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burts-baked-bees · 1 year ago

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Okay?

OPLA Sanji x Fem!Reader

{masterlist for OPLA Sanji ongoing story}

Tags: Slight angst to fluff, slight pining, Sanji and reader are close friends and have truama bonded, Sanji has no clue he's in love with reader the poor sap

CW: Launguage, mentions of abuse, slight WCI spoliers, mentions of drinking

“I swear I’m one shift away from throwing myself in the godforsaken ocean.” Sanji huffed angrily as he threw himself down in a nearby booth. The Baratie had cleared out for the night leaving the cooks to clean the line and the waiters to clean the dining room, but halfway through the dreaded cleanup Sanji had both metaphorically and physically thrown in the towel. The dish cloth he had been holding went flying across the room as he put his feet up on the booth he was in and groaned indignantly.

“That old shitbag won’t so much as let me breathe on the line! I’m a cook! Not a fucking waiter!” He yelled, turning his head back towards the kitchen, as if Zeff could hear his complaints.

“You think maybe it has something to do with the fact that you call him an ‘old shitbag’?” A voice came from the other side of his booth. A small smile curled his lips as he sat up some and peeked over the rounded edge of the red leather seat.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt your nap time madame?” Sanji laughed as he took in the sight of Y/n laying on her back with her eyes closed in the opposite booth. “So sorry for the inconvenience, but aren’t you meant to be cleaning tables?” He teased as Y/n cracked an eye open and glared at him.

“Aren’t you?” She asked with a sly grin, earning an eye roll and angry huff from the blonde.

“Seems the only thing I’m meant to do is slowly die from boredom in this trash heap of a restaurant.” Sanji sighed as he fell back into his seat, pulling out his lighter and messing with the lid. Y/n laughed softly before sitting up and resting her arms on the dividing seat. She placed her head atop her arms and looked at him with a mock pout.

“Awww is the best chef in the East Blue all bummed that his dad doesn't like his cooking? Again?”

Sanji snapped his lighter closed and raised a finger at Y/n, pointing aggressively at her with a snarl.

“I am the greatest chef in the East Blue. Even if that geezer can’t see it.” He stated, earning a chuckle from Y/n as she sat up and raised her hands in surrender.

“Easy now, no need to shout at a lady.” She cooed as Sanji chuckled and gave her an angry smile, hanging his head.

“How dare you throw my own principles back in my face.” He chuckled as he began fidgeting with the silver ring on his finger. Y/n sighed and rested her chin on her folded arms again, smiling softly at the mop of blonde hair in front of her. She reached over the divider and brushed some of his hair from his face, earning a soft hum from Sanji as he closed his eyes.

“I think we both know he’s only doing and saying these things because he wants the best for you. Though I’ll be the first to admit, his way of going about it is absolute shit.” She laughed as she watched his lips curl into a smile. He looked up at her, her fingers brushing against his cheek as he moved.

“Yeah, I know…” He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. She pulled her hand back and looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “But you're a stowaway as much as me.” Sanji joked, “And yet I’m the one being treated like a sniveling child every fucking time I step foot in that kitchen.” He huffed as he looked over at her through his bangs. She chuckled as she hung her arms over the back of his booth and cocked her head to the side.

“My dumbass thought I could be a pirate and got stuck here paying off a debt cuz’ my ship damaged the hull of this ‘trash heap of a restaurant’.” She fired back, using his own words. He opened his mouth to speak but soon closed it again as he shook his head.

“Yeah that was pretty dumb.” Sanji joked as he pulled his jacket off and tossed it to the seat beside him. Y/n gawked at him before laughing and reaching forward to hit him softly on the shoulder. He leaned away from her and shouted

“Oi! Don’t damage the goods!”

She looked at him with mocking wide eyes and barked a laugh,

“Both Patty and I would have to disagree with you on that one, lover boy.” She snarked as Sanji rolled his eyes. A calm silence filled the space as Y/n sat up on her knees and looked at Sanji. She could see something was going on inside his head, and she knew him well enough to infer that he wasn’t going to say a damn thing. She studied the way his brow furrowed and noted how his eyes seemed more gray then blue in moments like these.

There was a profound sadness in him that she had only caught glimpses of in her three years aboard this ship. A profound sadness that he had more or less shared with her one drunken night in the bar when they should have been sleeping. A profound sadness that she wished every single day she could lift from him. The two sat in silence as the ship rocked softly under them; Y/n felt compelled to speak, to do anything that might help ease his overactive mind.

“Still, knowing what I know, having Zeff treating you like this can’t be good for the ole’ psyche…”

Sanji tensed up slightly at her words and Y/n mentally kicked herself for making that insinuation. She wanted to help him, but after the words left her mouth she felt a heavy guilt fill her bones. She watched as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath before smiling ever so slightly.

“Trust me, love. I may complain like this from time to time-”

“Almost ninety-five percent of the time."

“Ooookay. Almost ninety-five percent of the time, but nothing is worse than… what I came from.” He gave her a somber smile and pulled out his lighter again, flipping the lid open and closed in an almost rhythmic pattern. She returned his sad smile and pushed her baby hairs from her forehead.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” She spoke softly as she looked out at the empty dining room; the tables were cast in an eerie candle light and the china adorning the tables glimmered like stars. Sanji looked at her, as her attention was placed elsewhere, and smiled fondly. He felt a warmth rise in his chest as he took in the curve of her profile. The slope of her nose, the length of her eyelashes, the round of her cheeks. The candle light of the empty room cast dancing shadows on her face that made her look otherworldly; he felt his smile, and eyes soften as he looked at her.

“Y/n I wouldn’t have told you about my shitty past if I didn’t trust you to check in on me like this every now and again.” Sanji spoke softly as Y/n turned her gaze back to him. She was almost stunned to see the expression on his face. The look in his eyes was, most of the time, reserved for the elegant ladies that entered the restaurant day in and day out. And yet here he was looking at her like that. She brushed the fond gaze off and swayed her head back and forth while giving him an apologetic look.

“I know, but it’s still not my place to dredge up old memories of abuse when I don’t even know the full story.” She responded, playing with the ends of her uniform shirt.

Sanji smiled at her and leaned forward in his seat, one hand braced himself on the seat top while the other reached forward and pulled her towards him. Y/n closed her eyes as she felt his lips press against her forehead.

“I appreciate you checking on me. It shows that you care.” He said softly, his words muffled seeing that his lips were still connected with her forehead. She smiled softly as he placed a loud exaggerated kiss to the skin there before pulling away and holding her face in his hand. “Okay?” He asked with a huge smile. She laughed at his theatrics and moved to stand up, leaving Sanji sitting alone in his booth as he looked up at her standing form.

“Whatever you say-” She began as she reached out a hand to help him up. He took it with a laugh and allowed Y/n to pull him to his feet. “-My favorite Baratie waiter.” She finished as she dropped his hand and started walking away from him, stifling her laughter. Sanji stood there with his jaw dropped as she walked away from him, his shock soon turning into a smile as he watched her shoulders shake from holding in her laughter. He let a chuckle slip out as he pushed up his sleeves and made a beeline for her.

“How DARE!” He yelled as he grabbed her from behind and lifted her off the ground slightly laughing as she yelped and then dissolved into laughter when she broke free. She began running to a nearby table to put distance between herself and him as she pointed at him,

“Not fair!” She yelled, watching as Sanji pointed back at her.

“Don’t you dare get me started on ‘fair’!” He responded as he laughed.

____

Zeff stood in the doorway to the kitchen watching as Sanji ran around tables with that wannabe pirate waitress. He observed in silence as the pair laughed and threw dish towels at each other instead of cleaning tables.

The small boy he once knew, terrified of making connections with those around him due to some dark past he kept to himself, was smling and laughing as he chased around what could only be discribed as a friend.

A small smile curled his weathered lips as he shook his head and walked away, the sounds of youth fading into nothing.

“Not bad, little eggplant… Not bad…”

#sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji imagine #black leg sanji #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagine #live action one piece #taz skylar #opla #no spoliers for the show but slight anime/manga spoliers for new fans

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blood-starved-beast · 6 months ago

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This conversation drives me insane cause of course it's such a them discussion. Of course only workfocused Melinoe and Hades would agree the Mission is more important than actually bonding as long lost family members. Somewhere, both Persephone and Zagreus are metaphorically banging their heads against the wall.

Also "ensure all my reagents are in order" - Mel that's a very autistic response you've got going on there. He's not asking about the small details that you're doing there bruh.

#Hades (hades)#Melinoe #hades II #hades 2 #hades II spoilers

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kkotda · 5 months ago

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holy hell...

sanemi x f!reader. isekai au. lots of pining, emotional exploration, struggles of being isekai'ed. | divider thanks to @cafekitsune, wc 2.2k

Stranger in a strange land adopts a new meaning when you’re quite literally dropped into a world beyond your comprehension. Tonight, though, you are grateful for the infinite blanket of stars above your head. No light pollution, no city noise to interrupt the serenity of a moonlit night.

A breeze tickles your nose and you scrunch it in response, reminded of the reason you stepped outside in the first place.

A futile attempt to outrun your thoughts of Sanemi.

The wind always makes you think of him, something that would surprise no one if you were to be sincere with them about it. You sigh, kicking your legs out in front of you while they dangle off of the edge of your porch. You’re currently sharing a living space with the other single women who tend to the Ubuyashiki household, mostly maids who have taught you the best ways to stay cool in the oppressive summer heat and how to dab blood stains from the sleeves of your robes. Thankfully, they’re all tucked in their beds. There will be no witnesses to your self inflicted angst tonight.

Your friends have all moved along with their lives since being transported to this era, finding happiness and futures. More often than not, you feel like the odd man out, the only one still remaining poorly adjusted to a world that has welcomed you with open arms. The Hashira and Ubuyashiki family have been wonderful and gracious hosts. You’d even dare say that you’ve become friends with most of the people you have met since arriving no matter the cultural and linguistic differences of being a modern woman transported unexpectedly to 19th century Japan.

The outlier for you is a man. No matter where you are in history, what rabbit hole you’ve stumbled down, this will always be your issue. Your emotions feel heavier when you’re forced to lay down with them in the quiet dark of your room so you’ve decided to work them out within yourself outside and blissfully alone.

You wonder what he’s doing tonight, silently judging yourself for not sticking to your own commitment to being alone in body and mind.

One of the maids, Ritsu, teased you about him being off on a mission while you shot her a lok out of the corner of your eye before heading off to bed earlier. It’s unlikely that he will return here even if the mission has already been completed. It’s miles away from his estate, out of the way and impractical.

