#slowly learning how to draw Casey

[tk-bubblyboba]

Take some future Leo and Casey Jr 💛

I’d imagine this would happen whenever Leo comes home from a long mission and is very gloomy so his brothers rightfully sick Casey on him

[safficranger]

Fake Scenarios In My Head #32

Casey gave herself one last look in the mirror, feeling a mix of confidence and nerves as she adjusted her posture and smoothed the perfectly tailored suit. The jacket hugged her shoulders just right, and the crisp white shirt underneath made everything pop more than she’d expected. But the tie—well, that was another story. She had fussed with it endlessly, turning and adjusting it, but somehow it still hung a bit crooked. With a frustrated sigh, she was about to leave it as it was when she felt a gentle touch on her back and the familiar warmth of Alex beside her.

Her gaze lingered on Casey’s reflection for a long moment, and a small smile crept across her lips as she took in the sight of her usually laid-back girlfriend looking slightly—and very charmingly—out of her element.

“You really went all out tonight, didn’t you?” she teased. Her tone was playful, but there was an edge of warmth to it, a look in her eyes that told Casey she liked what she saw.

Casey gave a small, self-conscious smile. “I figured… why not mix it up a bit? Try something new. What do you think?” She met her gaze in the mirror, a hint of nerves in her expression.

“It looks good on you,” she murmured, her voice softer, a note of something deeper threading through her words. “Very… compelling.”

She stepped in close, her hand resting softly on her girlfriend’s shoulder before she moved between her and the mirror. She gently brushed Casey’s fingers away from the tie. “Let me,” Alex murmured, her eyes focused as she undid the knot Casey had tried to make, carefully straightening the fabric. Casey’s heart skipped a beat at the calm assurance of Alex’s hands, the way she adjusted the ends with such precise, practiced movements.

Casey could barely breathe as Alex finished the knot, concentrating in a way that made her cheeks flush. Once the tie was perfectly centered, Alex gave a small tug, then smoothed it down with her hand, her fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary before she looked up, a sweet smile on her lips.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Casey asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with curiosity and something more.

A hint of nostalgia softened Alex’s features, and she smiled, her fingers still absently tracing the tie’s edges. “I used to watch my mother fix my father’s tie every morning before he left for work,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping to her hands. “She would do this exact thing—adjust it, make sure it was perfect, then give him a little kiss before he went out the door.” She looked up, her eyes meeting Casey’s, a gentle warmth in her gaze. “It’s one of my favorite memories of them together. It always felt like… an unspoken promise.”

“I think I like this tie thing, then,” she murmured, her lips curving into a soft smile.

Alex’s eyes gleamed with something mischievous, her hand tugging gently on the tie, pulling Casey just a bit closer so that their faces were inches apart. “Oh, I think I like it too,” Alex replied, her voice low and teasing. Her gaze trailed down, taking in the way the tie framed Casey’s collar, the slight flush in her cheeks. She let her hand wander slowly down to the end of the tie, fingers curling around the fabric, giving it a playful tug.

Casey raised an eyebrow, catching the glint in Alex’s eyes. “Something on your mind, Counselor?”

“Plenty,” Alex said, her tone both sultry and amused. “And all of them involve this.” She gave the tie another light pull, drawing Casey so close she could feel the warmth of her breath.

Casey’s breath hitched as another shiver ran down her spine. She held Alex’s gaze, and it was clear just how much this new look affected her. “You know,” she murmured, “I think this tie might come in handy later on tonight.”

Alex’s laugh was warm as she gave the tie one last, lingering tug before she finally let it go, stepping back to admire the full effect. The playful glint in her eyes deepened as she flashed Casey a flirtatious smile, her expression a mix of admiration and desire. “And yes,” she replied, her voice laced with promise, “that tie is definitely going to come in handy later.”

[batsplat]

bat splat thank youuu for saying the pecco jorge rivalry is just for pecco as opposed to having the specter of Vale hanging over it. I want to ask tho, I have been seeing people say the only reason pecco wins the race is because he copies jorge's setup throughout friday/saturday/Sprint. Wanted your opinion on this because I have also heard that Pecco gives decent engineering input and builds his race slowly over the weekend. Was just confused about how much data sharing can actually help, and how much does it help with the ducati specifically!! Have a nice day, love your posts

