, not completely.”

Azriel's eyes softened as you shifted closer, moving to rest atop him. He extended his wing to wrap around you protectively, a hand moving to pull you in closer.

Your bare hand came to rest on his chest and he shivered at the touch, at the chill of your skin in contrast to the warmth of his own. He grimaced at the sheen of sweat that still persisted against his skin, but you paid no mind as you extended your palm across his chest.

You gave a small laugh, the sound soft and sleepy. Azriel’s heart fluttered at it and he found himself craving for the sound to be emitted once more— over and over again until he could savor it enough to be satisfied. Not that he ever could be— satisfied, that was. He never had enough when it came to you.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your lips turned up into a sheepish smile.

Azriel smiled lazily at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss tenderly. “You and your ice hands,” he teased gently, brushing his lips against your knuckles.

You leaned further into him, nuzzling against his chest. “Well, you moved away in your sleep. I was left alone and cold.”

Azriel gave you a small laugh, though it held a trace of lingering unease as your words settled in his chest. Alone and cold. His eyes glazed over slightly, now looking past the moment he was in and into something much darker— momentarily reliving the memory of his nightmare.

You placed your hand back on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. He blinked once, twice, and then he was back in his bed, arms wrapped around you.

Azriel's fingers traced the contours of your face, his touch light and reverent— sacred almost, as if he were touching a prized treasure, something holy. He moved slowly, committing every detail to memory, ensuring you were real, that you were there before him. He took it all in—the curve of your lips, the softness of your cheeks, the warmth in your eyes. Mate, his shadows whispered into his ears, Your mate. Mate, mate, mate.

Safe.

His hand cupped your cheek and the golden thread within him sang—- a sweet, beautiful, haunting melody that pushed away the tension building in his shoulders.

“I’m here,” you said softly, your own hand rising to cover his, grounding him in your touch. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Azriel nodded, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. “Good,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You stared at one another for a moment, the dimly lit room filled with a comforting silence, something peaceful and safe. Slowly, you moved your hand to his face, your fingers brushing lightly over his cheek. You leaned up, closing the distance between you, and brought him into a kiss.

The kiss was tender and kind, and Azriel felt everything about love within it— comfort, trust, and a promise. He pulled you in closer, his hand wrapping around you, while the other held your face gently, his thumb caressing your cheek.

You were his. And he was yours in return.

Azriel deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, his tongue gently exploring your mouth. A soft whimper escaped you, the sound sending a wave of pleasure through his body, tightening at the core of his stomach. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes searching yours, dark with desire and affection. You only pulled him back in, your body pressing against his, a needy grind that ignited a fire within him, an insatiable need to be even closer to you, to feel you in a manner that was only granted to him.

With a swift, fluid movement, he rolled you both so you were on your back and he was hovering above you. One hand braced himself on the bed, while the other roamed over your hips and your body, feeling the curves beneath the thin fabric of your nightdress. His scarred hands brushed over the silk, the material still gliding against the roughness of his skin.

He pulled his lips from yours, slowly trailing down your neck, peppering burning kisses against your skin. His hand moved up, sliding under your nightdress, tracing the lines of your body. His touch was gentle, exploring every inch of you as if it were the first time.

You arched into him, hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer. His name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, a sound that made his heart race even faster. Azriel's hand continued its journey, caressing your thigh, your waist, before finally making it up to your breast, squeezing gently through the fabric.

You let out a sound, a mixture of a breathless gasp and a whimper, and Azriel’s eyes found yours as his fingers grazed over the peak of your hardened nipple. He rolled it between his fingers.

"Azriel.”

Your voice trembled with need and something inside Azriel stirred further. This was real, you were real.

"Yes, my love?" he murmured, his voice husky. His hand continued its slow, torturous movements, thumb brushing over your nipple in a way that made your toes curl. “What is it?”

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath your fingers. You ran a teasing touch along the base of his wings, caressing the sensitive area with a chilled touch. Azriel shivered above you, lowering himself to press further against you.

"I need you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. His eyes fell to your parted lips and his lips curved into a tender smile.

"I'm here, my love," he said softly. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, sensual kiss. His tongue teased yours, the taste of him intoxicating. He pulled apart to whisper, “And you are, too.”

You nodded slowly. “I am.”

Your words were met with a tug deep in your chest that left you breathless. You bit back a moan at the feeling of that sacred thread growing even tauter, at the feeling of his arousal drowning your senses.

Azriel pushed the strap of your nightdress down, watching as you moved it further to expose your chest to him. He pulled you into another kiss, just as hungry, just as passionate, before he was kissing down your neck once more— down to your collarbone and right above your breast. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

You gasped, your back arching off the bed, pressing yourself closer to him. "Azriel," you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair.

He switched to your other breast, giving it the same attention. His fingers brushed over your hip, your thigh, before finally slipping between your legs. He found you wet and ready. The fabric of your dress bunched awkwardly at your waist, but neither of you cared— too tired to bother with maneuvering it over your head, too lost in the desire that flooded your senses.

Azriel could have teased you, could have made the anticipation agonizing, could have spread his touches so far and light that you were begging him—like usual. Oh how he loved turning you to putty in his hands, watching as you writhed against him. But not tonight, not as he felt you beneath him, as he smelled your sweet arousal.

He spread you open with his hands, holding your legs apart as he took in your glistening core. His touch was tender, reverent, as he brought a finger through your folds, feeling your warmth and wetness. A low groan escaped him.

"My mate," he murmured against your skin, his breath warm against your most intimate place. “So beautiful.”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows to watch Azriel as he dipped a finger inside you. His eyes locked onto yours as he curled his finger inside you, eliciting another soft moan from your parted lips. You arched your back at the sensation, head falling back slightly.

Azriel brought his mouth to your clit, his tongue teasing and circling the sensitive bud. You looked down at him, mouth slightly open, eyes heavy with desire, and chest heaving. One of your hands went to grab your breast, fingertips tracing where your nipple still glistened with his saliva. Shadows met your hands, twisting around your breasts in a gentle, teasing attention — flitting just above the sensitive hardened peaks.

Azriel added another finger inside you, stretching and filling you as he continued to lavish attention on your clit. His fingers and shadows worked in tandem, pleasuring you in ways that sent shivers down your spine. Each touch brought you closer to the edge of ecstasy, a simmering, building feeling of pleasure in your core.

His free hand moved to grip your thigh, holding you steady as he brought you closer to climax. His eyes never left yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your pulse quicken even more. You could feel his fingers inside you, his tongue on you, and the tug of your beautiful bond deep in your chest.

You let go completely, surrendering to the sensations that filled your body— with a cry of his name, you shattered.

He lapped up your essence, savoring every drop of your pleasure. Rising above you, chest heaving, he breathed heavily as he looked down at you, something so beautiful, so real, beneath him.

You reached out to him. "I'm here," you whispered, your voice filled with love and an overwhelming, dripping need. "Please. I need you."

Azriel nodded slowly, his desire mirrored in his eyes as he maneuvered himself to rid himself of his underwear. He returned to you, his body aligning with yours, skin against skin, a tug at the connection that weaved your souls together.

He hovered above you, hands tracing the curves of your body, savoring how you felt under his hands— Gods, he’d never tire of feeling you, never be close enough. His light, his salvation, his mate.

He leaned down and pulled you into a kiss.

"Anything for you, my love," Azriel whispered against your lips, his voice thick with longing and devotion. The sound of it made you clench everything below the waist. His fingers trailed down your body, finding their way between your legs once more. He guided himself to your entrance, teasingly brushing against you, and the movement elicited a gasp from your lips.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him closer, hands gripping his shoulders as you pulled him into you. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed himself past your folds, a low moan escaping his lips as he sank into you.

"Fuck," he murmured. "So perfect."

Azriel intertwined your fingers and held your hands gently above you, his head resting in the crook of your neck. With every roll of his hips, he whispered mantras of love, devotion, and praise, his voice a soothing, low cadence against your skin. You greedily drank in every word, feeling them flitter through your body like aphrodisiacs.

The pace was slow, deliberate, almost lazy compared to the usual fervor with which Azriel ravished you. But it was exactly what he needed—soft, sensual, a reminder that you both existed in this moment, here and now.

You tightened your grip on his hands, urging him closer, wanting to merge your souls as intimately as your bodies were intertwined. Azriel kissed every area of exposed skin, thrusting into you as your cunt welcomed him greedily.

He pulled out of you as far as he could just to slowly ease into you once again. Each thrust was thoughtful, intentional, and your whimpers grew louder as he continued. Azriel traced his nose over your shoulder, whispering your name to make you turn your head— just enough for him to kiss you.

Mate, mate, mate.

Safe.

Azriel groaned into your mouth, savoring your taste and how perfectly your body remembered him— how well you took him.