It would probably be a stretch to call any Shinazugawa particularly practical. You know his brother very well, his relationship with one of your friends has been something you’ve taken great pride in being able to watch and support. They adore one another. They’re safe and peaceful and happy and Genya smiles so often you wonder if his cheeks ever ache.

His brother on the other hand. Harder to read. Even harder to shake. He doesn’t glower in your direction anymore, not now. Unfortunately this means you are now always searching for deeper meaning in every glance he tosses your way. Was that a glimmer of something softer? One of those God forsaken rabbit holes you’d like to travel down to meet him beneath the surface and understand him better?

It’s hard to imagine a world where you’ll ever know. You gently push the heels of your palms against your eyes, exhaling loudly through your mouth. If this were your time you’d simply go out. Shake your ass. Scroll your phone. Do anything to distract you from the fear of falling in love with someone you doubt can ever possibly care as much about you in return.

“What are you doing out here?”

Assuming you’ve imagined his voice in your misguided lovesickness, you keep your hands pressed to your eyes and giggle, giving yourself a piteous little head shake. So delusional. You don’t hear footsteps or movement at all, just the same little breeze that tinkles the ornate wind chime above your head.

“Well?”

The wooden slats of the porch creak and whine slightly, finally encouraging you to drop your hands and look around you, only to be met with Sanemi sinking down to sit beside you, legs dangling in the same way yours are. A surprised smile crosses your face. He fights a twitch of his own lips, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward to create an illusion of some kind of distance between the two of you.

“The better question is what are you doing here? Weren’t you off on a mission?”

He chuckles. It fills you with warmth even though you wrap your arms around yourself, gently rubbing your hands along your forearms.

“Keepin’ track of me?”

You scoff playfully, looking toward your lap to hide a smile but deciding last minute to just let him see it. To show him how happy he makes you by just being himself. Crass and rough and, in his own words, hard. You like him just the way he is, especially when the wind ruffles his messy hair and the moonlight illuminates his silhouette.

“Me?” You raise your eyebrows and point to yourself, still smiling at him, cheeks warm. “You wish. Word just travels fast when you hang out with the local gossips.”

You tilt your head backward, nodding toward the home you share with a dozen other women. They are not merely information peddlers although, admittedly, the thirteen of you have had more than one session of giggling and tittering over the happenings in the Hashira and Demon Slayer Corps as a whole. Dreamily wishing to find someone who loves each of you as much as Tanjiro loves the partner he has found in the second of your friends who was transported here alongside you. Theorizing about weddings and babies and spring breezes and the winter snows yet to come.

There is some gentle ribbing about the shine you’ve taken to the Wind Hashira and the way you literally light up when he approaches you but you are good at playing it off as nothing, tossing away the talk with an easy smile while insisting that this is just how you are. The teasing happens often enough that you wonder if they know about his late night visits; if they’ve overheard despite the pains you’ve taken to keep your enjoyment of his company quiet and your encouragement of him to do the same.

Did Ritsu mention him tonight knowing he’d eventually show up, leaving in a flash before you can even come down from the high of experiencing the things his body does for you?

“I wrapped things up early and figured I’d stop by before heading home.” Sanemi’s posture straightens out when he sits up to look at you fully, face turned. Wisteria colored eyes pour over your face, the fullness of your lips and your undone hair. “Wanted to see ya.” You wear a yukata that you purchased during a trip into the city with him a few months ago, loosely tied with one shoulder hanging lower than the other. His eyes land on your exposed collarbone and travel up the side of your neck, lingering on your lips while he scoots an inch closer.

“I might have missed you.” He mutters so quietly you know that it’s meant just for you and the heat in your cheeks makes its way down your neck, your chest and throat warming in response to the innuendo and weight of his gaze.

Scrunching your nose again, you look away from him and shift where you sit, the sleeve of your yukata working further down your upper arm while keeping you barely covered. “You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean them considering how often you complain about others doing it.”

It’s easier for you to pretend he’s playing a game then it is to indulge that there may be truth to his words. He chuckles again from beside you, the tone as warm as the first time this evening despite your slippery attempts to pare down his words into tricky half lies.

“What makes you think I’m just saying it? When have I ever said shit to you senselessly?”

Answering a question with another question. The two of you probably know each other too well by this point if this keeps happening. You don’t have to answer one if you create another. Then another. You don’t ever have to take off the mask, another one perpetually beneath it even when your brows are knit together in pleasure and you softly mumble his name against his neck while he’s inside of you.

You have a feeling it’s sort of the same way for him even if he insists he hates pretense. For a quiet moment, you ponder exactly how to respond to him. You can’t outright say he isn’t being honest with no proof but you can play it off.

“You’ve said a lot of shit to me, Sanemi.” you joke. He tosses you a glance from the corner of his eye, not quite annoyed but enough that you understand that the poking isn’t going to work tonight.

He slides his hand across the porch to gently grab yours, scarred thumb running along the length of each of your fingers as though he’s counting them, ensuring they’re still in place and precious. There’s no doubt he’s rough around the edges, amongst other things, but he values you enough to stop by after a mission to check on you. To talk to you. To not just fall into your bed like he did the first time, adrenaline pumping and still smeared with streaks of blood across his forearms and neck.

You received a few glances for the state of your futon after that one yet you managed to explain it away like you do everything else. It was an accident! You cut yourself while sharpening the small dagger you keep in your room! You started your period! Always explaining away instead of embracing conveniently placed truths in your lap. Sanemi Shinazugawa’s home with you isn’t solely made in your bed. It’s why the fear he will never feel the same terrifies you enough it keeps you up at night counting stars like petals on daisies and asking them if he loves you or loves you not.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I like being around you?”

An honest question draws you out of your own mind. You feel one of your masks drop and don’t rush to replace it with another, simply shrugging. His hand slides up your arm to adjust your robe enough to keep you decent, a crooked finger pulling airy cotton over your upper arm and upper breast. Sanemi’s eyes remain locked on your face, his hands familiar enough with your body that he can adjust you without looking.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid that if I let you stay you may not like what you find and will eventually leave.” He raises his brows, fighting off a smile. Perhaps you aren’t the only one letting a mask or two fall tonight. “I’ve been in you and sure fucking liked it,” he jokes and you giggle, gently patting the outside of his thigh.

Things could be like this always, you consider. The two of you joking beneath the moon who laughs along with you, his hands on your body. Waking up next to him instead of ushering him out of the door as soon as your legs stop shaking for fear of being tied to him in people’s minds.

What if you just let it happen naturally instead of standing in your own way?

Without taking the time to consider your movement, you lean toward him and gently kiss the exposed skin of his chest, above the scars that crisscross his torso. He wraps one arm around your hips and pulls you closer to him, bodies touching as close as they can without it being obscene.

“Do you wanna come in?” You ask him, lips halfway pressed against his chest. He glances down at you and nods once, that same glimmer of fondness you have previously thought you imagined reflecting back at you when you meet his eyes.

“Will you stay tonight?”

Sanemi’s face further softens and he nods again, not bothering to hide his smile this time.

He lifts the sleeve of your robe over your shoulder, covering you entirely, and holds your hand as you stand up. Rising above him and planting your feet to help him up, the pair of you walk quietly into your adjoining room, careful not to alert anyone who may be looking on. You slide the door shut behind you, the wood gently snapping against the frame that cradles it, and pretend you don’t hear a giggle from the other side of the wall that indicates to you that one of your friends in the house knows what’s going on in your room.

But you’ll worry about that tomorrow. You reach to untie the knot at the waist of your robe while Sanemi closes in on you, cupping your chin and neck between scarred palms and kissing you with enough force you’re helpless to do a thing but kiss back.

Not that you’d want to do anything else.

#wait #give me a second to compose myself #I NEED A MOMENT #just a moment— MY FOREHEAD IS METAPHORICALLY BLOODY WITH THE AMOUNT OF TIMES I'VE IMAGINED BANGING IT AGAINST A WALL #or a desk #softly i promise!!! (but then how does it get bloody? ....good question)#firstly holy crap #secondly HOLY CRAP #THIRDLY i'm a sanemi lover now #I NEED TO FIND THAT ONE LINE WHERE IS IT #'he slides his hand across the porch to gently grab yours scarred thumb running along the length of each of you fingers as though he's-#counting them ensuring they're still in place and precious'#HELLO?????#THIS ONE MADE MY JAW DROP #idk why but like the 'still in place and precious' AND FROM A HASHIRA??? WHO WITNESSES DEATH AND PLAYS WITH DEATH EVERYDAY OF HIS LIFE??#god #GOOD GOD #'he lifts the sleeve of your robe over your shoulder covering you entirely and holds your hand as you stand up' I WANT HIM I WANT HIM I WAN #i have....... many thoughts............ some of which i can't articulate #others need to be sat with because oh my god #I AM HOLDING MY HEAD IN MY HANDS WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING WITH MY LIFE THUS FAR #i'm a changed girl #altered brain chemistry fr #favorited

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whsprings · 1 year ago

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me: the only reason I'd drink that boost is to make you happy and I can't do my recovery to please other people

therapist: very insightful, but my happiness is not dependent on you drinking the boost. my suggestion is that you drink it, but emotionally I do not care.

me: (so I'm not drinking it.)

#cw// ed #once again metaphorically banging my head against the wall

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year ago

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Rigor Mortis (part 2)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 1, Part 3

summary: Your new roommate has... interesting habits.

warnings: sexually suggestive, nothing explicit.

a/n: i think i've realised miggy in this fic is a combo of his movie and comic counterpart. Miguel O'Hara: part-time whore lmfaooo

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lady death, at the cradle of a babe.

You've decided: if Miguel's the Sun, then you're a black hole. Cold and dark where he was warm, to seemingly everyone else but you. Even then, the metaphor didn't carry, and O'Hara wasn't quite the shining centre of the universe you had first thought him to be.

In the dim gloom of a little lamp on your bedside table, you’re left squinting at a crisp white document. Blank; save for a thousand tabs open, and the blue links of a half-hearted bibliography. You’ve got the bare bones of an assignment; left too late, as usual. The rest lies at the tip of your tongue; nips at the ends of your fingers like the heat of cigarette butts, and as fleeting as wispy smoke in an ashtray. To get yourself through it, you’ve resorted to romanticising it all, pretending you're a wistful poet dipping the feathered end of a quill into ink. Writing something… revolutionary; as opposed to the mish-mash of articles and studies you’ve crammed within the last hour and a half. There’s a pounding at your skull: the dull beginnings of a migraine, most likely. You squeeze at your temples, eyes shut – and the thrum matches the thud at your thin walls. Rhythmic, obscene, and it creates a cruel staccato; shaking the flimsy plasterboard that separates your room from your roommate’s.