have a good day too, anon!! and I will gladly spread the pecco narrative independence agenda!! it's something I really do like about the rivalry - expanded a bit in the comments under this, but it's neat to have something that really is Just Pecco's. from inception it's very much his own rivalry, his own narrative... idk, this sport is too reliant on valentino to provide any kind of narrative tension, and it's just sort of refreshing to see this multi-year narrative play out that has fuck all to do with that guy. enough

on the set-up copying, obviously that is bullshit. I mean, to be clear, I'm sure pecco absolutely copies the set-ups of other ducati riders, but that's very much a mutual process - it's something that benefits all the ducati riders, and they've all openly spoken about this. it's very helpful to be able to see the data from seven other riders!! that's a big part of why ducati has been so bloody good!! the main difference is that jorge tends to be faster from the start of the weekend, whereas pecco tends to take time to reach his level. which I suppose makes some people draw the conclusion that pecco is only fast once he's copied someone's set-up. again, this isn't the case - it is just a difference in approaches. points come... well, unfortunately, not just on sunday anymore, but they certainly do not come on a friday. pecco knows this, which is also why sometimes he's not even trying to top an fp1 session - this year there have been quite a few instances of jorge but not pecco throwing on a fresh set of tyres towards the end of fp1 and setting a particularly impressive lap time. there's also nothing wrong with THAT approach, jorge is playing to his strengths, but at a certain point we're just talking different run plans

(there is also a very obvious logical fallacy with this line of reasoning. if you are copying someone's set-up, then by definition you have the same set-up as them. and if you beat someone with the same set-up, then it stands to reason that you were riding better than them. sure, you can argue the success is less earned because your team... idk, just lazed around all weekend, but at the end of the day surely you still cannot be a bad rider if you are getting more out of another rider's set-up than they themselves are able to manage)

and yeah, pecco is known for giving good feedback! just being a good learner in general. here, actually, a little throwback from start of 2019 where pecco's crew chief gabarrini (who also ofc has worked with casey, lorenzo and briefly with marc) compared pecco and marc:

"A driver - all of them do this - starts at a certain level and ends the day at a higher level. What makes the difference is starting again where you were. Few have this quality: it often happens that a driver sets good times - without knowing why, without being aware of how he got there. The 'good' ones, on the other hand, have this characteristic: they achieve a result and know why they did it," explained the chief technician. Gabarrini even goes so far as to compare the MotoGP rookie with the current world champion: "I saw this quality in Márquez: I was with him when he made his debut in the MotoGP World Championship. His ability to not forget what he had learned impressed me. Once he had understood an aspect of the riding style, the set-up or any other thing to be faster, he had it in him forever. Pecco also has this quality." "In Valencia we started with a base similar to the one Lorenzo used: on paper it suited Bagnaia, based on what you could understand when you saw him riding a Moto2 bike. From then on, the normal changes to the set-up were made so that he could ride the bike as he liked. In the meantime, Pecco has worked enormously to adapt his style to the Ducati."

and there you have it - pecco's good at progressively getting better at stuff, including over the course of the weekend. as for the set-up copying thing, partly it's just typical competitive paranoia (even though it feels like the fans are currently doing it more than the riders). back in the day, valentino and jorge used to have the world's dumbest arguments about this every other week. led to one of my all time fave messy jb moments:

god I miss that guy so badly. they don't do ride-or-die like that anymore

the point is that both sides were engaging in pretty silly mudslinging, just kind of for the vibes of it. valentino/jb trying to get under jorge's skin and jorge a bit more earnestly aggrieved. as ever, if you want to read more about how that particular era of jorge/valentino unfolded, see here. this is just to say, this kind of faffing about is a tale as old as time and it's always a bit silly... you had jorge say that it was impossible for them anyway to copy each other's data in the very same answer as he accused valentino of copying his set-up. like, I'm sorry, I am not going to take this seriously. a lot of sports is about having dumb arguments

and yeah, again, pecco does gradually build up his level over the weekend. more of a valentino than a casey, it's fair to say. and that'll hurt him in the sprint format - which I talked about a bit recently while going through casey's latest interview about how sprints are satan's providence:

so yeah, casey thinks that if anything there isn't enough time to work on set-up, and mat oxley thinks it's rubbish to say pecco relies on sprint data to be better on sunday. (as I said in that post, I do find it fun if unsurprising that casey is so virulently anti-sprints, because you'd think a lot of aspects of the format - including less time for everyone for working on set-ups - really would have suited him. keeping it real.) so on the whole... y'know. maybe he just gets better over the course of the weekend. it's been known to happen. there's actually some pretty significant ways in which the current version of the sport isn't all that pecco-friendly, from the shitty michelin front tyre we're keeping for another year to the sprint format we appear to be stuck with. it's just that he also happens to be on the best bike - and the fact that he's winning a lot but simultaneously isn't highly rated by fans makes people want to believe that the current series is 100% ideal for him