He was alive and safe, in a bed that he shared with his mate— a mate that was writhing underneath him as he pushed you to another brink of pleasure.

Azriel's forehead rested against yours and he released your hands gently, allowing you to wrap them around his neck— bringing one to glide along his extended wing, eliciting a shudder throughout his body.

"I love you," you whispered against him, “I’m here.”

Those words were all it took for Azriel to deepen his movements, for his pace to quicken as he leaned into you more, kissing you deeply as he rolled into you.

With a shared cry of pleasure, you both found release together, bodies trembling as Azriel emptied himself inside you.

After he pulled out, Azriel spent a moment kissing you tenderly, his lips moving across your skin with reverence and affection. You both swayed together in the aftermath, riding the waves of blissful satisfaction as you lazily kissed one another, limbs still entangled like braided rope.

He gently pulled himself away and made his way to the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth and a lazy, adoring smile. Azriel cleaned you up with gentle strokes, his kisses following the path of the cloth as he murmured sweet nothings against your skin. My beautiful mate, my treasure for life. Real, sacred— and all his. Each touch was a whisper of love and care, an intimate ritual that had grown to a routine as the bond deepened between you.

Once he was done, Azriel crawled back into bed next to you, pulling you into his chest. He wrapped an arm around you, cocooning you with his wing to keep you warm. He didn’t mind those cold fingers of yours, didn’t mind the chills they sent across his body, but tonight he would keep you close, keep you warm. His other hand found yours, placing it gently atop his heart, where you could feel its steady beat, matching yours in perfect rhythm.

Sighing contentedly, Azriel closed his eyes. He let the scent of you fill his nostrils, let the sound of your breathing fill his ears, and soon fell into a blissful, nightmare-free slumber.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

thank u to this anon who suggested i do something like this following my one-shot memories! pls enjoy this lil piece while i work on malice and LCL!! <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @justyouraveragekleemain

@panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia

azriel tag list🫶🏻:

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

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girlgenius1111 · 4 months ago

Text

responsibility

you are reluctant to share the problems you are having at home with your teammates. your teammates just think you're an irresponsible teen. it takes an emergency for things to come to light. barça x reader, though this first part is much more platonic alexia & reader. more team involvement to come. cw: some violence / abuse. a lot on grief and the loss of a parent. this is mostly desperately sad angst with some comfort sprinkled throughout.

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Your father was drunk. Hammered, in fact. You’d seen the empty bottles scattered around the kitchen when you walked in from training, telling you that he’d gotten an early start today. You were on your guard as soon as you’d noticed that, but you only pushed your dresser in front of your door when he began to pound on it, and yell. Some of the things he was saying were completely unintelligible, while others were completely clear. What you could understand was not anything new. He rambled about your mom, and how much he missed her. About how horrible it was that she’d died and left him stuck with you. How you drained away all his money playing football, and how he was tired of how ungrateful you were.

Normally, he didn’t do anything. Normally, the yelling was the extent of it. Sometimes, though it went farther. He’d grab you, or push you, kick you out of the house. When that happened, you’d go to a friend's place and sleep there, only coming back in the morning when you knew he’d be passed out.

Only very rarely did he actually hurt you. The occurrences were rare enough that you could pretend it didn’t happen. You covered the bruises up with makeup if you had too, and ignored them. You told people they came from training until you started to believe it yourself.

Tonight felt different, though, and you knew why. It was your parents anniversary. Any faint reminder of your mother only seemed to inflame your father’s hatred for you. He’d never wanted a kid, but your mom had, and that man had worshiped the ground she walked on. So, your parents had you, and you enjoyed a happy little life for 15 years. And then your mom got sick, and then got sicker.

You thought losing her would be the hardest thing you’d ever do, but as you sat on the floor of your bedroom, you decided that your father hating you because your mother was dead was somehow 100x more painful. He hurled abuse at you through the door, and when the dresser tipped away from it, crashing loudly onto the ground, you were more afraid than you’d ever been in your life.

You barely had the forethought to grab your phone and slip it into your pocket before your father shoved his way into the room, a half full bottle of vodka sloshing in his hand. He had the look on his face that haunts your nightmares. The detached one that told you things were about to hurt. You braced yourself as he raised the bottle, hoping it would hit the window and break it open, instead of hitting you. Instead of breaking you open.

The ground came crashing up towards you as you dropped, trying to avoid the bottle. The world went black around you, and you weren’t sure if it was from the bottle, or from the force of your head hitting the ground.

The darkness only came as a relief.

------

You were at Alexia’s house before you had even really decided where you were going. Your forehead was bleeding a bit, and your head was throbbing. Your shin had gotten cut, too, on the way out your window. Or maybe it had gotten cut as you’d broken the glass of the window in order to climb out.

Realistically, you knew you should call your lawyer, who would call your case worker. Who was really the only one with the power to get you out of that house. Neither of those people made you feel safe though, not like your teammates did. Or used to. Things were fuzzy, now, blurred, and you weren’t really sure if they still cared for you. If they would still feel safe. You hoped they would, because you weren’t sure what else you would do if they didn’t.

It didn’t occur to you that someone other than Alexia would answer the door, but then her girlfriend was staring at you, mouth agape, and you wondered why you hadn’t gone to Ingrid and Mapi’s, or Marta and Caro’s. You didn't know Olga well, weren’t even sure if she’d recognize you. She surprised you, though, turning and shouting for Alexia as her hands found yours and she gently guided you in through the door.

Your captain’s voice echoed back through the house, missing the urgency Olga had tried to convey, and you could hear her leisurely steps coming from upstairs. Olga tried to bring you into the living room, but you stopped, shaking your head.

“Blood.” You mumbled. “I’ll get blood on the furniture.”

Olga was looking at you with something that wasn’t pity, or sympathy. It was anger, far from gentle anger, but her voice was soft when she spoke.

“Don’t worry about that. Come sit down, Ale is coming.”

Numbly, you let her guide you onto the couch. Alexia caught your eye as she entered the room, her face changing from mild curiosity to one of horror.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. You looked away from her, the expression on her face forcing emotions to bubble up inside of you. Emotions you didn’t want to cope with, didn’t want to feel at all.

Olga walked over to her girlfriend, murmuring a few words, before she exited the room. Alexia took a deep breath, before she came to kneel in front of you.

“Pequeña? Are you with me?” She spoke more softly than you’d ever heard.

“Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“No apologies, please.” She reached up to move your hair out of your face, and get a better look at the cut across your cheek that appeared to have stopped bleeding. You flinched away from her violently, and every hope she’d had that this had been an accident flew out the window. She pulled her hand away, trying to keep her voice low and soothing.“You are okay. You are safe. You are with me, and I am not going to let anything else happen to you.”

Nodding somewhat hesitantly, you allowed her to inspect your face, crying out when her hand brushed across the bump on your head.

“What is it? What hurts?”

“Fell. Hit my head on the floor really hard.” You told her, every word feeling like cotton in your mouth as you tried your best to communicate.

“Did you lose consciousness?” Olga asked, sitting on the couch next to you, handing a towel to her girlfriend. Alexia pressed it to the cut on your shin, which was still bleeding.

“Maybe? Don’t really remember.”

The two other women exchanged looks, before they seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement.

“You might have a concussion, pequeña, and I think this needs stitches. I am going to take you to the hospital, okay?”

You considered. The hospital meant police, meant questions you didn’t want to answer. But you’d come here for help, and Alexia was just trying to give that to you.

“Okay.” You agreed, allowing them both to help you back to your feet. Before you could take a step, though, Alexia was tugging you into the softest hug you’d ever experienced, and it took all of your strength not to crumble completely.

“Thank you.” You mumbled shakily, voice muffled by Alexia’s t-shirt. She rubbed your back gently, using the hug to take a moment to pull herself together.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve got you, okay? Everything is going to be fine.”

You doubted that promise, all the way to the hospital. As you answered questions you were sure would make things not fine, as you got stitched up and scanned. When they took pictures of your injuries like you were some kind of victim. Especially when you told them your dad hadn’t meant it, and they exchanged disbelieving looks. It didn’t really feel like everything would be fine. It felt like everything was falling apart.

------

“Alexia, what the hell happened to her?” Olga asked, keeping her voice low so that you wouldn’t hear from where you were sitting on the lounge in the other room.

The blonde shook her head, face twisted with worry. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t let me in the room when they took her statement, and she hasn’t really been talking. It was her father, I know that.”

“Jesus.” Olga sighed, pulling out what she needed to make you something to eat. “They let you bring her here, though?”

Her girlfriend shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I… I signed a bunch of forms to be declared her temporary guardian. But, amor, I can take her to my Mami’s, she wouldn’t mind. This is not your responsibility, and I wouldn’t want to-”

“Do not be ridiculous. She’ll stay right here. Ingrid and Mapi are nearby, so many of your other teammates too. She needs them, and she needs you. Of course she’ll stay.” Olga said incredulously, as if she’d never considered another option.