He’s fucking someone. Loud, like it can’t be heard by half the complex. It's the third girl he’s had over in as many weeks. Not that you were keeping count. For a supposed tutor, you hadn’t seen much studying - despite the bright eyed young women that seemed to be at your doorstep most days. Perhaps you're being dramatic, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the kind of pupils Miguel had had the privilege to “teach”.

You remember the first time the true weight of Jia’s words became clear: whilst banging on the front door after a draining day of lectures.

You’d forgotten your keys after rushing out the morning of, and arrived to a locked door in the afternoon. You had been starving, insides churning with the thought of takeout you’d saved the night before; a greasy bag nestled in the corner of your shelf in the fridge. So maybe you'd been antsy, irritable at a stretch; fist on the door like a divorce lawyer, hungry in more ways than one.

Wasn’t Miguel already home? He had to be, you can hear the low tones of his voice leaking from the gaps at the sides of the door. And.. rustling, the shift of fabric tousled and pillows hitting the floor. It’s then that you hear another voice, higher pitched; gentle and soft where his is baritone. If you’re not mistaken; and something at the pit of your stomach hopes you are, for some reason; he’s laughing, speaking in hushed tones, whilst she giggles at something he said. You bang at the door even harder, hoping the sharp rap-rap-rap interrupts him. It feels like you’ve had half of your college’s senior cohort in the city in and out of your apartment - or, at the very least, the pretty ones. For some reason, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back; and your knuckles sting against the lacquered wood. You’ve half a mind to shout into the keyhole, to tell him to hurry the fuck up, or else–

Miguel opens, brow tight, and wiping something from his lips with the back of his hand. It’s suspicious; he looks carefully flushed, lips plump and cheeks slightly ruddy. You notice the way his head flops onto the lip of the open door; slightly out of breath like he’s done a dozen push ups. And with the way his biceps flex and tense under his open button up; paired with some slacks in a pitiful attempt to look less slutty; he might have. The image makes you purse your lips to stop inappropriate laughter: Miguel on the floor, brows kneaded in concentration as the woman in your apartment looks on, entranced. It feels more plausible than the reality; making out on your couch, whilst her hands travel to undo the button at his waistband.

What doesn’t help, is the look he gives you; like you’ve interrupted something important.

“Oh.” He says, clearly deflated. “It’s… you.”

You flash him a sarcastic smile and push past into the front room. You’ve seen her before: the girl on your couch. Sarah, a pretty thing in Miguel’s advanced Math class, you’d learned from the last few weeks. It’s not the first time she’d been over, but she doesn’t usually stay; rather, she’d drop something off at the door and twirl her hair whilst she waited. You’d answer, because of course he was never home at the right times, and she’d crane her head in for a glimpse of him. The first time; you were struck by the effortlessness of her beauty. And on your sofa, she seemed hardly fazed; the gentle curve of her stomach and thighs spilling onto the tattered cushions, donned in a patterned sundress. Her lips are pert, curved into a knowing smile as she giggles at the scene you and Miguel make at the door.

“Hey, Sarah.” You give her a small wave as you make your way into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. However, you don’t have the energy to dignify Miguel with a response – so you stay silent. He bristles.

“You don’t have a key, or something?” You’re digging through the shelves as he calls out to you, hands on his hips like you’re in the wrong. You can’t help but hiss under your breath. He’s got an attitude, when only one of you had been left outside the door; starved and exhausted. And the other: getting off on your sofa. Poor Miguel, left with a limp dick and full balls.

"Forgot." Your answer is curt, and you don't even bother to look up. You can hear him scoff, incredulous - as if the mere idea was so offensive. It makes anger bubble up at your gut, head still buried behind the fridge door.

"That's convenient." You can't hear the words that come out after, but you're sure it's not exactly glowing praise. You lob a hypothetical grenade over the lip of the fridge door: a middle finger, crisp and clear.

Takeout in hand, and a bag over your shoulder that feels like a concrete block; you drag yourself to your room, without giving Miguel so much as a second glance. When the door slams, you're hit with the full weight of Jia's words; a moment that seems so long ago. Miguel's probably picky about who he tutors for the same reason people swipe left and right on dating apps: he's an unrepentant whore.

The thought had seemed somewhat premature, at the time. You had had little to no evidence: a string of pretty women in your apartment did not a slut make, after all. It wasn't quite enough, just a knee-jerk reaction after a bad day. The most charitable interpretations tell you that by all means, your roommate is an upstanding guy. A model student; who left his undergrad with honours and a disgustingly high GPA, head of half a dozen clubs and societies, and currently getting his masters sponsored by a prestigious biotech company in the city. He’s a chronic overachiever, more or less. All things you've learnt from the people he’s tutored, small talk in between sessions (and they’ve all been nice enough). It seems a little more than convenient that the prettiest ones end up in your apartment - in his bed. And yet, you can’t get a straight answer from the man himself. Favours for a couple of friends, he says every time you complain.

With the noises you hear from the room over, you wonder how he treats the friends he really likes.

You think he’s doing it on purpose. That’s the only explanation you’re left with as you massage your temples in desperation. A steady pounding, that makes the shared wall shudder. Interspersed with graphic moans, the higher pitched panting of his partner; Yes Miguel and Just like that; seems to blend with his groans. Sleep pulls at your eyes, and you want to scream into the pillows. It’s muffled, but you can make out his voice beyond the wall; low, hushed tones that makes desire pool at the base of your stomach. And you’d rather die than admit it; but you zone out for a moment, a little lost in the haze of a daydream. God, his stamina. It feels like they’ve been going for hours, obscene grunts and groans spilling into your room. The wide span of his shoulders, the way light is cut at his jawline - and you wonder what he’d look like on top, or the sounds he’d make underneath.

Shaking your head, you try to convince yourself: it's the lack of sleep that makes you think of the way his hands would feel on your waist.

~~~

The honeymoon stage, if there ever was one, was well and truly over.

In the morning, you’re woken up by the thud of the front door. Laptop cracked open on the covers, you shift to wipe the drool crusted on the side of your mouth. The good news: you remember getting down a couple thousand words before fitful sleep. Not to a great standard, of course, but as your deadline approaches, you’re grateful for whatever you can scrape together. Stretching, your back creaks with the memory of last night: hunched over your laptop, barely able to concentrate. Still in pyjamas from last night, you pad into the front room, looking for water to satisfy your dry mouth.

The bad news: you’re met with Miguel on the sofa, splayed out on the cushions lazily. There’s a mug of something on a side table, which he’s clearly neglected; eyes closed, and an arm drawn upwards to expose the tan skin of his chest. He’s wearing nothing but loose plaid pants, hair a mess and frustratingly peaceful. For once, he’s not wearing the perpetual frown you’ve been subjected to for the past few weeks, and he looks five years younger as a result. You tilt your head to the side – like a mere 90 degrees would make him look any different – and you can’t believe this was the man who was terrorising you the night before. He looks… cute. Innocent, almost.

The sight makes you scoff. You snatch a glass from the cupboard with a clink-clink, and he stirs. You watch him stretch as you fill it; a mop of brown peeking over the back of the couch. He peers over, groggy and seemingly confused.

"....When did you get back?" His voice is gravelly, heavy with last night's sleep – or lack thereof. You ignore the feelings it stirs up; pleasant and comfortable and domestic.

"Good morning to you too, " You say it under your breath but he hears; catches it and holds it at his chest like a songbird. One hand over his heart, he smiles, wide; a lazy, sarcastic grin, but it still makes your face heat up. It's too damn early for this, you think. "I wasn't… for fuck's sake… I came back last night."

"Oh." He frowns, sweeping into the kitchen, and opening up the cupboard.

"I couldn't sleep." Miguel's not stupid, and you wait for him to take the hint. "There was… too much noise last night."

"So that's why you're up early." He clicks his tongue. "You don't have a lecture to be late for?"

"You don't have another girl to fuck and ignore?" Without missing a beat, you snap at him – too tired and annoyed to entertain it.

"Ouch." It's blaise, thrown over his shoulder without a second thought. He doesn't even look at you, head buried and eyes scanning the shelves – looking for his morning coffee, no doubt. He finds it, opening the packet and elbowing you in the process, and you give him a glare. Did he have to do that right next to you?

You catch the ghost of a smile on his face.

"...Miguel?" You say; quietly, because you can't quite find your next words.

"Hmm?" He hums, fiddling around with the machine; a ritual you've only caught glimpses of.

How do you tell your roommate you can hear him have obnoxious sex through thin walls? Well, probably by opening your mouth and saying it, but anything resembling your true feelings dies in your throat.

He doesn't prompt you to finish the question, choosing to let the silence wash over you both. The clattering of a spoon against ceramic is the only noise in the little kitchen. It's not something you hear too often - never waking up at the same time as Miguel through a combination of coincidence and sheer willpower. Naturally, your routines are asynchronous - a half step, half-hearted jig to crashing music. That is to say: if you and your roommate were partners in a… ballroom, perhaps: you’d be stepped-on-toes and two-left-feet on the dancefloor. Disastrous, to say the least.

And yet, half-asleep, you watch as he pads around the kitchen; poking into cupboards and bringing out the ingredients to a hearty breakfast. Eggs and chorizo and tortillas; your stomach rumbles at the thought of a proper cooked meal. Ever the stereotypical college student, your usual food has mostly been instant noodles and leftovers. Maybe you’re just tired, but he makes the drawers and fridge shelves seem bottomless. It’s clear Miguel eats and he eats well – because of course he does.

“Could you…” You jump a bit when he places a gentle hand at your waist, moving you to the side as he reaches for a chopping board on the counter. “Sorry. Do you mind?”

It’s brief, but the fleeting touch fucks with your head as he cooks. Flashes of the night before run up your spine, electric. You watch his deft fingers fly on the chopping board; slender, a wide palm covering the span of a large pepper. How would they feel on your waist – properly – at the crook of your back, or at your thighs? Sighing, you chew the inside of your cheek and lean your head back against the wall. You feel the whispers of another headache. It's much too early for this.

He puts a pan on the stove. Shirtless, despite the heat of the spitting oil, and he pops a piece of a bell pepper in his mouth with a little smile that makes you roll your eyes. It's smug, somehow, like he knows something you don't – like he knows exactly what he did yesterday (or rather, who) and he’s enjoying your reaction.

Except: you’re exhausted, and he’s giggling like you’ve caught a kid with cookie crumbs on their face, empty jar in hand.

It’s a quiet he sits with, comfortable; moving around the space with the kind of familiarity that comes with time. It makes you wonder just how long he's been here, which other roommates he’s terrorised over the years. Maybe, Miguel’s got a reputation, and there’s a Yelp review sitting somewhere you’ve neglected to read.

“Did you see her leave?” He still doesn’t look at you. Instead, his eyes are trained at the eggs on the pan, onions and veg making a lopsided smile in the runny yolk. Even his food seems smug.

“Her?” You frown, not quite following.

“...Katie?” He says it like it’s obvious, as if her name alone should set off half a dozen bells in your head. It’s Katie, this time - not Jia, or Sita, or the slew of other girls he’s been fucking in the past few weeks alone.

Your eye twitches. Involuntarily, of course, but it feels like your body is physically rejecting his bullshit.

“I didn’t know she stayed the night.” A lie, obviously. You heard her well enough through the walls, not even a couple of hours ago.

“S’okay,” He shakes his head, nonchalant. You trace the curve of his shoulders and gentle slope of his plump lips. “I would’ve called her an Uber, or something.”

“You’re a gentleman, Miguel.”

And he laughs, a deep rumble that rings off the tiles. Admittedly, you like the way it sounds, and the way his eyes crinkle up into crows feet. He’s pretty, you think. In an annoying kind of way.

Oh, fuck him. You get closer, and stick a fingertip into the rich red of the pan. Wrapping your lips around it, with the heat of Miguel at your back, and yes, it's fine. Okay, fucking incredible – you know, nothing you haven’t tasted before.

Making eye contact, you watch him blink in surprise. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of himself; not dripping with the arrogance of a few minutes ago. Not wanting to give anything away, you keep your face steady.

"Needs salt, I think."

The spell is broken and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I've seen the crap you shovel into that big mouth of yours… ¿mi mamá no me enseñó a cocinar para que vengas a decirme que sabe mal…?"

[My mom didn't teach me how to cook so you can come here and tell me it tastes bad…?]

It's your turn to smile at the sweet taste of revenge. Not enough to fuel the next couple hours of essay writing, but a small victory nonetheless. You flash him pink tongue, and watch as his gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second.

"More salt?" He scoffs. "You wouldn't know good food if it bit you on the ass."

It's childish, but he chucks a tea towel at your head; and you narrowly miss it.

"Asshole." You spit out, frustrated. Your stomach grumbles, loud, and you watch his face crack, amused.

His lips curve into a shit-eating grin. "Idiot."

Face tight, you storm out of the kitchen.

You're holed up in your room for the rest of the day; only leaving for snack and toilet breaks. Luckily, Miguel doesn't disturb you, except for a full plate left outside your doorstep in the morning. It tastes delicious; warm and homely, but you'd rather pull your teeth out than see that stupid fucking grin on his face. Instead, you give him a grudging thanks, shrugging as if to say: it was somewhat edible.

And when you hit send on your essay, with a whole 11 minutes to spare, you sigh in relief. You got through it, eventually; even though your roommate is trying to kill you, your new apartment is falling apart and you're failing half your classes already. But you're through the day, and approaching the end of the week with minimal emotional damage. Key word: minimal.

In the warmth under the covers of your bed, it makes you think. It can't get any worse, right? It won't – it can't.

Something shifts. Like a rip in the space time continuum or a malevolent god, the universe snatches up that thought; ripe and ready to spit you back out onto the fire.