a lot of fans are loathe to admit pecco might actually be a good rider so they'll find basically everything to justify that prior. including getting into increasingly conspiratorial territory. but my actual take is this - if pecco has been gaming the system so expertly that he is somehow the only guy able to take full advantage of everyone else's data, so shrewd and cunning that he can spread magic dust on his bike so that he suddenly leaps ahead of jorge, such a dastardly operator that he can steal the set-up that poor jorge perfected on friday morning to fix his bike five minutes before the sunday race, then... good. I support it. I hope he's cheating. the more unearned the success is, the better in my books. long live corporate espionage and foul play

[fumikomiyasaki]

A short Journey Through My Art History

2025 Almost draws near... and its been almost 12 years since I started drawing so I thought might as well share my personal story as an artist, where I came from and how things changed.

---

Around the year 2012 my best friend in school looked over my random school doodles and said I had potential... she back then had a Deviantart account of herself... recommending me if I also want to join her, why not use the name of my first oc... and even if that isn't fully true cause I had an oc before Fumiko... Casey was an oc I wanted to get rid off so fast in favour of her... and so I started as a Tradtional artist that... well basically was at her start using how to Manga books and learning... I noticed Humans weren't really something I felt great with drawing but my Spagetti Anatomy...

Sonic characters... and so the very first fandom I started in was with making Sonic ocs. Slowly my friend also helped me get Paint tool sai and my first drawing Tablet which I played around with... and slowly became happy that I was able to make commisions and get myself some good art of my ocs. I had a great friendgroup I spend time with Skyping and it was a fun time.

However... eventually I noticed the usual meme of hating on Sonic kinda hitting myself... I had fun with my ocs but eventually some blogs adding them to the "bad sonic ocs" Category... kinda made me stop... looking back at them sure they were not the greatest but also only my start when I didn't know what OCs could be... and just my first attempts... Eventually I left the fandom just to get out of the Sonic zone and also get back to attempting to draw Humans again and see how it goes.

I did make much more fanart of games I loved too, testing my waters on what I could do and if I can give my favourite games and media some love.

And eventually I mostly went back to OC making over Fan ocs for the things I liked back then Like Pokemon, Kid icarus and many more.

But what really got me passionate and drawing a lot was eventually finding a small group who looked for people to Join a Nicoronpa Danganronpa fangame... and so I met the Nicoronpa group... a long lasting friendgroup that I worked on for a game with together.

It was a passion project I drew a lot for an especially the Birth of Carol being my main Sona... but eventually... things went busy... people started playing Multiplayer games and I stayed at my single players... my last bigger project was a Fire emblem Three houses House called the Green Fox... and then I seeked something bigger to do again... just to arrive at the Announcement of Octavinelle and Twisted wonderland coming in.

The Birth of Monsville, Hourglass Station Academy and around 112 or so OCs that kept me going, friends I cherish, a place where we could go wild... even if it had its down side... people who said they could tell others what they are allowed to do, Drama, people who you think you are friends with but... then drop you... It wasn't always great in this fandom like it was in some others but.... it did keep me passionate... I felt happy to make more and more inspired ocs of Games I adored with all my heart...

However sadly recently I also notice I am losing passion for it... Hence my recent change.

I went on the become multifandom and focus on the past... the times I made fancharacters to ship with Canon characters or other ocs for fun... the times I just enjoyed Yapping and Fleshing out characters...

I know thanks to work and my circumstances I am far from my old activity and the stuff I put out but... I still want to continue this journey... as a hobby artist who just does things for fun and wants to draw and write her Silly ships where she can... even if I lost and gained a lot... I sure hope that the future goes better... and things slowly calm down more.

Thank you for listening to my story.

[bugzheadquarter]

File Case: EXP-420 - Casey ■■■■

What you need to know about this individual.

───────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ────────────

- Casey's last name is unknown. She never shared her last name in fear that her family could be in danger from Urban shade. Considering how they refused to let her go home after pleading she wasn't even supposed to be there. Mistakenly taking their bus instead of the bus for her once in a lifetime chance, art summer camp. But despite everything... she still complied and went down to Urban shade's base. Despite having zero survival skills.