Alexia’s face softened before she all but tackled her girlfriend in a hug. “I love you.”

Olga held her tight, trying to provide some reassurance. “I love you too. Now go try and see if she feels like talking. I’ll bring her something to eat in a second.”

You startled when Alexia took her seat next to you, before trying to muster up a smile. It felt weak, and pulled at the cut on your cheek, but it was the best you could do.

“Your caseworker texted me. They’ve arrested your father.” Alexia said carefully, watching as a myriad of emotions flashed across your face. “So tomorrow, we can go and get your stuff, and move you into the guest room.”

That felt too good to be true, there was just no way. No way that Alexia would want you to move in with her. Why would she want that?

“I can’t… I can’t go home?” You asked. You didn’t want to, and you did. You craved your home, but you also craved safety, and those two things were not congruent.

Why would you want to go back there? Alexia wondered. She had to remind herself that this was more complicated than she could even comprehend, and she had no business questioning how you were feeling. It was complicated, of course it was. “No. Not by yourself, and you aren’t going back there when your father gets home, either. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“I can stay by myself.” You argued weakly. “You don’t have to let me move in. You don’t have to do that, I can be responsible, I can take care of myself.”

Your captain shut her eyes tightly, guilt flooding through her. You were thinking of Alexia’s harsh words to you a few days ago, and she could tell.

If there was anything you despised, it was being late. It was the fourth time in the past two weeks, too, and though you hadn’t really been scolded yet, you knew it was coming. Sure enough, as you practically ran through the building towards the locker room, you saw Alexia and Irene waiting by the door. Seemingly, for you.

Your text warning them that you’d be late apparently hadn’t done anything to reduce their anger.

You slowed down as you got to them, trying to ignore the anxiety that rose in you at the idea of being in trouble.

“Hi.” You said meekly, stopping in front of them as they glared at you.

“What time does training start?” Alexia asked, her voice cold.

“10:00.” You mumbled.

“And that means on the pitch at 10, all ready to go, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“What time is it right now?” Irene chimed in.

Your face was burning with embarrassment, your eyes trained on your shoes as you refused to look up at your captains. “10:20.”

“This is the fourth time in two weeks.” Irene sighed. “Where were you?”

“I… I slept through my alarm.” You lied. There was no way you could admit the truth. What you were doing was your business, it was private. And you knew that if your captains found out what was going on, they would involve themselves. And you didn’t want to burden them.

Alexia’s face hardened. She felt like you were lying, but she had no evidence to back that up. And even so, she couldn’t understand why you would be lying. Teenagers were weird, she reminded herself. And difficult.

“That is unacceptable. You are 17, yes, but you are on this team. You are expected to act responsible and prove that you care to be here. Showing up late does not prove to us that this is a priority for you. You are benched. Until you can get your act together.”

This wasn’t the first issue they’d been having with you. You’d been distracted and distant recently. Zoning out during training, skipping team bonding. You were quieter than normal, too, which really came off as you being annoyed by your teammates. Which you weren’t, not at all. You were just trying to get through. To get up every morning like everything was mine and make it to training. To get everything done that you needed, so that you could get out of your house. Where you would go when that happened, you weren't exactly sure. With the way your captains were looking at you right now, you knew you couldn’t go to them. They were upset, rightfully so. You just couldn’t do anything right.

“Ale-”

“No. I am disappointed in you. I expect you to be more responsible. Now go run your extra laps.”

With a sigh and a small nod, you headed off, completely missing the slightly concerned expressions that your captains were exchanging. You just weren't yourself, and they weren’t sure what to do about that.

Alexia hadn’t understood, then. She knew that something was off, but she didn’t know it was this bad. She’d scolded you for being irresponsible, and she knew now that was unfair. And that you’d very much taken it to heart. You’d let her help you before, when your body was in shock, everything in fight or flight mode.

Now, you were withdrawing, just as you’d been doing for weeks. This time, though, Alexia didn’t think it was just teenage carelessness anymore, or a rebellious phase. She could deal with her guilt for not understanding, for getting everything so wrong, later. For now, she had to make sure that you didn’t completely shut down.

“Listen to me. I didn’t mean any of what I said before. I didn’t know what was going on, but I do now. So let me help, okay? You don’t need to worry about anything. Just let me take care of it all.” She took your hand in hers, feeling it tremble in her grip. You looked conflicted, and though there were tears in your eyes, all your captain could do was look at the jagged cut on your cheek. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but she was pretty sure it would scar. A reminder, forever, of what someone who was supposed to love you had done.

All she wanted to do was make it better. “Tell me how I can help.” She asked, doing her best not to beg.

“I… um. I have a lawyer. I’ve been trying to get emancipated, I should call him.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.” Alexia said quickly, watching the cautious vulnerability dawning across your face.

Olga walked in then, bringing both you and Alexia some food. You both ate in silence, not even the TV on to fill the void, before you leaned back into the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You were safe, you knew you were safe, but you didn’t feel it. You didn’t feel much of anything, honestly. Your head hurt from the concussion, and the stitches in your shin pulled with every movement.

The physical pain, you could deal with. It was the threat of feeling that terrified you. You felt a pang of emotion every time you looked at Alexia, though, when you saw the concern on her face, so you tried your best not to look at her.

Your captain and her girlfriend exchanged looks, and Olga mumbled something about going to get you some ice cream, before she grabbed her wallet and keys and left the house.

Within a minute, Alexia was turning her whole body towards you, completely attentive. You didn’t want her attention, but you had it.

“What happened tonight, nena?”

You knew the question that was coming, yet still, you were wholly unprepared for it. You’d answered the questions earlier from the police, but that had been different. They had been strangers. They’d been sympathetic but professional. As much as you’d been trying to downplay what had happened in your head, you knew Alexia would be horrified to hear what had happened. And that would chip away at your very fragile belief that it hadn’t been that bad.

“You can tell me. Whatever happened, you can tell me.”

You decided to give her as few details as possible. “He was really drunk. He gets like this sometimes.”

“Violent?” Alexia asked bluntly.

“Not always. Most of the time he just yells.”

“But tonight? It was more than yelling?” She hated pushing you, but she needed to understand what had happened if she was going to be able to help.

You took a shaky breath before responding. “Yeah. When I got home from training, he was already drunk, yelling at me.”

“Was he angry about something?”

“He’s always angry.” You dismissed. “Always. Ever since mom… he didn’t want me, not really. And now mom is gone and he’s stuck with me. I think he hates me. I mean, I know he does. He tells me all the time. That’s what he was yelling about. How much he hated me.”

You sounded detached, which Alexia was sure wasn’t healthy, but she pressed on anyway, knowing that you needed to tell her what happened, and only then could she help. “What happened then?”

“He broke my bedroom door down and threw the bottle of vodka at me. I hit my head trying to dodge it, but I think it hit me anyway. I broke the window open and climbed out. And then… I don’t really remember. Then I was here.” You went through it blankly, as numbly as if it had happened to someone else.

“Oh, nena.” Alexia sighed, truly incapable of understanding how someone could be so cruel to you. You were shaking again as you glanced up at your captain with watering eyes and a trembling lip. “Cariño, I am so sorry this happened.”

You shrugged one shoulder, trying to keep your tears at bay, but your captain persisted.

“You are safe now, do you understand? I will never let him hurt you again, ever.”

This time, there was no response from you.

“Nena, look at me.” Alexia pressed, her eyes wide as they met yours. “You are safe with me, I promise you.”

You wanted to believe her, you really did. Trust was hard, though. Only harder now. If your father could hurt you and not feel any remorse, what was to say other people would feel differently? What’s to say you could trust anyone?

Alexia could practically see you come to that conclusion. Your body tensed back up, you leaned away from her, and your face grew completely blank. She wondered if she hadn’t been so harsh the other day, if you’d still be so wary of her. It wasn’t complete distrust, because you’d shown up on her doorstep and that was something. You were trying to protect yourself. Alexia couldn’t blame you for being so afraid, she really couldn’t.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” You told her, unsure if your shaky voice was doing a very good job conveying just how grateful you were. “I know having a 17 year old disaster move into the house you share with your girlfriend probably wasn’t something you were hoping for-”

“If I had known what was going on, I would have gotten you out of there a very long time ago.” Alexia interrupted, cursing herself when you blanched and looked at her with wide eyes.

“I don’t get it.” You mumbled after a second. “You don’t have to do this, do any of it. Why are you doing this for me?”

Alexia wished you were joking, wished she couldn’t hear the genuine wonder in your voice that someone would go out of their way to help you.

“Because I care about you.” Alexia said simply. “We all do, every single member of the team. And you are welcome here for as long as you want to stay here.”