~~~

You wake up and something feels off, already. For one, light streams in through the blinds, a slight chill from the open window. It’s peaceful, and the first thing you hear is the song of morning birds just beyond the glass, instead of cars and clattering garbage trucks.

But it’s a Friday, and you’ve got that 9:00am; the one you were insane enough to sign up for at the beginning of the semester. What you should be hearing is the call-for-war of your alarm; the one that slaps you square across the face and wakes you the fuck up. On time, of course, but still the kind of sound that strikes fear into the hearts of grown men. Groggy, you wipe the sleep from your eyes. And then you frown. The lilting chirp of songbirds (well-fed pigeons that shit all over your windowsill, large enough to be classed as biological weapons), instead of your alarm…?

Your hands go cold, and dread creeps in. Reaching for your phone, you click it on and it shuts off just as quickly. You’re met with the red icon of a dead battery. Fuck.

Leaping out of bed, you rush into the hallway. From there, you see Miguel; out of his workout clothes and flitting in and out the kitchen. Except usually, at this time he’s just coming back from his run and banging at the door to hurry you out of the shower. He spots you and furrows his brow in confusion.

“Aren’t you meant to be…?”

You don't let him finish, and call out. “–What’s the time?”

He looks at his watch. “Uhhh… quarter past 8?”

“Fuck!” It erupts out of you, and you bite down the rest; opting to dart back into your room.

Miguel gets closer, pops his head towards your door; in the careful kind of way someone might approach a sleeping bear.

“Are you–”

When you open it in a robe and toiletries bag in hand, he’s there; tentative, and slow, and in your way. A beat passes and your eyes widen, incredulous. Like a fucking lump of coal, he’s slow on the uptake.

“...Move.”

You push past him into the bathroom and he throws his hand up to surrender. You’re the oddest person he’s had the pleasure (?) of sharing an apartment with, he thinks. Mostly harmless, but hard to read.

The shower sputters to life, changing from hot to ice cold in a second. You grit down a scream, powering through it until the suds wash off. Sheer resolve makes you towel off and change in record time.

You’re grabbing your bag and chucking whatever you can find in the fridge onto bread. Whilst making a crude sandwich, you’re distracted – going through the calculations in your head. You’ve got a train to catch in about 20 minutes, and if you keep a brisk pace you can make the walk in 15. When you switch subway lines to get across town, it’ll be tight, but you can make it up by cutting across the barriers and keeping those elbows sharp on the stairs. God forbid you miss the transfer, because you’ll have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one and–

Miguel watches by the doorway, a little amused. So caught up in your own world, you don’t notice. He takes a sip of a mug of hot coffee, and you look up. Your face, cute and all scrunched up as you concentrate; but he can’t help but enjoy the flash of displeasure on your face.

“Don’t want to hear it.” You’re spreading butter aggressively, if there was ever such a thing.

He shrugs. “...I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear it, Miguel. You’re thinking out loud, and…” Wrapping up your meal in tinfoil, you stuff it into your bag. “...I don’t have the time to tell you to fuck off.”

With a little gasp, he clutches at hypothetical pearls. He gives you a sarcastic grin before you’re off – slamming the front door in your wake.

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #eventual smut #angst #kat_writes😼#rigor mortis 😼

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abstractnaturaldisaster · 4 months ago

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is it over now? (was it over then?)

part eight

part nine: see you come running

Eddie was slowing realizing that introducing Robin and Nancy to the Corroded Coffin crew was the perfect way to lose all of his sanity in one go. Eddie had continued chatting with Robin and bouncing ideas off of her but nothing was clicking and Eddie finally broke down and decided the whole crew needed to come together over pizza to write and score some not cheesy but totally grand gesture worthy songs for Steve.

Eddie's label wasn't thrilled with the abrupt u-turn from an angsty heavy break up album to a single song in that vein and then sappy love songs for the rest of the album but thankfully Corroded Coffin had earned enough cachet over the years that Ronnie was able to convince the label that the songs would still have their signature flair just less angsty and more romantic -- more I would bleed for you and less I would watch eagles rip out your intestines and laugh.

As a group, Corroded Coffin was generally ambivalent towards love most of the time. Ronnie was not interested in dating much more content with her plants and foster kittens. Jeff had been dating the same girl since kindergarten basically and while she was lovely and totally worth swooning over, Jeff had gotten his cheese out early on through middle school notes passed through lockers. Frank and Gareth kind of fluctuated between meeting people at shows and trying whatever fad dating site existed for celebrities at the time but hadn't had serious partners in several years.

All that to say, Eddie was fucking banging his head against the wall for the fifth time in so many hours trying to find another rhyme for love that wasn't glove or shove and his bandmates had taken to throwing little pieces of things into his rapidly frizzing messy bun. They needed reinforcements.

By the time pizza and the girls arrived Eddie was laying upside down with his head dangling off the couch singing an over the top version of I Miss You and hoping none of his friends ever told Tom Delonge. Robin and Ronnie promptly cut him off so his hair didn’t land square in the pepperoni.

"Alright let's get the show on the road," Nancy stated after she had ushered the group together onto couches in some semblance of order after the empty pizza boxes had been bussed.

"You can't rush art, Nancy," Eddie snarked which was probably overall a little too daring based on the look Robin sent him.

"But you can actually write something down instead of flipping through Steve's instagram and sigh over his hair," Ronnie responded earning her a high five from Robin.

Nancy had brought over a big flipchart and colored pens and was starting to jot down ideas that were being thrown around the room. So far Eddie had added a doodle of himself looking up at Steve but hadn't really contributed anything else to the board.

"What are you guys known for?" Robin asked.

"Uhm mostly spooky shit and more recently a break up song that low key ruined my life?" Eddie answered.

"What Eddie means to say is that we generally write fantasy based albums that have some sort of an overall theme or story and tend to be a heavily metaphored summation of something one of us was dealing with," Ronnie clarified after thumping Eddie on the back of his head.

"Examples?" Nancy asked.

"So our debut album was basically growing up in our small town and not fitting in but told through the metaphor of the nine circles of hell," Jeff piped in.

"Definitely aren't beating the satanist allegations back home, fam," Gareth chimed in from the kitchen.

"Okay so why don't we do Steve and Eddie's story through a metaphor y'all haven't done yet. Greek myth?" Robin suggested.

"Already done that," Ronnie answered.

"Lord of the Rings vibes?" Nancy threw out.

"Second album," Frank answered.

"Constellations?" Robin asked.

"Fourth album," Jeff said.

"Okay well what haven't you done?" Nancy was growing impatient with twenty questions.

"Eddie, I think it might be time to pull out the original Munson Mythology," Gareth said through a mouthful of cold pizza.

"I feel like there's a story there," Robin prodded.

"I mean, kind of. So I think y'all might know some of this but my family is mostly from Appalachia and I moved with my uncle to a bigger city where I met the rest of these guys so he could get a job at the plant instead of in the coal mines. We all became friends because we were part of a ttrpg group in school and I ran a campaign based a lot on the old stories Uncle Wayne used to tell me about the mountains. It became nicknamed the Munson Mythology and we've been thinking about putting it into an album basically since we started but I could never get it to sit right and our label wasn't the most excited about americana and metal," Eddie summarized as succinctly as he could.