-While being down there. She slowly learns and picks up new medical tricks. She learns how to tend to small cuts to even broken limps better. She's learned all by herself by simply observing the other expendables tend to either her wounds or other people's wounds. Overall she learns and picks up the role of becoming a medic for urban shade. But those aren't the only skills she develops while being down there.

-She slowly becomes more curious about the entities in the base below. So what does she do? She observes them from a safe distance. The closet she's gotten to observing an entity was Sebastian. She never creepily observes them or gets into their personal space. She makes mental notes of things that catch her attention. Causing her to write down her observations while moving forward on their expedition. She also makes sure to never write things down in front of the entities she's able to get close to as she doesn't want to trigger unwanted memories. (Or seem weird.) This part of her is inspired off of Laios from Delicious in Dungeon. How he geeks out when they come across a monster. The same thing with Casey. But more of when she's able to identify what creature DNA is more dominant in the entities.

-She'll even get caught reading some of the research she finds lying around. Either they're research they've collected to sell or even try and grab a sneak peak of the research and files she finds lying around.

───────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ────────────

Headcanons!!

-Casey can easily adapt to situations. She learns quickly from her mistakes and takes her knowledge and uses them when travelling further.

-Casey may not seem like it. But she's one hell of a fighter. She's stubborn and will use that stubbornness to fight to the death if necessary.

-Casey holds a sketch/Notebook with her that contains all of her observations and even sketches of the entities that help her vision them more.

-When Casey learns about how each of the entities used to be falsely accused patients who were tested on. She can't help but feel guilty... Guilty that she's helping the very people... Who has stolen from so many others. Even looking into Sebastian's eyes makes her sick to her stomach in guilt...

-Casey forces herself to eat wall dwellers... Despite knowing that they were once human.. When she does even eat the meat.. She can't help but feel sick and nauseous. When she returns home.. She can't even look at a nice steak without being reminded that she had actually eaten experiments...

-Casey is actually quite insecure of the scars she's received while being down in the Hadal Black site. It reminds her of how much of herself she's lost... When she could be out in summer camp drawing, painting, sketching to her heart's content... Instead she's away from home fighting for her life to survive.. Not knowing when it will be her last day..

[rednleafff]

Casey J in G?F

More info dump? Yes sir – but this time I'm gonna talk mainly about our beloved Casey j. We all know and love our future boy and wish him the very best life that he can have after all that he went through – BUT – I can't stop thinking about the fact that – he will need probably a looong time to actually settle in, even if he will learn the way of "the simple life of a teenager" – this boy still lost – literally everyone but he also gained them all back – but different – they wont be the same people he once knew because they wont go through the same things – even if their key thing will stay – they still wont be the people he once knew – but they will probably look like them the more they grow up and how difficult is to let go of something when that very something is right Infront of your eyes but  different ? or the survival guilt he must be dealing with? I personally think – he would want to love the simple – less stressful life – but wont be able to – even if he would try to work through his trauma and all – it not something he will ever be able to shake completely - sure he might leave to see the world one day, alone or with someone, and he will get the chance to see thew world he fought tooth and nail to save – and slowly but surely he would learn to love this place, even with it bitter moments. now here it's where I come with Yummi eheh their relationship is actually my favorite – (sorry Leo <3 I love you with all my heart) because – as I see it – When Baby Yummi first joins their family, Casey gets to witness a very familiar behavior from the fam, the parental behavior from Leo, the uncley vibes from the turtles, this baby is basically plays a similar role that was belongs to him back in his time line – he will be a little bit distance from her in the beginning, not on purpose it will just happen- they will share their sweet moments here and there but very few in her first couple of years – until she learns to walk and talk enough that when she gets really clingy to his specifically so he plays along, he really do cares for her, its just – hard- after everything , but then – they share a small moment when she asks him if he's going to join them to some place, he says no cause of reasons, so she claims she won't go either and when asking her why – cause she was so excited to go she will say she wants to go with him cause its always much more fun when he's around – she doesn’t even gives to it much attention, she probably draws or something, but Casey – he think about it a little bit more, Yummi wasn’t present in his time line – she can't because she was created as a result of the Kraang invasion and defeat, and although he saw the world met people that nowadays are alive instead of dead or surviving, saw kids that got the chance to grow up and be born at all – he wasn’t really closed to all that – and maybe that why he didn’t felt a connection to this reality yet? He's always around the people who sometimes he sees the ghost of their past? Other? Self? And he loved them to death don’t get me wrong, but Yummi specifically (up to this point of the story) is the only very closed person to him who doesn’t have "another version of". Casey had to learn to love the world his whole family knew and tried to fight back to save it – but he never had that connection to that world, he was a little bit to stuck in the past, to focus on the ghost of people that wont ever be that it was hard for him to love the present that they all gave him. So – this kid – that little gremlin is one of his first connections to this reality that doesn’t rely on something from his timeline – if that makes sense? It makes sense to me lol. Casey's 20's are ups and down, but from this point forward – I think he will find it much easier to breathe and be present in this timeline. maybe part 2 someday – cause their relationship get's a serious twist when its revealed  and Yummi is part Kraang lol (here are scracps of a comic i worked on but will never finish - it takes place after Yummi's whole - Kraang arc)  