“But Olga,”

“Olga would pick up every stray dog on the side of the road and bring it home if I let her. She doesn’t mind that you’re here.”

“I’m not a stray dog.”

“No, you aren’t. I was just pretty sure you’d think the dog to be worthy of a home. Just like I think you are.”

It was a jarring thought. The realization that you did, indeed, think of a dog as more worthy of a home than you were was a shock to your system. You weren’t sure when you’d stopped being so angry, and started believing the words shouted at you, but somewhere along the way, you’d lost yourself. Without even realizing.

Alexia continued. “If Olga had driven by you walking here, and had no idea who you were, she would have brought you home. She would have done exactly what she did earlier. That’s who she is. She’s happy to have you here, happy to help. Really, pequeña. I promise.”

You nodded, the only acknowledgement you gave her that you’d registered what she said. “She’s been gone for a while, I thought she was just going to get ice cream?”

Alexia smiled slightly, glancing away from you. “She’s been in the drive for 10 minutes, she wanted us to finish talking without any interruptions.”

You frowned at her and your captain tensed, suddenly worried she shouldn’t have told you that. Worried that you’d wrench away from her and resist the help she and Olga were trying to give you.

Instead, you looked at her like she was a bit stupid. “The ice cream is going to be melted, Ale.”

The blonde relaxed back into the sofa, a huff of laughter falling from her lips. She’d forgotten how seriously you took your ice cream. It was difficult to mesh together the two versions of you in her mind; the one she knew that was happy and carefree, except when it came to the texture of your ice cream. And the one sitting in front of her, broken.

“Well, do you want to talk more or-”

“If Olga walks in and my ice cream is melted, this night will really be ruined.” You deadpanned, more amused at the surprise on Ale’s face than you were at your own joke. You didn’t like how she’d been looking at you. Anything to break the tension, anything to distract from what had happened.

The distraction didn’t last long, because your head was beginning to hurt and you were too exhausted to really hide your pain. The look of sympathy returned to Ale’s face, and to Olga’s, and it wasn’t long after you finished your ice cream that you were ushered up to bed.

If the universe was kind, a dreamless sleep would follow. You were beginning to think the universe was cruel.

------

You liked to think that your mom visited you in your dreams. Sometimes, they were good dreams. Warm and kind of fuzzy, but unquestionably filled with love. You found that the good dreams were the hardest to remember. The bad ones were the easiest, maybe because more often than not, they were memories.

Of course, the dream you had almost as soon as you’d drifted off to sleep was a bad one. It was flashes of a day that made you sick to think about. It had been a week after the funeral, and you’d yet to realize that the father you’d grown up with was gone for good. Though, that realization would come soon.

A few of your friends had insisted on taking you out to grab coffee. It had been agonizing, sitting and listening to them try to distract you. It was still wallowing time, you argued. You were allowed to lay in bed in a ball and cry for as long as you needed to. Grief wasn’t a process that could be rushed.

Of course, your father would try. The dream grew hazy as it continued, flashes of memories more than anything. Your arrival home from coffee. The realization that he was stuffing your mom’s stuff into garbage bags and boxes, labeled for donation or trash. You remembered the way your blood had boiled; fury rising that he was trying to erase her. As if that would make it any easier.

You remembered the way you pushed him away from her closet, tears running down your face. Your voice had trembled as you’d cursed at him, begged him not to get rid of all her stuff. He’d cursed right back, pushed right back. Told you that he couldn’t live in a house so full of memories of her. The way he’d said it, implying that you were nothing more than a painful reminder of her. A weight had settled on your chest when your first instinct was to run for your mom, and tell her what your father had said.

You couldn’t do that anymore. There was nowhere to run to. You pushed him again, and he pushed back again. You fell to the floor, looking up at him just in time to see how horrified he looked at himself. He looked down at you in complete horror, shocked at himself for what he’d done. He backed out of the room, repeating apologies over and over.

That was one of the last glimpses of the father you’d known all your life that you’d had. And it would never not haunt you that you’d been the one to make things physical the first time. That made it your fault. All of it was your fault.

The dream ended as it always did, with you grabbing what you could from the bags and the boxes, stuffing it all into your closet. It ended with you pulling on her favorite sweatshirt, the one she’d worn the most. It smelled like her perfume still, and you got under the covers of your bed, burying your nose in the fabric. You cried, and you pretended your mom was there with you, though she never would be again.

You woke as you always did, face wet with tears, but this time with a horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’d left all her stuff in the house. You’d come here without it, and you needed it. Needed it now, needed to be surrounded by her like you’d been on that day.

It was with a blind dedication that you slipped out of Alexia’s guest bed, put some shoes on, and went out the front door. You couldn’t leave her stuff there. Not in the house that reeked of alcohol and hatred and sadness.

------

Alexia was pretty sure she knew where you’d gone, even if she’d couldn’t understand why. When Olga shook her awake, though, and told her that she’d heard the front door shut, Alexia knew you’d fled. And she knew you’d gone back to that house. Back to the place you still considered home, somehow. As Alexia pulled into your driveway, she reminded herself that she couldn’t understand. Growing up, she’d only ever felt love in her house. She’d never been through what you’d been through, never felt anything but safe with her parents. So it didn’t make sense to her that you’d go back. Not when you’d been trying to get out in the first place. But it didn't’ need to make sense to her, because it made sense to you. And you were her only concern.

The front door was unlocked, and Alexia opened it carefully; the last thing she wanted was to frighten you further. The house was dark and cold, and it smelled heavily of alcohol. She followed the only light she could see down the hall to what she assumed to be your bedroom. The door bore the marks of your fathers fists, the wood dented and peeling.

Before she even stepped into the room, Alexia could hear you crying softly. You were neatly folding up clothes and putting them into a duffel bag. The precision with which you worked completely contrasted how disheveled you looked; each shirt and sweater folded as if it would disintegrate if you weren’t careful.

Alexia paused in the doorway, not sure there was any way she could let you know she was here without scaring you. It seemed like you were lost in your head, regardless. Your face was set tightly, a grimace etched across it, but your hands trembled, and tears fell almost continuously. It was as if you were too emotional to keep your feelings at bay, but simultaneously felt too unsafe to really let go. Your despair leaked out like your tears did, a little bit at a time.

Your captain wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone look so haunted and so numb at the same time.

“Pequeña?” She spoke as quietly and soothingly as she could, yet still, you jumped half a foot into the air, a fearful whimper escaping. “It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s just me, you’re okay.”

“Ale.” You mumbled, recognizing your captain in front of you. It hadn’t even been a thought that Alexia would get up and come after you. The consequences of your actions seemed so far away, like you were just acting with no follow up. There was only the present, because if you thought too hard about there being a tomorrow, you weren’t sure you could survive it.

“Hey.” Alexia cooed, taking tiny steps closer to you, moving like a snail. She sat down a safe distance away, looking curiously into the bag you were packing. You knew Alexia was wondering why you were here, and honestly, you were too. It had made sense, when you’d awoken from your nightmare and left her house. It didn’t make as much sense now. “What are you doing back here?”

There was no accusation in her tone, no frustration or annoyance, yet still, you felt the need to explain yourself. “I woke up, and I just… I had to come get a few things.”

Alexia didn’t point out that it was the middle of the night, and that certainly such a task could wait until the following day. She just nodded in understanding, even though she didn’t understand, and tried to think of another question to ask. One that wouldn’t be too much, but one that might get her some more answers. Because truly, your captain was at a complete loss on what to do here.

“What did you need to get?” She asked casually. This was normal, she decided. She’d pretend this was normal, and maybe then, you’d talk.

You were almost done packing the clothes. It was an odd assortment of items that Alexia had seen you place in the bag. Mostly t-shirts and sweatshirts. And she’d never seen you wear any of it before.

You didn’t reply right away, picking up the last sweatshirt and pulling it on. It was faded, too big on you, and there was a hole in the sleeve, but your entire body relaxed once it was on. Not much, but a noticeable amount. “Just some clothes.”

“I’ve never seen that sweatshirt before.” Alexia commented, a wave of sadness washing over her as she began to connect the dots.

“Yeah, it’s- it was my mom’s.” You whispered. “I just really needed to get this stuff. Sorry for leaving without saying anything.”

Alexia looked at you, seeing a younger version of herself. Wearing a shirt that was much too big on her to bed, convincing herself that if she inhaled deep enough, it would still smell like him. Even if she couldn’t quite remember what that scent even was.

“That’s okay, nena, I’m not upset.” The blonde gazed out the window for a moment, noticing the sun peaking above the horizon. It was bathing the room in a soft golden glow, and she noticed for the first time the broken bottle on the floor. The rest of the room was warm and soft, very you, but that bottle seemed to mar the entire atmosphere. It was a stain, and Alexia understood, suddenly, why you needed the clothes.