"I think we could get them around to it now. Especially with how popular the single got. We could do a whole like americana cryptid vibe and keep it kind of spooky but ultimately romantic," Ronnie added.

"No pressure though, Eddie. I know Steve is already a personal subject matter but talking about your family lore adds a whole 'nother layer. We'd understand if you wanted to go another direction," Jeff said.

"I think I might be ready for it, guys. I mean Steve's the closest I've come to finding home outside of the mountains and it's something different than we've done before. I think Gare might be right. It's probably time," Eddie said.

"Then I guess we are writing a metal appalachian love story, friends," Robin clapped her hands as if to indicate it was time to get to work.

"Alright, Eddie. Time to tell us some stories," Nancy said.

"What do y'all know about skinwalkers?" Eddie asked as he settled in to tell some folktales.

***

through a random twist of events (aka someone actually wanting to find my fic which holy crap is so flattering omg) i've come back to this work. thanks anon for kicking me back into this au which is so fun to write. the boys will be back together soon just wanted to add some buddy hijinks as i think Ronnie and Robin would be cautious besties and i wanted to see that happen.

also it's been over two months since i worked on this so if you see plot holes no you didn't. one of these days i will put this up on ao3 and go through and make sure i'm consistent with everyone's backstory but for now just go with it. :p

it is a truth universally acknowledged for some reason i absolutely suck at tagging. i think i have been consistent but all these parts should be tagged "was it over then ficlet" if you have trouble finding them. i also might have to work on a master list situation as i will probably not get better at tagging anytime soon. but here we go:

@lololol-1234 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zombiethingy @grtwdsmwhr @dreamercec @anne-bennett-cosplayer @strawberryyyenthusiast

@mensch-anthropos-human @kal-ology @ttyrussss @kristmkris @starman-jpg @wonderland-girl143-blog @child-of-cthulhu @legalmenace87 @adealwithher @practicallybegging

@lunaraquaenby @stripey82 @lexyvey @goodolefashionedloverboi @mothmamhasyourlocation @mugloversonly @sherrylyn0628 @steddieinthesun @wonderland-girl143-blog @counting-dollars-counting-stars @bookworm0690

@knightly-reblogs @rjwinterfell @kcsplace @y4r3luv @thedragonsaunt

#steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie #don't worry robin will fix it #angst #angst with a happy ending #rockstar eddie #actor steve #was it over then ficlet

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vbs-akito · 1 year ago

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.okay well this one was a hit. i am metaphorically blasting kikuo and muship with you all.

i need to lay down face first on a wooden floor and blast my concerning vocaloid songs playlist and let the music consume me. i'm doing so well tonight

#textposts #banging my head against a wall because i can't just cuddle toya and ignore my emotions because i'm not at biters anymore #metaphorically #for now

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leebrontide · 2 months ago

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I don’t know how else to say this…you’re following me. At some point I said something, and you decided to”yeah I can try out having this persons thoughts on my dash” and at least till now, you’ve let me stay.

Something I said was of value to you. A lot of you. Several thousand of you, for some reason.

Which is really, really nice.

And every day I feel a bit like I’m banging my head against the wall, trying to figure out how to say…whatever you wanted from me is in my books.

But better. Fully considered and proofread and way more in depth than even my lengthiest posts. With crying and metaphor and all these characters that the people who read them love.

This isn’t me trying to guilt anybody into picking up my books. Nobody has to- my mom hasn’t even read them and that’s fine. It actually is!

But when marketing doesn’t work I default to the bare honest truth. Just said as plainly as I can figure out how to.

So whatever you followed me for- whatever you wanted from me- (and maybe you don’t remember. I almost never remember the reason I started following anyone in particular) but whatever it is, it’s in the books.

Cause the books very very VERY much come from me.

And like the ebooks are $0 for book 1 and $5 for book 2 and taken together that is just SO MUCH BOOK for $5.

People who read them love them. But I don’t know how else to get people to read them.

But you invited me here, so please consider looking at them.

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sparrowrye · 7 months ago

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Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 28 (fixed)

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 28: my turn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adam had tied me to a chair in an empty, stale, and cold metal room, then left me. I was alone with a headband strapped on to keep my magic away. My connection with Alastor was slow to return, strands gradually stringing together and re-tying the knots. It wasn't entirely gone, to my great relief, but it took a lot of time for it to mend itself.

Some time later, when our connection was a bit stronger, I felt him panic. My own panic rose in my throat as I tried wrenching my limbs out of the tight ropes pinning them to the chair. This was all part of Blackwater's plan. It had to be. He was trying to separate us.

The thought I might be just as dangerous that he would need to keep me away and contained, sent a flare of pride in my chest.

A minute later, the panic turned to genuine fear. I let out a loud cry as I tried to pull my limbs free, blood dripping down from where the rope dug into my skin. I reached for my magic but it wasn't there. I threw my head back against the wall but there was no wall. The force threw me backwards and I landed painfully on my back as well as my tied hands with a loud echo. My hands throbbed in pain.

Our connection grew stronger, still. Pain came shooting through it. Something was cutting into the sides of his head and I let out a scream, feeling as if he was screaming through me. I banged my head against the floor in an effort to remove the headband but, like before, the important part of the contraption was on the front most part of my head.

I stopped thrashing and went strangely still. I closed my eyes and pushed through the pain of our connection. His presence was far, very far, and his magic was even further. I anchored myself to our connection and veered off. My magic was all over the place but I found myself drawing them closer together. It was slow and took all my concentration, sometimes losing the pieces when Alastor let out another scream. What was Blackwater doing to him?

I was running out of time. I used what little magic I had and imagined lava sprouting from the metal headband. It felt like I was sweating and my back contorted from the amount of mental effort this was taking. I was doing it, but I could lose it within a millisecond if I lost focus. Take it slow. You'll get to him in time.

Trust the process.

My body felt like it was shaking. My head was throbbing from the work, pulsing beneath the headband and into my neck. So close. Almost there.

Alastor screamed again. My metaphorical hands fumbled, nearly losing the balance of it all. I was going to get to him. I could get to him in time.

Just hold out for me.

Searing pain blinded me and I was abruptly thrown back into the chair, all my progress lost. I let out a cry as the pain dared to break through my skull. My magic flew into my hands and the ropes around my limbs burst into flames. I rolled off the fallen chair and wiped my forehead free of...magma?

The headband had melted and my magic was back.

I had done it.

I closed my eyes and clawed my way through our soul connection. Alastor's energy was gone and the connection almost felt transparent. I kept moving, faster and faster, desperation fueling my adrenaline. I tried calling out to him but he wasn't responding.

He felt limb. Defeated. Gone.

My shadow touched his and I melted with it, stealing the last of his energy and power to teleport myself. I stayed in a shadow and crept along the wall, my mind expanding as the shadow enclosed the room entirely.

Alastor was strapped to a near horizontal chair and a surgeon was using a terrifying-looking tool on the side of his head. His entire face and side was coated in dark blood. His eyes were closed but he was still alive.

Alcine sprouted from my shadow's shoulder and took our Dragon form, mouth opening wide along the wall in a howl. Alastor's shadow weaved through the floor and towered behind the surgeon, drawing open his sharp, wide mouth, cackling as Alastor had always done.

I pulled myself through the wall and took my Demon form, the shadows unwrapping my body and separating from each other, still connected to me at my feet. I took a few steps forward and stopped, narrow eyes watching the surgeon as he backed away from me, from Alastor. I'm not sure what he was trying to do to him but I didn't care. Alcine grabbed his feet and dragged him across the floor.

His soul was bright, bright with fear, and I obeyed the urge to wrap my own hands around it. I gave a testing pull, his soul making a horrible sound like chalk on a chalkboard as I attempted to separate his soul from his body. Surprised by this new skill, I let the soul snap back into its original place. A moment later I impaled my claws into his chest right over his heart. His eyes widened, mouth probably agape behind the mask, and sputtered on his own blood.

I yanked my claws out and stood up, abandoning his withering form as his soul slowly merged with mine and came trapped beside the many other souls I still held onto.

I undid the belt covered his eyebrows and caught his head as it limped forward. I attempted to heal the massive wound, stitching his skin back together before he could wake up to feel the pain. It was slow. My magic felt like I was walking through mud. It took a lot of concentration just to stop the bleeding. There must be more of Blackwater's magic dampening technology.

I briefly stopped healing and let Alcine and Alastor's shadow run through the huge factory. They found any wires they could and snapped them. I had to lean against Alastor's still form as all my concentration and energy was diverted to the shadows.

Finally, the heavy mugginess disappeared and my full power returned. I gently grabbed Alastor's face, hands covered in his blood, and continued my healing. I healed it just enough that his skin was molded back together and the bleeding had stopped. I gave some of my energy to him and felt him stir.

"What did they do to you?" I whispered, thumb smearing blood across his cheek.

The door flew open. Blackwater stood in the doorway, eyes widening at the sight of me. Immediately I threw vines at him as he did to me. It impaled my shoulder, my chest, and threw me on my back. I sucked in air as I pulled the vine out, realizing too late that it had huge thorns. I barely healed the injury as I sat up with a groan.

I saw Blackwater on his back, my own vine impaling him in the same place. I wrenched it free and his head snapped up to look at me. He used his good arm to push himself to a sitting position.

"How did—"

I launched at him before he could finish. He casted fire right under me and I used wind to throw myself higher. I landed awkwardly on my back outside the room and rolled to face him. Bullets grazed my arm as guards began shooting at me. I weaved around the pillars of the balcony above and used a 'force field' to evade the bullets.

Blackwater chased me with more fire. He bent the metal under my feet, casted objects at my head, threw wind into my side, and pulled water out of nowhere to drown me.

I casted the water away and threw his form into one of the pillars. I moved to jump but a vine sprouted from the floor to grip my ankle. The gunshots continued. I bent their guns skyward and heard a few of them backfire painfully.

More vines appeared. They laced together and stretched over my head. Within seconds I was in a ball of horned vines.

"You're harder to deal with than Alastor," Blackwater used the pillar to push himself to his feet, "How did disappointing."

"Alastor doesn't cheat," I argued. The vines were uncomfortably close, thorns grazing my arm from a mere shift in my weight.

Blackwater lifted his hands on either side in a shrug gesture. "What was that you said to Striker? Demons don't play fair?"

My stomach dropped. I stared at him through the vines, guards on watch on the balconies and cheers and cries from the prisoners.

I was back in a ring.

I had tried so hard to leave that life behind, to fix my soul, to do better, but it always brought me right back where I didn't want to be.

My body shivered as Alastor looked through my eyes. I saw flashes of the procedure he had to endure while awake. I heard the chants from the prisoners to kill Blackwater, to set them free, to put this unrest to rest.