[valentinehorrors]

The Fear of a Father Part 1

(TW: Animal death, lil bit a blood)

He found Casey's question funny.

"Does your dad know?"

Admittedly, his answer was oversimplifying the full truth as that question was more loaded than Casey would've thought.

Yes, his father did know.

And Mikey could smell the fear from the rat every time he caught a reminder.

To the sensei's credit, he wasn't afraid at first, he understood that Michelangelo was different and was ready for whatever that difference may bring. He started having small one-on-one talks away from his brother's eyes. Splinter became aware quickly of the forming mask Michelangelo had been using. They never truly talked about it, but Splinter played along, unspoken respect is how Mikey took it.

The one-on-one talks went from simply checking in on Mikey to Splinter trying to pick at his brain. He pretended not to notice, answering questions and carrying on conversating while he analyzed his father, picking up on every small amount of subtext and intention. The fear wasn't there at first, a small amount of concern for Michelangelo's sake but no fear.

Then he saw the drawings.

Children draw, crude doodles of childish creativity, it's nothing out of place or new. When the former human saw Michelangelo doodling, he took it as a good sign, he was glad, something that a normal child would do. Mikey could see it in the small smile on his face as he approached.

He also saw how quickly that smile fell, once he actually saw the doodles.

It was still the expected look of a childish drawing, but the scenes they were depicting were... different was definitely a word. He'd almost completely worn down the red crayon with how much painted the pages.

He was too young to fully remember every detail but he remembered Splinter's panic as he took all the drawings, and his panicked face as he took Michelangelo to the side to have a talk. Mikey wasn't fully aware yet, his mask not yet fully formed, he was still learning. So instead of truly absorbing any lesson Splinter tried to teach, Mikey listened and took notes to add to his mask. Even as a child, the turtle endlessly observed and analyzed. While the father had been very concerned, he did hope that at least this wouldn't happen again, which it didn't.

In front of him at least.

But after that, Splinter eventually calmed down. He had clearly thought that the talk worked, that it was a one time odd event to take note of but that Michelangelo would be okay, develop a bit differently than his brothers, but okay.

And then hide-and-seek happened.

It was just a game, Splinter had been a bit too focused on scavenging for food and training, so he decided to spend a day just playing with his sons, allowing them to choose the game. Hide-and-seek was the winner.

At the time, Mikey wasn't sure what made him choose it, but for the past few days he had been feeling... off. Splinter seemed pleased, perhaps the fact that it was the turtle that chose it, made him think that Mikey was finally being more of a child. He knew that's what he thought, the rat was easy to read. And like always he knew that later, the rat's hopes of Mikey growing up normal would fall again, as Mikey's mask got better, Splinter's hopes would be falsely encouraged. And Mikey could almost hear the shattering of said hopes when they would have their talks and Mikey would reveal that he was the same under his act.

Regardless, at the time, everything seemed fine, for once he was being a kid.

But what no one knew, was the prickling at the back of Mikey's head, it had slowly become more and more apparent as they played. All four of the turtles had spread out through out the sewer tunnels without straying too far, all hiding. Mikey wandered.

The off feeling got worse, Mikey felt cold, the prickling spreading through his skull, he became less and less aware of his surroundings. The cold from the tunnel floor didn't exist, completely overrun by the cold chill spreading from his chest and all throughout his limbs. Static thrummed through his head as his senses almost completely dulled,. For all he knew, he was walking through an empty void, unaware of the passage of time unaware of the distance he'd walked. The prickling got worse, the cold got worse, he was freezing.

He could smell something. Something warm, something alive, the scent of meat snapping him out of his trance as his stomach growled.

Ah, that was the odd feeling, throughout this week, no matter how much he ate, he was still hungry. He was missing something.