You wanted the sweatshirt for comfort, yes. But this room had probably been the last place in the house that had remained untouched from your father and his cruelties. And now it had been ruined, and you couldn’t bear the thought of your most favorite possessions remaining here. Especially when you’d left.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and spoke quietly, almost as if you’d read Alexia’s mind. “This is all I really have left of her. He got rid of the rest of it but I managed to save some of her clothes. I… I just didn’t want to leave them behind.”

Didn’t want to leave her behind. Not in the place that had turned into hell after she’d gone.

You were trying to be strong, Alexia could tell. Jaw clenched, blinking hard. Wiping carelessly at the never ending stream of tears. Alexia remembered trying to be strong, too. How it hadn’t even been something she wanted, it was just something she did.

“Tell me about your mom.” The request escaped without her permission, and she jerked her head in your direction fearfully, terrified that it had been too much. Your lips were turning up at the corners, though, just a bit. Tears still fell, but you did as she asked.

“She was really funny. We had the same sense of humor, I think, so everything she found funny, I found funny. She’d tell a joke I was already thinking.”

Alexia hummed, a gentle encouragement as she inched closer to you. You were smiling a bit more now, still in the part of remembering that didn’t yet hurt.

“She always helped me with my homework after school, and she always tucked me in at night. Even when I was way too old for it.”

You took a deep breath. It was overwhelming, the love you felt for her. It felt like love, but it also felt like grief. Hot, painful, lingering grief. Still, once you’d started, you didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to ever stop remembering every good thing about her.

“She used to watch videos of people explaining football strategies, so we could talk about them. Even when she was sick she still… still watched. She never missed a game, even when she was doing treatment. She’d sit in her car and watch from the parking lot if she had too, but she never missed a game. I was always the most important thing to her. She used to say that being my mom was the best thing she’d ever been, that she’d ever be.”

“She sounds like a really good mom.” Alexia’s hand was on the back of your head, combing delicately through your hair. It felt nice. Safe.

“She was the best.” You choked out. “She gave the best hugs, and she told me she loved me everyday. And I really really miss her.” You tried to swallow the sob that threatened to force its way out, but you couldn’t. Your grief couldn’t be contained, not anymore. It was an almost unconscious movement, turning to bury your face in Alexia’s sweatshirt. Your body shook with cries, and your captain wrapped her arms around you tightly. As if she could hold you together.

You appreciated Alexia, more than you would probably ever be able to express. For being so patient, for coming after you, for asking about your mom. For hugging you and holding you tightly as she promised that everything would be okay. But Alexia wasn’t the person you wanted.

The blonde didn’t understand the first time you said it, your words muffled by the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. But the second time, she did, and it felt like her heart was plummeting out of her chest.

“I want my mom, Ale,” you sobbed. “I just- I want my mom,”

She felt your words in her soul, and in that moment she would have done anything to give you what you wanted. It didn’t work like that, though, and she knew that all too well. So, she rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head. She rocked you gently, and made promises. To herself, and to you.

“I know, I know you do.” She soothed. “I’m so sorry, cariño. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You only cried harder, and Alexia felt like crying too.

Nothing felt okay. But Alexia had you, and you believed that. Or at least, you wanted to.

------

Well. Have a good night everyone. tell me if you notice any typos 🥺. also tell me if you enjoyed this because i am so incredibly unsure about it.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagines #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas x reader #platonic reader #alexia putellas x platonic reader

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ellecdc · 5 months ago

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⬜️idea!🟩

poly marauders. reader sees James fall off of his broom during a game. he gets injured, but makes it out fine. it affects reader more than she wishes to admit, but hides her concern/fear. maybe her hurt turns into anger when she hears him talk highly about his upcoming game, snaps at him to leave the team (maybe Sirius and Remus ganging up on her too?) maybe after a nightmare she seeks him out, apologizing and just wanting to ensure he’s all alright?

maybe a fic on this, if you wish to!

hi sweets! thanks for this idea - I hope I did it justice!

poly!marauders x fem!reader who hates seeing her boys get hurt - 2.7k words

CW: James gets injured [he's fine tho], brief mention of Sirius' crappy childhood, angst [with a happy ending, obviously], poor communication [but ends in good communication]

Every step you took seemed to lodge your heart further and further up your throat; you were nearly certain that one wrong move would have it leaping right out of your mouth as you made your way to the infirmary.

You had a one track mind as you pushed your way through various students and staff in the halls; get to James. Get to James. Get to James.

You had been sitting with your friends from Ravenclaw during the game instead of with Remus and Sirius which was obviously problem number one.

Problem number two had to be this stupid sodding game - quidditch. Whoever invented it clearly wished death on many generations to come.

The third problem - and arguably your biggest problem - had been watching James hurdle from nearly thirty feet in the air before hitting the ground with a bone crushing thud.

You were certain you were only three steps away from actually losing your heart (and your dinner) as you pushed your way into the infirmary to see two familiar silhouettes standing over a hospital bed.

Whatever relief the sight of two of your boys had on you quickly melted into something uneasy when Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

“Hope he gets suspended for at least one game.” You heard James chuckle, which caused Remus to snort.

“Please, Madame Hootch looked like she was ready to bar him from the pitch all together.”

“Good; one less beater we have to worry about then.” Sirius added before you stepped around the curtain to look at the patient and alert them all to your presence.

Save the bandage currently wrapped around James’ head and the fact that his left arm was situated in a sling, he looked like he was being served a cheeky breakfast in bed rather than emergency medical care.

“Hey sweetheart! Did you enjoy the game?” He called to you with a cartoonish smile on his face.

You found that you had no response to that.

Did you enjoy the game? You had been enjoying the game, until…oh…you don’t know, had to watch your sodding boyfriend fall out of the godsdamn sky!?

You took a moment to survey your surroundings. You currently had:

One boyfriend situated in a hospital bed with an injury to his head and clearly something wrong with the left side of his body

There was an empty bottle of pain potion and what looked to be a vial of skele-gro

Your long haired boyfriend was still decked in his quidditch kit as he took a casual and sloppy seat in the chair beside James’ bed

And Remus roughly patted James’ knee as he moved to stand on the other side of him, leaving you standing at the end of the bed on your own as all three of your boyfriends waited for you to respond.

“No.”

James’ brows furrowed momentarily as he cocked his head to the side as if perhaps your answer would make more sense from a 45 degree angle.

Remus merely offered you a sympathetic smile.

“No?” James parroted.

“No.” You insisted, growing more and more agitated at the nonchalance the boys were showing the current circumstances.

“Not enough action for you, dollface?” Sirius teased.

That apparently had been your last straw.

“Oh fuck off, Sirius.” You hissed, causing the air to be sucked out of your quasi curtain-walled room.

“Hey, easy Y/N…” Remus started, but it was too late.

“What the fuck were you doing out there?” You asked James pointedly, throwing your arm behind you as you gestured in the direction of the quidditch pitch.

“Erm…I was playing quidditch?”

“That was a trick question, babe.” Sirius added rather unhelpfully; smirking at Remus and James.

“This isn’t sodding funny Sirius; he could’ve died!”

“But he didn’t.” Sirius offered with a tone harsher than you were used to hearing from him, though you figured perhaps you deserved it. “As you can clearly see, he’s fine.”

“He’s not fine.” You fumed, gesturing to his current state. “He could have brain damage, he could have broken his neck, he could have-”

“But I didn’t, sweetheart. Listen, I know-”

“No!” You cut James off. “I don’t think you do know. Because you’re sitting here laughing like it’s nothing!”

“Because it is nothing, dovey. Look, I know you’re upset but I think all you needed was to come and see that he was fine, yeah?” Remus tried placatingly, holding his hands up at you as if he were trying to quell a feral cat.

That just made you feel even more angry.

“No, what I need is for him to quit the team.”

James choked on air as Sirius started laughing incredulously.

“Okay, doll; clearly you’re not feeling very well right now. James ‘Quidditch’ Potter, Gryffindor team captain, is not quitting the team.”

“I don’t understand how you can so calmly climb atop a wooden stick and ascend 30-50 feet into the air just to fall like that.” You argued.

“Well, you see, I actually wasn’t supposed to fall. That was sort of the problem.” James started, causing Remus to snicker.

“Stop laughing.” You shouted; horrified when your voice cracked and your sinuses filled painfully.

Unfortunately for you, all three boys caught it.

“Dove…”

“Don’t dove me, Remus. I’m serious - don’t you fucking dare.” You cut yourself off as Sirius opened his mouth.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You pleaded with James.

James very rarely got angry or frustrated with you; he was one of the most easy going people you had ever met in your life and he was always the first to have considered every person’s feelings and sides before participating in discourse.

But you seemed to have found something he was not willing to negotiate about.