Alastor had been right. He had always been right. There was no escaping my nature. You could put a sword on the shelf but when it was needed, it was ready to kill once again. And kill I would if it meant Alastor could live, if Reagan could walk carefree with me beyond the borders, if my haven could be safe.

I reached out for Blackwater's soul and grabbed it. He froze. He fought me and he fought me hard. His soul was anchored tightly to his body but the harder I tugged the more his strings stretched and frayed. He collapsed on the floor and the vines around me inched away as all eyes went to him. I sprouted my own vines to pry them open and jump out.

I morphed into my Dragon and clamped my mouth on a hard pillar. Fire scalded my scales and I reared back, head hitting the platform and sending the guards flying. I went into my shadow and flew around the walls. Blackwater spun in an attempt to keep his eyes on me, but I was faster. I used to run circles around my opponents in a small ring but now I was in a large prison with plenty of obstacles to hide along.

I grabbed his soul again. He lashed out with different magic but it did nothing to my shadowy form. I let out a laugh as I tugged again, earning a cry of panic this time.

I was starting to understand Alastor's perspective.

A fleeting thought came to my mind - Blackwater withholding oxygen to the entire prison. A second later I found it took a lot of effort to breathe normally. I tried to dampen his magic, to prevent him from using it, but I couldn't. The way in which he was using magic made it impossible to fight him with normal-styled magic.

I drew in oxygen from upstairs to keep myself awake as guards and prisoners collapsed. I closed his throat and watched him suffer from his own medicine. He fell to his knees, clawing at nothing and eyes searching for me. I melded into my Demon form and walked up from behind. I casted the entire prison in darkness and let the oxygen come back into the room.

I grabbed hold of Blackwater's soul, tainted like black blood, and at the same time grabbing his throat. I held the back of his head against my side, claws digging into his skin so it bleed. He was suffocating from the lack of oxygen, physical body bleeding to death, and soul being held tightly in my grasp.

"You can't beat someone who fought her entire life, and finally found something worth fighting for," I said loudly, voice echoing off the metal walls. His soul loosened as his body began to die. I grabbed hold of his soul with two metaphorical claws and wrenched it the rest of the way, a horrible, sickening, popping sound heard only to my ears, and dragged him far away from the other souls.

His body fell limp and I let it crash into the floor. I pushed the darkness away to reveal his dead body to the onlooker. The guards stared, unmoving. Their great leader lay in his own pool of blood at the feet of Demon. A Demon who didn't give them a cause for concern, who didn't give anyone a cause for concern. But now I did.

I reached through the magic plains and towered above the shaking souls. I caught two in my fingers and pulled their souls free from their bodies prematurely. Their cries echoed in my ear but for the first time...

It didn't bother me.

I caught one more before the others came back to the physical word and made a run for the stairs, locking the metal doors shut.

I spun away from Blackwater's body, feeling his soul fighting against my restraints, and walked into the room Alastor was in. The prisoners cried for help but I ignored them, attention solely on my injured soulmate.

Holding my injured, aching arm, I sat on the edge of the seat. He mumbled my name as I melted the metal cuffs away. As soon as his hands were free, he brought his knuckles up to lazily brush against my cheek. His energy was still trying to crawl back.

"L-Love," he whispered.

"I'm here." I pressed his hand against my cheek and planted a kiss on his wrist. "It's over."

He licked his lips. His voice was void of his radio filter and cracked as he said, "Blackwater. Where–"

"He's dead."

His tired eyebrows moved to make him look upset. He licked his lips before he struggled to ask, "His soul...where?"

"I have him. He's locked away, I promise."

"Use--" he turned his head away to cough, "use others souls...to keep him under."

"I know." I placed another kiss on his wrist.

He let out a sigh and his smile turned genuine. He closed his eyes. "That's my girl."

The phrase caused butterflies in my stomach. I kissed him on the nose to steal a taste of his sweet blood. "I'll be right back."

It almost sounded like a whine as I stood up, his arm falling limp on his lap from the disconnect. I climbed the stairs to the top level where another set of stairs continued upward. I faced the prison and lifted my arms. The locks on all the cells cracked open, the cell doors sliding painfully loud. Red lights flashed and an annoying alarm went off. I broke the earth down on the one staircase behind me and jammed the metal doors shut.

I barked out an order for everyone to gather in the center of the prison. They obeyed, half running and half limping. I waited until each of them had pushed close together and heads tilted back to look at me. I heard men moving the earth in the blocked stairwell.

I felt Alastor look through my eyes again.

Stretching my black claws out, I watched as the ground beneath the group began to lighten up and create a symbol. The purple grew brighter, my energy depleting, as I teleported the entire group just outside the Haven's borders. The guards will ensure nothing happens to them or the haven.

Clanging shook the door behind me. I used a hair of magic to wrench metal free from the stair railing. I leaned against the wall next to the door and waited. I was trying to catch my breath and failing. I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep.

I bent the metal under the door so it curved up and served as a door stop. It did nothing as they began bending the door from its hinges with magic.

This alarm needed to just shut up.

That's when my nose caught a scent. Gas.

I casted the gas through the open hole and up the stairs. I dragged it across every square inch of this huge factory. This place was in ice? No wonder we couldn't find him.

Alcine gripped my shoulders. I melted with her and came to stand beside Alastor. He had clambered off the chair and was laying against the wall, head hanging low and body shaking.

The smell of gas was strong here.

I put my arm around his back and let his head hit my shoulder. I grabbed his opposite leg and drew in energy from my imprisoned souls to run with our shadows.

We came up to the snowy landscape. I drew in a sharp breath as the cold hit me in the face. I fixed my body temperature and let it seep into Alastor's. I and to gather energy and brace myself before every magic action. My mind went with Alcine but my body stayed behind. It took but a spark of fire to engulf the entire factory in flames.

The ground shook. I opened my eyes to the cold snow again. My head hurt as everything shook. I saw the ice crack dangerously close. The spot we were sitting on shifted and it took more effort from the souls to keep myself and Alastor from slipping into the dark abyss. My claws shook from the strain.

The factory was sinking. It was falling into the ice and drowning in the cold water beneath. How deep was this water? The thought terrified me.

I drew on more energy from the souls and painted the ice and snow in my symbol. I wrapped my arms around Alastor's upper body while my tail hooked his legs. My body buzzed and everything felt very light and like we were thinning. Soft, warm grass touched my knees when we manifested.

Alastor withdrew his energy from me and slumped further in my arms. I hadn't even realized he had been giving me some energy. I looked around, realizing I had teleported us to the forest just beyond our borders. I called for help, the wind carrying my cry, as I laid Alastor flat on his back as carefully as I could.

I kept calling, crying, and casting until I felt Husker's presence touch mine. I felt the urgency and the sound of his wings flapping. Relief overwhelmed me. Before I could cry from relief, I fell unconscious beside Alastor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

I like this version much much better. Thoughts?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open

67 notes · View notes

afreakingdork · 1 month ago

Text

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 15

RotTMNT x Reader

I've always thought of this week's incredible piece by @notsotinyblob as the entire fic's cover art~

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis: You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

Also available on Ao3

First 💛 Previous

Again with the glass.

Again with the drink.

Donnie stood over an empty glass.

He was sick of these metaphors.

Without the usual stock of his juice, he had to choose something else.

What a time to be out.

It only added to his misery.

He was miserable in every sense of the word.

There’d been that infernal game.

You.

He hadn’t slept a single moment the entire night.

He hadn’t even been brave enough to go back to his room.

You.

It took the last shreds of his willpower not to take the glass and chuck it into a wall.

That would be childish of him.

The sound though.

It would crack satisfyingly both through the air and on impact.

The shrapnel would then make that pleasant tinkling sound.

Like your laughter.

He banged the counter so hard the glass fell onto its side.

He righted it with so much force he nearly broke it in his hand.

It had to stay upright.

It had to be reasonable.

It had to serve its task.

It had to.

He had to.

He turned in a fit of rage and couldn’t look at it anymore.

You.

Why had he not picked up on your scent?

He hung his head and pressed his palms for a welcomed pressure against his eyes.

What a miserable month.

That kiss.

How could he have so much intelligence and continue to squander it so obviously?

He was better than this.

He knew better.

He knew not to use outlandish excuses just to weasel out the things he wanted.

He had said as much.

He was an adult.

His hands fell away and he stared at the floor.

He was miserable.

He hadn’t known you’d be in that tent with Mikey. If he’d had an inkling then he would have stayed away. Instead he shot through his willpower just to stay cool as he followed through with drilling Mikey for stealing his scaffolding. He centered his focus so intently on his brother when in reality he was taking in as much of you as possible.

Damn his eyes.

He’d go under laser surgery a second time because it wasn’t enough.

All he had seen of you was how you comfortable you looked.

You looked cozy wrapped up in all those blankets.

Buried in a nest that was of Mikey’s making.

Why had Leo called the game of tag?

No, Donnie knew the answer to that.

Leo was meddling.

Leo had been meddling since at least the ice rink escapade.

Leo loved to interfere and he’d only gotten better at doing so in secret with age.

The turtle dove call cooed in the back of Donnie’s mind to mock him.

Thankfully you hadn’t noticed the meaning there, but Donnie knew that wasn’t Leo’s intention.

That call was for Donnie.

It was a heralding that said Leo knew about his crush.

Leo was playing both sides.

Now, after that shit show between you and him in the hallway, you and Mikey had instead taken another step in your relationship.

You’d spent the entire night in Mikey’s room.

He couldn’t bring himself to imagine doing what.

Another flood of anger boiled bile in the back of his throat and he had to stomp out a few paces before he was once again in front of the glass.

That was the point.

This was the right course of the world.

Finally.

You would never have kissed him in the hallway.

How could he have been so stupid to think that you would?

He barely remembered what you told him.

It was something about doing things right.

Of course, you went to Mikey after that.

You did just what you set out to do.

What both of you were supposed to do.

What Donnie was meant to do.

Miserable.

He felt infinitely miserable.

He couldn’t stand the tiny reflection that was twisted up within the glass.

Donnie retreated into his mind.

He went back to his most recent and favorite comfort moment.

The last time he knew joy.

You were on your stoop and safe.

The way you’d nuzzled his beak after the kiss.

Your foreheads together.

That giddy atmosphere of what if even though, on paper, that was supposed to have been your end.

It wasn’t.

There’s no way.

How many times was he going to flee to that memory?

It wasn’t healthy.

Nothing was.

He worked himself to the bone since.

He had to keep moving or the fill of his heart threatened to swallow him whole.