He didn't even realized that he had been tracking the scent down, following it. Whatever it was, it smelled divine. Mikey knew he was salivating, not realizing the subtle change in his teeth as they shifted and sharpened until later. He hadn't even taken note of the faint chuckle in the back of his mind.

All he knew was that he was S T A R V I N G.

And suddenly that delicious aroma was overwhelming him as his teeth sunk into flesh, blood quickly staining his hands and mouth. He could vaguely hear it's squeals of fear and pain. It desperately tried to get away, but it's struggle quickly ended as the turtle took piece after piece of flesh from the creature, his food.

The hunger that had been plaguing him for days finally being satisfied as the living being was consumed.

One can imagine Splinter's horror at finding his youngest son with a half eaten rat in his mouth.

That's when the fear started.

He could smell it.

Turns out he was the last one to be found, he'd wandered quite a ways from the lair so it took the rat a bit longer. He had started to get concerned the farther he tracked the turtle, he was not expecting this, nowhere close.

Hell, the rat completely froze as Mikey growled at him trying to take the rat away. He looked like a wild animal, a starving predator.

He had no choice but to wait for Michelangelo to finish his... meal...

Michelangelo allowed him to approach once he was done, in fact the turtle even looked drowsy, he ended up falling asleep in Splinter's arms, covered in blood, the prickling finally stopped.

From then on, he ran much colder than his brothers.

They didn't have another talk for quite a while after that, Mikey having woken up in his bed after the episode, the memories slowly coming back to him.

He had his first nightmare that night.

[deadmantellsnotales]

Hey folks! It’s time for a round of Penn has an idea but can’t draw it! ~Animatic edition~

This idea is Casey centered and goes with the song Ship in a Bottle by fin (which is an amazing song btw!!)

The song basically tackles the struggles Casey has about adjusting to the present while also keeping some parts of the resistance secret from everyone (besides the few happy moments that happened).

He feels his anxiety get the better of him, being slightly protective of the others, too tense and wary of everything around, flinching at every sound that echoes in the night.

Because of how many deaths and tragedies happened in the apocalypse, Casey has blocked most of them out, at least until they haunt him in his sleep after he is in the present timeline.

He see’s the piles of dead bodies, the blood seeping from their lifeless flesh as they laid on the debris covered ground. Every face is carved into his brain and he can’t get rid of the images. There’s this longing of wanting to share his nightmares, to have the reassurance that everything was fine, but seeing the turtles being happy and not affected by the total apocalypse of the Krang, he holds himself back.

He doesn’t want to scare the others more than the krang situation already did.

The others slowly realize Casey’s actions and try to help him in the few ways they can, but feels like their efforts are fruitless as Casey waves them off and leaves every time the topic comes up.

Cue in the part where Leo comes through the portal.

Casey feels conflicted about seeing his sensei, he’s happy that he’s alive yet at the same time has grieved and learned to accept that he died. How does a teen deal with that emotional whiplash of seeing someone you thought was dead standing right in front of you?

Reluctant avoidance that’s what.

Casey sticks by Leo’s side for the full part of his recovery but as Leo adapts to the present, Casey is distancing himself not because he wants to, but because seeing his sensei brings back the horrible memories he wants to forget.

Of course Leo knowing Casey all his life, spots this but can’t seem to get an answer out of his student. And it takes being saved after a wild mutant to make the kid talk.

Casey let’s out all his anxieties, fears, nightmares and all the things he’s been holding back, and Leo can see theirs guilt swirling in his kids eyes.

“I’m mad at myself and I hate it-“ Leo let Casey his his plastron, his fist tight and clenched as his emotions started pouring out. “I-I’m mad that the others can have a peaceful life and not have to go through anything we did. I’m mad that I can’t get any sleep because all of the dead bodies and killings keep replaying in my head. I’m mad that I feel like I have to avoid you to not feel like my life is still in danger and that seeing you makes me realize we’re all alone. Our family is dead and we’re the only ones who made it out alive.”

Leo pulls Casey into a tight hug, his arms tightly wrapped around the teen.

“You are never alone Casey. Everyone is watching over us even while we’re still living, and I know that they’re proud of you for making it this far. I’m so proud of you for making it this far and saving the future. I couldn’t have asked for a better student.”

Anata wa hitori janai

Now Casey can’t stop his tears, he hides his face in Leo’s plastron and the older turtle can’t help but hug his student just a bit tighter.

“Everything’s okay Casey. I’m right here. We’re here with you.”