“What exactly is it that am I doing to you, Y/N? Because from where I’m standing, I’m the one who’s hurt.”

“James…” Remus started, but much like you had, James cut him off.

“No! I don’t see her getting all worked up about Sirius playing quidditch!”

“Because people in his position are the one’s trying to knock you out of the fucking air!” You argued.

“That is the point of quidditch!” He bellowed back at you.

“Okay, enough.” Sirius barked. “James, relax, it’s alright. She’s just upset.”

You laughed humourlessly as you looked to the sky for patience.

It didn’t come.

“I’m not just ‘upset’. I have spent countless holidays waiting,” You started severely, still looking towards the ceiling as you tried to ward off your tears. “Wondering what kind of state you might be in, how you were being treated. Wondering if-” You choked on a sob and shut your eyes harshly as the first wave of tears fell. “If you’d even come back at all, Sirius.” You finally finished with a laugh that turned into a sob as you finally made eye contact with him.

“Every winter.” You continued. “Every Easter break. And every summer, which were always the hardest because they were the longest and there was no way for me to know.

“And every month I sit and wait and watch and worry and wonder and hope and fear.” You continued, turning your gaze to Remus. “And I will never stop waiting and watching and worrying and wondering and hoping and fearing but-”

Finally, you turned your gaze back towards James. “But to do this willingly, to… I don’t know, to put yourself in harm's way for what? For sport, for fun, for a goof? I…I don’t understand.”

James let out a sad and tired sigh as he looked at you pleadingly. “Look, Y/N, I’m sorry I upset you; I really am.”

“No, no - don’t apologise just because I’m crying.” You argued as you wiped angrily at your face.

“I think it makes sense to be upset, dove. You’re worried; that’s more than fair.” Remus offered; ever the voice of reason.

But the more he discussed your feelings and concerns and not the actual problem - which in your opinion was currently your third boyfriend holed up in a hospital bed - you could feel your temper rising again.

“I can’t do this. I need to go.” You announced before turning on your heel.

“Y/N, wait.” You could hear Sirius start, but you carried on and let the door to the hospital wing shut behind you.

You felt silly.

You were still upset, but you felt silly all the same.

You aren’t sure where you got off demanding James quit the team, but you do wish he would take his health and safety a little more seriously, at least for your sake.

But you hadn’t said that to him.

And you shouldn’t have brought up Sirius’ trauma to push your point across when you had been the one walking into their conversation with an air of hostility about you.

And Remus, poor Remus.

You had no right to bring up his affliction like that; you knew he struggled letting people in for that very reason.

Gods, you were awful.

But you were still upset.

You were awful and upset, which was why you were currently sitting behind the curtains of your four poster bed simply tossing and turning without any hope of ever falling asleep.

Not whilst angry, and not alone.

Before you had much time to think about it, you felt a familiar…scurrying on the side of your bed.

“What in Godric’s fucking name?” You hissed as you pulled your blankets back in a panic to expose a yellow rat looking rather guilty (or, as guilty as a rat could manage to look) with a folded piece of paper in its mouth.

You stared at the rat disbelievingly as it slowly dropped the note beside you before sitting down and looking at you expectantly.

“What?” You asked expressionlessly.

The rat - being a rat - simply looked back down at the note before returning its gaze to you.

“You need me to read that?”

The rat seemed to nod yes.

“Now?” You deadpanned.

Yes.

“Did they pay you for your efforts?”

Yes.

“Tell them to pay you double.” You sighed as you unfolded the note.

I’m sorry, sweet girl.

I shouldn’t have snapped at you, especially when all you were trying to do was care for me.

Please come see me?

I’m sorry.

You could almost hear the desperation in James’ words as you traced your fingers over the xx’s he had signed on the bottom.

You looked down to see the rat was still sitting there.

“For fucks- you’re job is done, Peter. Tell them to pay up.” You muttered in faux contempt as you felt any residual ire melt from your body.

The rat seemed to give you a little pat on the knee with his tiny hand before he scurried off back down the stairs of the girls dormitory.

After washing your face to try to hide any remaining evidence of tears being shed, you stalked towards the boys’ dormitory with your own metaphorical tail between your legs before you paused in front of their door to knock.

Your fist had hardly made contact with the wood before the door was flying open to expose a rather bedraggled looking James.

“Angel.” He breathed out, seemingly simultaneously relieved that you were here and worried about what the next words coming from your mouth would be.

“Jamie.” You sighed, hating the fact that you had just spent time and effort to hide any evidence of previous emotions only for your voice to crack and your eyes to fill with tears immediately.

Thankfully, it seemed James was prepared.

“I’m so sorry.” He breathed out; words muffled from where his lips were pressed into the crown of your head as he pulled you tight against his chest. “I’m so sorry; I should never have shouted at you.”

“I was being unreasonable.” You argued, causing James to make a pleading sound in the back of his throat.

“You weren’t being unreasonable. You were upset and I brushed you off.”

“Can we both be sorry?” You asked as he rubbed his hands up and down your back.

“Only if you can tell me what you did that was so wrong.”

“I should never have asked you to quit.” You whispered; embarrassment flooding you at the mere memory of your demand.

James let out a sigh as he backed up enough to see your face, but not far enough to let you out of his hold.

“I…I think I can understand why, though. I don’t think you would have jumped to that if I had taken my injuries more seriously.”

You let out a noncommittal sound as you pushed your face back into his chest. “I’m still sorry.”

“I would, you know.” He said suddenly.

“Would what?”

“Quit.”

You pulled your head back rather suddenly at that causing a momentary bout of dizziness that even James seemed to notice as he helped you right yourself.

“James ‘Quidditch’ Potter would quit quidditch?” You asked disbelievingly.

“Try saying that five times fast.” Remus chuckled quietly, causing you to turn to find him sitting on the edge of Sirius’ bed with his hand resting atop a rather pitiful looking Padfoot.

“Pads…” You whispered, causing Sirius’ dog form to step off the bed and make his way over to you, nudging your hand with his wet nose. “I’m so sorry for the way I spoke to you; you didn’t deserve that.”

Seemingly appeased that you weren’t about to lash out at him again, your (arguably most) sensitive boyfriend spun back into his human form and stood rather bashfully in front of you. “I completely brushed you off; I would have told me to fuck off too.” He offered as he took one of your hands in his and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’m sorry I took all of my anxieties and concerns out on you. None of you deserved it and it’s not your responsibility.” You declared, pointedly looking towards your last boyfriend who you felt arguably most guilty for having accosted earlier.

“I appreciate your apology, dove, but I disagree with part of it.” Remus said as he stood and made his way over to your three. “Your anxieties and concerns are our responsibility; they became our responsibility the second we started dating.”

“And we right fumbled that.” James let out with a breath, causing Sirius to smirk and pinch his good arm.

“I got upset when I didn’t think any of you were taking it seriously, and then got defensive when it felt like you were being flippant with me. I wish I had handled it differently.” You explained, leaning into Remus’ side as he pulled you under his arm.

“I’d say we all could have handled it differently.” Remus decided as the rest of you nodded.

“Next time?” Sirius asked then.

Remus scoffed. “Haven’t you heard, Pads? There won’t be a next time; James is quitting the team.”

James seemed to baulk at that fact before he turned to look at you, face falling forcefully neutral as he took a deep breath.

“Right… yes. If…if that’s what you want.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at your sweetest boy before jostling his shoulder that had been in a sling.

“Where’d your bandages go?”

He turned slightly bashful before looking towards Remus.

“Erm, well, I had wanted to come find you immediately afterwards, but we thought it might be better to wait until I didn’t look so…hospitalised.”

“What Prongs is trying to say,” Sirius teased as he looked at James with no shortage of love. “Is that the pain potion and skele-gro did their jobs and he’s back in tip top shape for his girl.”

You let out a sigh of faux exhaustion and rolled your eyes. “Well then I suppose I could allow you to continue playing if you promise to be extra careful going forward, and also to cuddle me the whole night after every game?”

“Deal.” He agreed quickly before enveloping you in a hug so big that it picked you up off your feet.

“Oh yeah.” Remus laughed. “He’s right back in tip top shape indeed.”

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mygentledentistau · 2 months ago

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youtube

#Emergency Dental #Tooth Pain #Tooth Loss #Dental Care #Smile Restoration #Quick Relief #Youtube

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cupcakeslushie · 2 months ago

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First || Prev || …

Here’s the next part of the Kendratello AU! I knew it was going to be very dialogue heavy, so I figured writing it out would be fast, but I’m so ready to be done with it that I’ve not really beta read it. So I apologize for any errors. But enjoy!

Splinter loves his sons, but these last few days have been eating away at his already shriveled and fraying nerves. Watching his children ambling around their home, for months, each in varying states of anxiety, fear, and distress, hasn’t been easy on his old heart.