If he didn’t then he would be forced to acknowledge his mistake and he knew where that would take him.

He would go to you.

He would beg you to change your mind.

He would hope you would tell you that you already had.

The two of you would do something out of a romance film.

His dad had once given advice like that.

Trust me. I know love! Give it some time, my sons. If there is a fight, all is not lost. Give them space and take blame. Always take the blame. If you do, then it will be alright.

Donnie deserved an award for willpower.

He staved it all off.

He hadn’t broken the glass.

He kept things as they were meant to be.

His cup was empty.

He preferred juice boxes.

He sighed and wondered if whatever fruity cocktail mix that was sitting open in the fridge would be a suitable substitute.

He turned to find out, but instead found you standing in the kitchen entrance.

It was a good thing he hadn’t taken the glass with him.

He would have dropped it.

“Donnie…” You spoke with a voice that somehow both knew he would be here and hoped you would find him.

That he’d be waiting.

He was projecting.

How miserable.

“Y/N…” His voice bit bitters and he couldn’t finish the journey to the fridge.

“How are you…?” You tried with your mouth squiggled into a tired line. “G-good morning…”

“Morning.” That was the time. “Seems your evening was productive.”

You startled.

That sounded bad.

Was it bad?

His lips felt the pucker of the sour phrase.

Shit.

“O-oh…” Your gaze plummeted.

His heart followed.

He hadn’t meant that.

He wanted to rush a correction.

Was he really so wrong?

“W-when you say it… like that…” Your face was flushed and you took a few steps toward him.

He was glad your eyes were locked with the floor because you didn’t notice how he obviously fought his instinct to flee.

He would take that award engraved.

You touched a fist to your lips in nervous thought. “Donnie… I...”

“It’s alright.” He had to interrupt; he couldn’t keep going like this. He wouldn’t survive much longer. “We don’t judge. It’s part of our agreement living together as adults.”

You made a curious noise and were getting closer by the second.

You should have left; he was giving out an obvious exit from the conversation. “Y-yes , well… Think of it like a roommate agreement. They treat it like one.”

He wanted to back up.

He wanted to smash the glass and run.

It would make the perfect cover.

What if you cut yourself on a piece?

“Donnie.” You tried again, right in front of him.

He jumped like a cat.

You flinched at his sudden movement.

What was he doing?

What were you doing?

Kitchens had purpose.

You shouldn’t need it.

Not unless.

“Breakfast…” Donnie spoke haunted.

“Um…?” You tilted your head.

“You must want to make breakfast… You… I… I’ll get out of your way.” He reached to take the glass with him.

Why?

What use did he have for the empty thing?

“Donnie, please…” You touched his arm. “Wait…”

He fumbled his descent along with his steely façade.

What looked at you was his open and withered expression.

All the misery.

“Oh… Oh no, are you-?!” Yours flooded with concern. “Was it your arm? Is it sore? B-bruised? A-are you hurt? Did I-?”

Not like this. “I apologize. My limb is fine, but it’s been a long night. Use that to excuse whatever moronic thing I’ve said. I need to-“

“Please.” Your fingers hovered just shy of touching him.”If y-you’re okay… I really need to…”

They felt like a chain.

“I’m… I’m not saying enough… I’m sorry. It’s been… a long night for me too.”

He didn’t want to hear that.

He would rather still be chained to that pipe.

He would gnaw his arm off.

He would let blood loss take him.

He would do anything to escape this.

“Donnie…” You struggled.

“Please, I beseech you to stop saying my name like that…” Again, his plea was too raw and unguarded.

You shredded his stupidly tender heart.

Pathetic organ.

While his carapace might have been soft, his plastron was thankfully not.

The damn beating thing should be encased.

“You’re right…” You gave a small nod and sent those lovely large eyes up to his.

He wilted further; you broke him. “Y/N…”

“I told Mikey everything.”

He stared.

“I’m so sorry. I know we were supposed to… let it go. I don’t think I was supposed to tell him about that night, but I couldn’t-! I know you didn’t want to hurt him… I can’t say it didn’t… He… We… It was a whole thing. We spent… the entire night talking it over, about everything. It was so much… I feel like I don’t have anything left.” You gave a hollow laugh. “I’m beyond exhausted… The endless emotion… I’m not exactly sure how I’m even up, but I had to look for you. I had to talk to you.”

He couldn’t move anything.

“I had to tell you. I’m not… I’m not trying to prepare you for Mikey. I don’t know how that’ll go, but knowing him he’ll want to talk to you…”

Even his pupils were fixed.

“I also… really… wanted to see you. I don’t know… I don’t… expect anything… It’s not like anything is fixed between us. I don’t want to overstep and I’ve created such a big headache for you because I couldn’t deal with what happened. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t get over it. That kiss… You… You should talk to Mikey. I’m… I’m being selfish.” You turned and looked bitterly to the side. “I’m so tired…”

“Told Mikey… everything…?” His voice was not his own.

“That we…” You had a fondness to you and you sent it into the bowels of his very soul.

His stomach bottomed out.

“Mikey and I are still friends.” You sent him tepid joy as that was an exciting prospect for you. “Best friends, I think…After everything… The arrangement with his feelings is over and… we’re good. I can barely… believe it. I don’t know if it’s sunk in yet... That it’s real and we’re okay…”

Where all his organs had plummeted, there was an odd comfort to the lead. “You’re…?”

“I broke Mikey’s heart…” You spoke with teary eyes.

His hand was moving up towards your face before he could stop it.

You looked on as if you knew that’s what he’d do and took great care in catching his fingers. “Donnie.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry… I still like you…”

His heart must have stopped.

Everything was too silent.

All systems were off.

“I don’t… I don’t know what will happen from here, but… I’m tired of fighting that one fact. I’ve been…” Your voice broke and you looked up and away while squeezing his digits. “It’s been the worst month. Terrible…! It’s been terrible!”

He gave a single agreeable nod.

You caught it with a sad smile. “I think Leo called tag to help… It was probably the worst way he could have done that, but…” You gave a hollow chuckle. “I guess it worked.”

“He’s maddening in that way.”

“Right?!” You bobbed, desperate and thankful someone understood.

Donnie tracked your bounce slowly and his trek to your cheek picked back up.

He had to see if you were real.

One night of lost sleep was nowhere near long enough for hallucinations to set in, but he had to see.

Stressed systems could ruin so much.

Your cheek felt warm and ruddy under his fingertips. “You’ve been crying.”

“When have I not?” You appeared almost rueful.

“Y/N…”

“I just…” He could feel your energy surge beneath his fingertips.

You were preparing.

For what, he wasn’t sure, but he released you and opened his posture.

He wanted to find out.

You looked up in question.

For whatever reason, he answered the soundless thing with a nod.

You shot forward to hug him.

He sat with eyes so wide it burned.

You didn’t release when he failed to respond and only gave a renewed squeeze.

You were ever determined.

He returned it.

He enveloped you with everything he’d been holding back for the last month.

You made a weakened noise that spoke of worry and anguish and he wanted to smother it.

Instead of scooping you up, he dipped further down to catch more of you.

You wiggled in his hold until he was forced to let up and he thought you’d free yourself, but you only threw your arms around his neck and pulled him tighter.

He adored you.

What a wreck you made his life.

Such a small, but powerful thing you were.

You squeezed him a last time before retreating.

Your lips ghosted past each other, but you shared a look.

Don’t connect.

Not now.

This had to be done right.

Oh.

Is that what you meant in the hallway?

He was so frustratingly stupid.

“I’m gonna go… sleep for like ten years.” You told him.

“Eat something.” He immediately berated himself for the moronic reply.

“Later.” You bowed a small promise. “I don’t think I’ll keep anything down right now.”

He nodded dumbly, still stooped.

You stood a little shaky like you wanted something more.

What did he have to give?

Surely you didn’t want an empty glass?

“I’ll see you around?” You tested, coy.

“After I pull teeth with Mikey?” Donnie wondered.

You gave a small smile. “Hopefully it won’t be like that…”

“I’m barely hanging on as it is…” He must have returned it.

Worry caught you. “I’m sor-“

“Ah!” He reached out a hand and pressed it to your lips.

So warm.

He missed those.

He only had a single taste.

“One apology was enough.” He decided.

You nodded against him and, it wasn’t exact, but you pressed lightly against his hand.

Not quite a kiss.

A kiss.

He was in motion as you started your retreat.

He caught you in a loose tenting of his arms and you looked at him, somehow expectant despite clearly not knowing what he’d do.

He wanted to find out so much more about you.

He dipped down and lightly kissed the plump of your cheek.

He barely skirted the surface, but he sank into it so satisfactorily.

Your skin boiled before he released and when he appeared above you, your eyes held gratitude.

“No more tears, the excess mucus is why your stomach is upset.” He explained with affection of his own.

You bounced with a determination that he’d given you before you moved away. “Got it. Thank you, Donnie.”

“I’ll see you.” He finally confirmed.

You nodded furiously and turned to leave.

“You’ll make it home, right?” He called after even though he absolutely would not be able to help if you said otherwise.

“Y-yeah! I need to go just like this!” You didn’t stop and your ambitious footfalls continued to carry you away.

He stared after you with a smile for a long time.

Only when it faded did he return to the glass.

He was immediately struck by what had occurred.

Everything he had thought was now spun on its head.

What a miserable rollercoaster for twelve hours.

He hated tag.

He hated that he needed to go grocery shopping.

He hated how to this day he still couldn’t tell where Leo’s plans ended.

He hated how much his heart was aflutter.

He needed to think.

Did he hate that?

Since it became a gratuitous stepwise process, he thought, and leaned back against the fridge to ponder the glass.

“Having trouble deciding?” Mikey asked his brother who was clearly asleep standing up.

Donnie roused slowly and without comprehension.

Mikey watched on with affection.

“That… Huh?” Donnie lolled his jaw around exhaustion.

“I was thinking of busting into Raph’s special tea.”

“Raph’s…?” Donnie darted around, clearly trying to take in the space and remind himself of what he’d been doing.

“Yeah! That jug of tea from Japan that Leo got him.” Mikey moved into his brother’s space.

Donnie stepped forward, away, and toward the glass that was sitting out, waiting, on the counter.

“Get me one?”

“He was saving that…” Donnie mentioned absently as his waking mind juggled tasks.

“I get a pass.” Mikey opened the fridge and retrieved the jug.

He held it waiting for Donnie.

The elder realized and went to get another glass.

He set it out and Mikey filled the one that had been long waiting before getting his own.

“I’m going grocery shopping later. You need your juice, right? Also how much ice cream do you think I’ll need?”