[innytoes]

Sometimes you just gotta make your own fanart of your own fanfics. 

I present to you: Breanna and the Phantoms, ft. Hardison in Alex’ Soft Hoodie, Eliot in basically his canon outfit because you can take the cowboy out of his canon but you cannot take the flannel off his back, and Parker in Luke’s Cutoffs But Keep It G-Rated. (And Breanna in purple for Julie but aliens because I love her alien shirts.)

[theashemarie]

Aftershocks - Drawing the Future [a ROTTMNT Fic]

[Which of us do you have the clearest memory of?”

“What?” Casey demanded.

“It’s Leo, right? Can you describe him for me?”

“What? Why?”

Mikey bounced the eraser of his pencil off the sketchbook, smack in the middle of Donnie’s face. “I’m gonna draw him. Describe him for me. Use this smug idiot as a base. It’ll make it easier.” He tapped Leo’s face on the forehead.]

This is a little scene that I wrote for a larger fic that I really love and can stand on its own, so I wanted to post it separately for you tumblr.

For context: Mikey recently sprained his ankle, he has nerve damage in his hands from opening the portal, which Donnie is attempting to help with neuropathy gloves, and a little mishap ("the fumigation") with the herbicide has caused strife in the family.

Read Aftershocks on ao3.

--

It was on the third day after Donnie gifted Mikey his gloves that Mikey finally managed to talk to Casey. He was surprisingly good at dodging Mikey’s probing questions about how he was feeling, but he jumped at the chance to learn to use a knife in the kitchen. Mikey offered once he was sure the gloves were helping to strengthen and stabilize his grip and found himself propped up in a chair next to the counter, watching Casey awkwardly hold a paring knife in his left hand. He was trying to dice potatoes, an easy task because the flesh was soft, and it didn’t matter if the pieces were uneven for the boil.

“Curl your fingers in,” Mikey instructed, demonstrating with his own fist. He mimed a slicing motion with his opposite hand. “This way, if you nick yourself, you hit the knuckle and don’t take part of your finger off.”

“Right,” Casey laughed, and copied Mikey’s direction exactly. It was still unnerving how well he took instruction and guidance; he must’ve been a perfect little soldier.

That thought sent a strike of cold through his whole body and he shook himself to be rid of it, watching closely as Casey quartered the potatoes. It was a large batch—ten pounds—and would take him a while on his own. Mikey requested a knife of his own, took the chef’s knife that Casey awkwardly held out, and stood carefully, resting his knee on the chair, so that he could help, if only to get the food on faster. Leo was a fluttering bird of worry these days, especially around dinnertime, especially especially when Mikey didn’t ask for help, and he would be poking his head in any minute now to demand that Mikey go prop his foot up again.

They cut the potatoes in silence, Mikey watching carefully. Slowly, by the fifth potato, Casey’s knife cuts became more uniform as he gained confidence and familiarity with the knife, with the sensation and give of the tubers. Mikey, for his part, sliced quickly, using the flat side of his knife to scoop pieces off the cutting board and into the pot resting nearby when the board became too crowded.

“So,” Mikey began, trying to sound nonchalant, “why have you been avoiding me?”

Casey stiffened, but his knife never wavered. It clunked into the wooden board—one of the only ones to survive the fumigation because it had been resting in the drying rack—and he pulled it out cleanly before going again. The repetitive motion seemed to calm him, which was exactly what Mikey had been counting on.

“Is it my ankle?” Mikey continued, sliding more potatoes into the pot. It was the second biggest one they had, and he would need a lot of salt. “Did I get hurt often in the future?”

“No,” Casey answered, frank, and paused to push his sleeves up. They weren’t rolled properly and kept dipping down. “That’s why. It’s weird to see you hurt like this. Normally you would—”

He cut himself off, frustrated, and sliced down the middle of the large potato to create two halves. He rolled the halves onto their flat sides and sliced through again. Four identical pieces laid before him, and he let out a short sigh. “It doesn’t matter. It’s the past. I need to let it go.”

Mikey watched the four become eight, then sixteen. It reminded him of his hands, pieces flying off. It made sense then. “I hurt myself using my powers.”

Casey didn’t flinch this time, which confirmed it. He grabbed another potato and repeated the process.

“Did it happen a lot?”

Casey breathed out again, like an impatient horse. “When we were in a lot of trouble, yeah.”

“How often was that?”

Casey dropped the knife. “Does it matter? He’s— You’re— They’re gone.”