They’ve been through so much, experienced more hardships than Splinter has ever wanted for them. But the latest crucible tearing his family apart was caused, not by some ancient demon, or world-ending threat—but a fiendishly smart, young woman.

One who’d kidnapped his son and replaced him with a stranger that Splinter hardly recognized.

The bitter tale is too familiar for the old movie star to painlessly swallow. It seems fate played such cruel tricks sometimes. Always seeming to strike harsher the second go around. With outcomes even more brutal and painful. His son was stolen by a hateful, sadistic woman, and kept locked away, until she was satisfied with the new toy that emerged from the shadows.

So it stands to reason how…relieved Splinter had been that one, early morning. When his three sons had pulled Purple into his bedroom, piling into his bed, nothing but wide eyes and panicked shouting; one over the other. Looking back now, he can recognize how short-sighted his quick relief had been. But in the moment, as a father, Splinter had only seen this new, strange development as a blessing.

Donatello might have been confused, and irritated with his brother’s manhandling, but Splinter could clearly see more life in those eyes than he’d witnessed in months. Splinter had shushed the rest, and spoken to Purple directly, finally getting a better grasp on what his sons were shouting about.

Amnesia.

So, of course, relief. Because how could forgetting all those horrible, tortuous weeks in that woman’s grasp, possibly be a bad thing? By some miracle, Splinter’s boy had been returned to him. Nowhere near that frail ghost of Donatello, which Splinter would sometimes find curled up on the floor of his own lab, screaming Kendra’s name and sobbing to be returned to her care.

He had been spared all of that, like it never happened. Their family had been handed a gift, and Splinter truthfully wasn't interested in the whys of it all…

Until Michelangelo chose to contact Draxum, and words like “brain damage” and “tumor” were thrown into the mix.

An entire day of testing yielded…varying results. They were able to rule out the scariest of options. No dark shadows were seen in the X-rays of his son’s beautifully brilliant brain, and no concerning squiggles were pointed out by the Hidden City doctors who studied the fast moving waves appearing on the EEG. It was all a bunch of nonsense to Splinter, but Donatello nodded like he agreed, when he was handed the papers over to inspect himself.

Everything was normal, physically.

That left the most difficult part of the day. Getting his son to speak to a psychiatrist—seriously, and without snarking back at every possible question he would eventually be asked.

Draxum had thankfully picked a good one. Briefing her beforehand on…everything. She seemed prepared for Purple’s special brand of cynicism. The sheep yokai was apparently at the top of her field.

A tentative diagnosis of “dissociative amnesia” had been given, along with a small number of pamphlets and printouts. The doctor had informed Splinter that certain treatments might improve Donatello’s situation, but no cure had been discovered for something like this.

They would just have to take things one day at a time. And they’d been doing so well. Almost like everything was back to normal.

Splinter had become very good at ignoring that pending feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his sons every day onward, like nothing was wrong. And all of them, in return, began falling back into a more comfortable ease around each other. The stress had just been starting to loosen in Red’s shoulders and jaw. Orange was giving real, honest smiles again. And Blue was no longer a shadow around corners, hiding from Purple like a bomb he was scared to set off.

But the other shoe that had been the root of Splinter’s dread, finally dropped, and the rug was pulled from under their feet once more, violently, with no warning.

Even after they’d managed to calm Donatello down. There was no negotiating the terms of his reality, and he was stubbornly convinced that the world around him was fabricated. Without caring about the consequences, he refused to be civil towards any of them, treating them all like jesters in a play, where no one had the script.

The family’s usual process for dealing with Purple’s anger–letting him cool off alone in his lab until he collected his thoughts–was unfeasible this time around.

Splinter didn’t think he could ever forget the image of his son, turning the knife he held in his hands inwards, and threatening to end his own life.

No; leaving him alone was not an option.

Which led back to Splinter’s previously mentioned frayed nerves.

Four days into this new, stressful change, and his genius son was still managing to find creative ways to sneak past their watchful eyes. Six attempts, in total. Each time, caught with seconds to spare, and just as traumatic for everyone involved.

Raphael and Michelangelo at the moment, were going through their home, removing every sharp implement they could find. Anything that could possibly be used to “put an end to the loop” that Donatello was convinced he was stuck in.

While the two performed their important task, Blue and Splinter had the harder of the two jobs; watching Purple.

Splinter was currently sitting comfortably in his chair, but it was far from his usual level of relaxation. Despite plenty of bean bags to occupy, the twins were locked in a shoving match. For some reason, they were fighting over the single, smallest one they must’ve owned.

“If you don’t get out of my personal space, I swear to Oppenheimer you will regret it, Leonardo!”

“And I swear to Ryan Renolds, that I’ll shred all of your softest hoodies if you kick me in the nuts one more time!”

“That Barbenheimer joke doesn’t even make sense, you idiot, that was Ryan Gosling!”

“Who mentioned Barbie? I’m talking about Deadpool and Wolverine!”

“What does that movie have to do with anything?!”

“Fuck dude, what did I just say about nut shots!”

“Then get out of my kicking radius, and your non-existent nuts will be safe!”

“BOYS!”

Both his sons quickly pause their arguing, giving their father their undivided attention.

“Leonardo, go help your brothers.” Splinter demands. “I will watch Purple. He has not had a moment of free time from any of you in days, and it is clearly wearing on all of us.” Blue gives his father one of his patented unimpressed stare downs.

“No offense, Pops, but how is you watching him, any different than me?”

“Because I will sit in my chair, and Purple will scroll on his phone, and there will be quiet.” Splinter can’t stand the bickering any longer. He knows both his sons will benefit from this time apart. It’s just convincing Blue of that.

Donatello’s gaze is boring holes into the back of Leonardo’s head while his second oldest son matches Splinter’s scrutiny. The rat can see the need for some fresh air battling against Blue’s desire to stay close. But Leonardo is his sharpest son, and even he can admit that his constant presence has become too grating for his brother.

“You need to watch him like a hawk, Dad,” Leo glares at his twin out of the corner of his gaze, “sometimes you can get a little…distracted.”

The new projector, playing Splinter’s same old programs, flashes against the curtain hung on the wall. The volume is set to low, but Blue still looks pointedly between his father and the screen. Splinter doesn’t blame him for his concern, so he tries to put all the gravity he can into his tone, enough that when he does promise to stay vigilant, it seems to convince Blue to place his trust in him.

Purple stays quiet through the exchange, only breathing a sigh of relief once his brother is long past the threshold of the den. He looks ready to lean back into his hard won pillows, but Splinter realizes that Blue had something of a point. Donatello is positioned quite far from him, and he’s suddenly nervous about catching something in time.

“Purple, how about you come sit with me.” Splinter suggests it kindly but firmly, and with a smile– so his son can’t refuse. He pats the bit of cushion next to his legs, “I will honor my promise to leave you alone, but I would be much more relaxed if you were within my reach.”

His boy merely blinks at him, blank faced, and staring at the very spot that Splinter has just created for him.

It isn’t as though his recliner is small, even if Splinter himself is. Donatello had custom made it for him, after one too many complaints about his old brown one hurting his back. It practically swallows Splinter, but remains just stiff enough to provide plenty of support for his lower back. He could even lay sideways and still have some space to stretch.

Splinter recalls very clear memories of all his sons fighting for a spot by his side when they were younger. But it has been some time since those days…perhaps Donatello thinks he’s far too old for such a thing as sitting by his aging father. Yoshi remembers himself at eighteen, and shudders. He’s forever thankful that no matter how lacking his parenting skills might have been, that his boys are kinder to him than he ever was to his Jiji.

Donatello pulls at some invisible thread of his black leggings. Since this new alteration of his memories, Purple has taken to wearing more layers. It’s nearing fall, but not nearly cold enough for the large sweatshirt, black leggings AND socks that his son is currently donning.

Splinter just barely hears Purple murmur a jumbled, “Huh?”

Splinter catches some sort of emotion actively being suppressed behind the bewildered shock at his offer, but it’s hard to tell what it is. Over the years Splinter is ashamed to say, he has grown very bad at reading his own children. Especially Purple, who, if he was being honest, has always been very hard to decipher.

Splinter starts to think the offer will be rejected, when Purple finally climbs to his feet and ambles slowly over. The unknown emotion skittering at the edge of Donatello’s expression morphs into something closer to suspicion. This one easy to identify, especially when it practically drips from his next words.

“Trying to endear yourself to me won’t sway me into falling for your tricks.”

The barb is said just as unkindly as everything else Purple has thrown at his family these last few days. Splinter lets it slide off him like water. He knows his son would (probably) never speak to him like that if he wasn’t stuck in such a painfully clear mode of survival and uncertainty.

“Yes, yes.” He says, untroubled. “Come sit and I can finally lean my chair back.”