Donnie had a hand around his glass and eyed his brother.

Mikey set the jug aside and went straight to take a drink while waiting expectantly for the answer.

“Mikey…” Donnie tried.

“Cause when I was researching getting over it timelines, I saw some that were like half the time you dated, but what if you never dated?”

“Mikey.” Donnie repeated, more stern.

“Yeah, so like spoiler alert: I know you already know, but Y/N officially official final rejected me and I didn’t think about this part…” Mikey set his glass down nervously. “Everyone was like ‘ew, Mikey, you don’t know what you’re doing! Heartbreak sucks! Blah!’ but no one warned me about the pity until Y/N did like… last night… this morning? We talked for so long I literally lost track of time.”

Donnie lowered unamused lids and folded his arms.

Mikey clucked anxious and twirled his glass just enough so the liquid wouldn’t spill.

“Tell me.”

“What…?” Mikey feigned curiosity even though he could feel sweat gather on his brow.

“Tell me you didn’t do this for me.”

“Oh!” Mikey turned in a huff of relief. “Is that all? No! Obviously not! When have I ever realized I was taking something you wanted?!”

Donnie reared slightly and then bowed with irritation as he started to tally the times.

“Uh! Hey!” Mikey waved his hands in Donnie’s face. “Whatever you're picturing. Ne-ver-mind! That doesn’t count because I never even noticed!”

Donnie’s brows drew with more anger.

“And I apologized that one time!”

A little grumbled emanated from his brother.

“And a few others!”

Donnie inhaled to speak.

“I’m sad! My heart! Ow! I was broken up with, not broken up with and I’m strike’n with grief!” Mikey feigned distress with an arm over his eyes.

The whirl of metal said Donnie’s mechanical arms had sprouted.

Mikey winced, but only felt an appendage gently pat his head.

“This is usually the part where siblings hug.”

“Yeah…?” Mikey peeked.

“Yes.” Donnie wore an open expression.

“Can I have one?”

“Yes.” Donnie repeated.

Mikey lurched forward and scooped up Donnie into the air.

The elder swatted at him with both real and metal limbs. “Not like this!”

Mikey set him down, but still clung to him.

Donnie threw an arm around him and finally took a drink from his glass. “Oh, this is good. I appreciate the mild flavor.”

“Right? Raph was right to hoard it!” Mikey chirped happily and tried to get his glass without letting go of Donnie.

A mechanical arm reached out and pushed the cup closer.

Mikey gratefully grabbed it.

“What else do you think we can get into with your get out of jail free card?” Donnie glanced around the kitchen.

“Those French cookies Leo has been guarding with his life!” Mikey bobbed with stars in his eyes.

Donnie produced the package from a mechanical arm with a cocked brow.

“I love you!!” Mikey caught them and tore right into the packaging.

“Yes, yes. Pass me one.” Donnie held out his real hand.

Mikey stuffed three then one more for good measure into his mouth before giving Donnie one perfect square.

“Love you too…” Donnie tried to mumble out in time while taking a bite.

Mikey smiled as he chewed before grabbing his glass to down the rest. “By the way, when are you asking Y/N out?”

Donnie choked.

Mikey nearly spilled his glass as he smacked Donnie’s battle shell to help.

“Stop!” Donnie croaked, fending him off while viciously clearing his throat. “You were just talking about how long it would take you to move on!”

“I mean yeah, but we weren’t dating.” Mikey tilted his head openly. “I said that, didn’t I?”

“Mikey!” Donnie reared on him.

“Didn’t Y/N talk to you before they left? They said they were going to…” Mikey leaned away from Donnie for only the act of it. “Did I actually spoiler alert you?”

“We did not discuss possible relationships!”

Mikey’s smile grew on his face.

“No! Stop that!” Donnie flung himself away in horror.

“What’d you talk about!?” Mikey gave chase.

“Nothing! Aren’t you sad!? You’ve been rejected! Be more sad!!” Donnie rounded the island and grabbed it, ready to gauge which direction Mikey would go next.

“I mean sure…” Mikey slowed to think.

He was.

It stung.

It sat on his chest.

That void cat was sleeping on him and would suffocate him for an unknown amount of time.

Wasting time worrying about the thing he couldn’t see, touch, or do anything about seemed like exactly that.

It would be a waste.

The cat would move on when it was ready.

When he was ready.

He wasn’t alone.

There was also you.

He watched the misery his best friend had gone through.

There was Donnie.

Whatever that quote about hindsight was, Mikey was feeling it.

He had seen Donnie throw himself into his work, but had never thought about why.

Now, across from his brother, Mikey could see the signs of neglect. The bags under his brother’s eyes said he hadn’t been sleeping well. It weighed heavily against his skin where the lines of over thinking were exaggerated by lack of hydration. Those marks sat atop his face where the general lack of shine to his otherwise well kept skin spoke to both Donnie’s slacking care routine and malnourishment.

You and Donnie were drawn to one another.

If being apart sickened you both, as Mikey had seen, then he wanted you two to see each other.

While learning you and Donnie had kissed had been a gut punch, it was hard to imagine that reveal going any other way. There was an inevitable hurt to the action that was bound to beat Mikey’s penchant for talking things out. Though his chest still and would sting for a while yet, he felt settled. He had an optimism in the emotion that would be there and Mikey was okay with that. He would tend to the wound and continue on because there was a new course. He had closure now and the tides had shifted. That was your power and exactly what Mikey liked about you.

The past tense feeling of the phrase struck him.

He hadn’t moved on yet. The lingering feelings drifted around him, but it no longer felt the same. His affections now felt tame and seated where before they seemed nebulous. He had been allowed to pursue his feelings on mostly his own terms and the future in which they were a settled thing looked bright. You always worried that he would leave you, but Mikey had always known that would never happen.

What would change?

It had been something you both discussed. You named tons of scenarios of what your renewed friendship would look like going forward. Mikey wasn’t sure if he missed the nuisance, but nearly everything you described sounded similar to what you already did. He supposed there were certain boundaries, but they were ones he already respected. Together, you would decide how interactions went and he guessed that, once again, labels had some worth.

If his brothers would lift his ban on the label maker then maybe he would like them more.

Love.

Mikey loved the concept.

It was undeniably messy and raw.

It was one of many true expressions.

Donnie and you could have whatever one you pleased.

Mikey cherished the one you and him had.

It was better in his opinion.

Even so, there was no world where he would keep any form of the emotion from others.

Especially from his brothers.

Especially from you.

“… but I’m going to be okay.” Mikey smiled.

The genuineness disarmed Donnie and his limbs loosened.

“Oh and I kissed Y/N, full disclosure.”

“What?!” Donnie squawked and was now coming for him.

Mikey stumbled a few steps before running.

“Y/N… neglected to mention that!”

“Weren’t you afraid of hurting me!? Where’d that go!?” Mikey dodged a swipe of a mechanical arm.

“Your nonchalance has compounded and should be punished!”

“That’s not a good reason!” Mikey again got the counter between them. “It was a closure thing! It wasn’t weird! You didn’t let me finish!”

“What then?” Donnie flat out growled.

“I asked if we could do it! Y/N was obviously worried about what it would mean, but it worked! As closure, I mean. It was like watching a movie through the credits. I experienced every second I wanted to and felt like I got to see it all! We’re good! I didn’t even like it!”

Donnie looked like he might tap his foot, but instead he gave way for a shred of insecurity. “How did… Y/N feel… about… kissing… you?”

“Nothing same as me, though…” Mikey immediately let his guard down. “I did get beat with a pillow for saying it was gross.”

“And you question my irratation!?” Donnie moved testy, but clearly a portion of him was smoothed.

“Huh, true.” Mikey flicked out an agreeable digit.

Donnie allowed some anger to leak.

“It wasn’t the same.”

The older brother studied the younger.

“That’s what they said. They didn’t feel the same thing when kissing me as with you.” Mikey shrugged.

Donnie looked like he’d been struck.

“Cool. So… all good?” Mikey snuck toward the cookie bag. “And… I’m guessing I’m not getting answer to the dating thing?”

“Absolutely not! We will do nothing!” Donnie hopped the counter and dropped down on his brother. “Your face is too round!!”

Mikey scrambled, his arms flailing. “What’s that got to do with anything?!”

“What do you know!?!”

Mikey couldn’t help, but start laughing.

Donnie screamed fury.

“You’re down bad!” Mikey managed. “I can’t even mention Y/N!”

“Stop saying any version of that! I’m not going to do anything!! I refuse!!” Donnie caught one of Mikey’s wrists in a mechanical arm and tugged the younger into a headlock.

“No!! This is Raph’s move!!!” Mikey cried.

“Take it back!!”

“Take what back!?!”

“What is going on!?” Raph slammed a hand to a kitchen wall to garner attention.

“Are those my cookies?!” Leo’s markings glowed faintly as he stormed past the oldest.

“Your cookies?!” Raph gaped before taking in the scene again. “My tea!!!”

“I’ve captured the culprit!” Donnie swung Mikey around.

“What!? No!” Mikey screeched.

“You!” Leo slammed a finger into Mikey’s plastron.

“Why!?” Raph had tears in his eyes as he picked up his half drained tea bottle.

“He’s using his alleged break up to pilfer your snacks!” Donnie gave an evil cackle.

“Liar! It was half his idea!” Mikey kicked to free himself.

Leo slapped both of Mikey’s cheeks together and squeezed until his lips puckered. “You think I’ll let that slide for a breakup!? Those were a gift!”

“You can portal and buy more!” Mikey managed.

“It’s not the same!” Leo squished harder.

“Raph!!!” Mikey whined.

“Wait, did you say break up?” Raph towered overhead.

A bead of sweat dripped down Leo’s face as his eye nervously darted.

“But I thought you weren’t dating?” Raph asked, dismissing his ominous air.

“Ha!!!” Donnie spat overhead.

“Donnie likes Y/N!” Mikey managed to yell and it loosened Donnie’s grip enough that the younger broke free.

Leo caught Mikey the moment he tried to break away. “Finally someone else knows!”

“Wait, what?!” Raph jolted.

“Hold him steady!!!” Donnie swapped out his arm attachments for power tools. “Leo!!!” Mikey screamed and the scene devolved until Splinter came to dismiss them all by doling out tea and cookies for a mediated discussion of the news.

💛 NEXT 💛

My betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 are always working on new works for me and they are invaluable to me getting anything out!

#sunshinemoonshinefic #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #rise donnie #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt Donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction #rottmnt Michelangelo #rise Michelangelo #Michelangelo hamato #rottmnt mikey #rise mikey

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