Donatello watches him the entire time as he cautiously settles into his spot. He yelps when Splinter grabs his ankles and pulls his son’s long (thin, still much too thin) legs across his lap. For an instant, Splinter freezes, growing worried he’s overstepped. The act had been done without a thought. It’s the way Purple has always liked to sit, finding it more comfortable than any other way. Donatello preferred to keep his distance. A deviation from his siblings, for sure.

Michelangelo would press as close as possible, two sides smushed together like a hug, only without the constricting limbs (though, if Orange were ever to fall asleep in Splinter’s chair, those too would eventually find their way to catching him in their hold).

Leonardo preferred to sit on the arm of his chair, never staying still for long enough to find a comfortable position. But when he slumbered, after a long night of binge watching Novela’s with Splinter–he would curl up, head in his father’s lap, limbs held tight to his body. Like he was afraid even that was asking for too much.

Raphael, his poor, eldest son, hadn’t sat with him in so long. Splinter could still remember a little turtle tot in red, climbing up and splaying out onto his lap when he needed a good cry–or just a moment of peace from his much too loud siblings. Sadly, it wasn’t long before his Red was too big, and his father too small to provide such a refuge. The last time Raphael needed consoling; after the Krang, Splinter had been forced to climb up onto his own son’s knees in order to reach and wipe away his tears.

In the few rare instances of Purple seeking out physical touch, this was all he would allow. Legs stretched over his father’s lap, but his upper body was always off limits. Pulled just far enough away from the threat of any sort of long term contact.

Splinter used to wonder if Purple was scared to ask for anything more, like Leonardo, or if he thought depriving himself of a comforting hug would make him seem stronger, like Raphael, or even the rare times when Michelangelo wished to appear more mature and refused to be comforted. Eventually, Splinter caught on to the truth. His son was asking for comfort, in his own unique way. He was content with the minimal amount of closeness, as long as he felt like he was able to dictate the terms.

But one thing Purple would always allow his father to do, was loop his fingers around his ankles. Trusting the grip would hold his legs in place and keep him stable. He once said the pressure was small enough that it wasn’t overwhelming, but strong enough that it could ground him when everything became too much.

Even now, the act of reaching out to pull his son’s long legs up had been so instinctive. When Splinter looks over and sees the uncertainty still on Purple’s face, he knows he’s pushed too far too quickly.

It’s a risky move, but he’s already pushed, and it’s something that never fails, not once since he’s discovered it.

Purple has always been the most ticklish of all his brothers. Another thing that never really helped his sensory issues. But Splinter long ago discovered that there was a particular spot, which could always earn him a giggle and a brighter smile.

Splinter grips the meat of Donatello’s right knee and jiggles it back and forth. The silly action seems to do the trick and knocks something loose in his son’s overwrought head. His gamble pays off spectacularly, and Splinter is overjoyed to see a small smile erase most of the uncertainty clouding Donatello’s face. It isn’t a full peal of laughter, but the wariness makes way for something softer, and the huff of air from his nose is just as rewarding as a full body laugh.

His boy rests his shoulder and head onto the cushioned back of the chair and Splinter presses the button that will lift up the leg rest, and recline them both into a more restful position.

After a few moments of quiet, Donatello slowly pulls his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Even without looking directly at him, Splinter can feel his son watching and waiting for the reprimand he thinks will come. Instead, Splinter raises the volume of his show just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to completely shatter their peace. He wants to make Purple feel more at ease; like he’s not being constantly surveilled–not providing more overstimulation.

They sit like that for some time. Splinter rubs a thumb back and forth across the meatier part of Donatello's calves. He’s learned that repetitive touch is the best kind of grounding technique for Purple. The patterned motion always worked to calm his nerves.

Even still, after only so long Splinter catches Purple lowering his phone.

He keeps his own gaze forward, locked on his commercials. Splinter can see, without looking, that his son is studying him, trying to take apart something in his mind that he doesn’t understand. Splinter allows him all the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

Finally Purple speaks, “Dad…?” It’s so quiet, if Splinter hadn't been waiting for it, he might’ve missed it.

He pauses the repetitive kneading for just a moment, squeezing his hold, and humming in order to prompt his son to continue his thought.

“Can I tell you something?” The inquiry is whispered to him so delicately. It takes everything in him to keep his face open and soft and his movements steady. It’s clear that Donatello is trying his best to remain aloof, but his gaze is locked on his hands that are settled in his lap, the fingers of one pulling on the digits from his other.

At some point he must’ve put his phone completely away. Splinter feels the pressure of having Donatello's complete focus aimed at him.

The tugging intensifies. Splinter wonders if he should reach out, but he’s not sure how well that would be received. It doesn’t look painful just yet.

“I don't know what Kendra is accomplishing by showing me this.” Donatello growls, suddenly digging his palms into his eyes like he can still feel the weight of the screen blocking his vision. “Trying to make me happy, only to rip it all away from me? Or attempting to make me feel, even more like a useless burden than I was?”

It’s the first crack in his armor that Purple has shown in days. A clear sign that he was not as unaffected by Kendra’s lies as he’d been trying to project. Donatello sighs, but as it dies out Splinter thinks it sounds closer to a sob.

“You can’t tell the others…” Donatello looks at him with wet, desperate eyes, and it’s unclear if his son still doubts who he’s speaking to, but Splinter works to ease his fears all the same.

“I swear, whatever you tell me will remain between us, alone.”

Donatello nods faintly, eyes trailing downwards once more. Splinter may have had trouble before, but now the many emotions jumping across his son’s face—fear, shame, frustration, all are easy to catch.

With a shaking breath he whispers his secret. “I lied.” He’s crying now, real tears that he doesn’t even bother to wipe away. The pulling at his skin grows more violent, and Splinter finally interferes to carefully pry Donatello’s hands apart before damage is done. In place he cradles his son’s hands like delicate porcelain and runs a thumb over Donatello’s palm.

“I told everyone that I could tell. That I wasn’t being fooled, but that’s not exactly true. The last few loops have…it’s been getting harder, and harder to remember things— how they really happened. Too much is…plausible.”

Splinter keeps silent. This confession has clearly been weighing on Donatello. He deserves to get it all out, and hopefully feel lighter for it. Even if Purple suspects the family, something is letting Donatello open up enough for him to share his fears.

“There was one loop…Mikey broke…he broke the remote…When I said I didn’t have time to fix it. He threw the pieces at my head. He would never do that, though…right?”

“No, of course not,” Splinter answers immediately, quick to banish the doubt from his son’s mind. Donatello only blinks at him, like his thoughts are moving too slow, and cannot comprehend such a simple, stark contradiction to what he experienced.

“It felt so real…it all feels so real. But…I could feel how one of the sharp, broken corners had cut through my mask and how the wet fabric stuck to my skin with blood.”

Donatello raises a hand and touches the spot where the phantom wound must’ve sat. The pain now gone, but the memory of it haunts his eyes and rattles the tremors building in his hands.

“I thought…I thought I was handling this—maybe not well…But I’d hoped I would be strong enough to last until you all came for me…And now Raph is saying it’s already over.”

It’s a simplified form of the truth which they had tried to get Purple to believe, but even that much clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “If it is over, why does my body feel like one massive bruise? How did you all find me? How long did I last? Was I in there long enough to…?”

He’s clearly scared to ask Splinter any more questions, so he trails off, curling in on himself and pulling his hands up to his chest, pressing there, as if checking to make sure he feels something still beating.

Splinter decides he’s waited long enough and slowly pulls Donatello out of his hunched ball and guides his head to his own chest, making sure his ear is aligned against his own pulsing heartbeat.

Donatello resists slightly at first, but the moment he’s close enough to catch the sound, his breath catches and he glues himself to the spot.

“I don’t want to be there anymore,” Purple murmurs. It sounds like sleep is catching up with his son, the exhaustion pulling him down and slurring his words.

Splinter cups the back of Donatello’s head and carefully tug his fur lined blanket down from where it’s been sitting on the back of his chair. The blanket slots over the both of them and Donatello curls even closer to his father, tucking himself into his warmth.

“Go to sleep, when you wake up, you will be right here.” He’s sure to say it softly but with as much reassurance as possible, and Donatello seems too tired at this point to hold onto his doubts.

“Okay…,” Donatello mutters. Then, practically hanging on to the waking world for one final query hesitantly asks, “…Dad?…Do you love me?”

Splinter doesn’t even think. “Of course, my son.”

Donatello’s breathing finally evens out, and Splinter feels a few tears finally escape.

He’s not sure what next steps they should take, or what kind of state his son will be in when he wakes, but Splinter can only hope this is progress. He prays it won’t be undone…but regardless, Donatello is home. Any steps back or forward will be taken together, and that is the most important part.

#kendratello au #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #rise splinter #rise leo #tw brainwashing #slushie writes

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