Mikey didn’t answer, mostly because he didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t fair of him to push Casey like this, but he was clearly hurting. No matter what they did, no matter how far they sent him from the lair, he was still carrying the weight of the ghosts that haunted him. He needed closure, but how were they supposed to give him that when he was confronted with younger, too-different versions of the people he knew? There would be no closure when familiar, rounded faces looked back at him every day, reminding him of what he’d lost and what could have been.

“I’m sorry,” Mikey muttered, starting back on the chopping. He meant it as a condolence, not an apology for his social misstep, and Casey watched him before grunting and picking his own knife back up.

They finished cubing the potatoes and Mikey instructed Casey on filling the pot with water and bringing it to the stove. He clicked on the burner and dumped in enough salt to make a peasant gasp, before placing the lid on and leaning hard on his crutches. “Now we wait. Come with me.”

Casey followed easily, unquestioning, as if this was normal. It probably was. It made Mikey uncomfortable to think about, and he limped his way to the plastic folding table they had set up as a stand-in for the lost wooden one. Casey scurried away to retrieve the metal chair Mikey had been using as a prop and watched Mikey sink into it.

“Do me a favor,” Mikey continued. “Go into my room. Top shelf on the left. Bring me my sketchbook and pencil bag. Please.”

Casey nodded and disappeared, just like that. Mikey watched him go, and let his head fall to rest on the table. Poor Casey. He had to help him, and he could only really think of one real way. It had come to him while they chopped, the familiar motion like the ocean, rocking him back and forth in its tide, as his hands finally cooperated after weeks of shaking. He knew one way to bring back the people he had lost, at least temporarily.

When Casey returned, Mikey accepted the sketchbook and pulled his favorite pencil out, before fishing for the sharpener and twisting it a few times, sending shavings snowing onto the table. Then, he began to draw, pulling long lines with a motion of his arm.

Casey chuckled as he watched, and Mikey hummed a question at him, focused on getting the shapes right. “You did that in the future.” Casey pointed at the shavings. “You weren’t allowed to draw anywhere near Master Donatello’s workspace.”

Mikey felt his tongue poke out as he focused. “I’m not allowed to bring a normal pencil into the lab. Mechanical or pen only.”

Casey laughed, a surprised bark of sound, and Mikey looked up to grin at him before focusing back on his task. It was an easy set of sketches, forms familiar as these were subjects that he’d drawn a lot, but he was trying to get them as accurate as possible. Slowly, the faces of his brothers formed under his hands, from memory, before he eventually sketched the rounded shape of his own, smiling. He drew them all down to the midsection, giving them chests and arms, before eventually deciding that was enough.

He turned the sketchbook to Casey, showcasing his quick, messy work. His hands weren’t perfect, even with the gloves, and his lines were shaky when he needed finer wrist movement for the details, but it was good enough for now. These lines wouldn’t be staying anyway.

Casey whistled. “Man, they weren’t kidding when they said you were good.”

It was a strange thing to hear. “I thought you said I still drew.”

“You did, but it wasn’t anything like this. No time. Mostly just little cartoons for the kids.”

Mikey felt the corners of his mouth tense, but he decided not to pry into that. “That sounds like me. Which of us do you have the clearest memory of?”

“What?”

“It’s Leo, right? Can you describe him for me?”

“What? Why?”

Mikey bounced the eraser of his pencil off the sketchbook, smack in the middle of Donnie’s face. “I’m gonna draw him. Describe him. Use this smug idiot as a base. It’ll make it easier.” He tapped Leo’s face on the forehead.

“I—”

“C’mon Casey. Was his jaw wider? Did he still smile the same?”

Casey looked thunderstruck, eyes far away, as he stared down at the sketchbook and Mikey’s shivering hands. He was remembering, but he was also trying to put together what Mikey was doing. There were small beads of moisture in his eyes, and he blinked hard to clear them.

“I— He— Um… His jaw is a lot squarer. His shoulders are…” He held his hands out to illustrate, using his own body as a frame. “Muscles… Uh…”

“Take your time.” Mikey erased current Leo’s jaw and laid down a few light lines. “Like this?”

“Wider.”

Mikey hummed and did as he was bid, waiting patiently for Casey to sort through the rolodex he called memories. He described Leo carefully, from the concerned, proud arch of his eyes to the soft smile he reserved for quiet moments. He still wore his mask, which made the process easier, and had two gouges in his plastron, where he had taken a rough hit.

“He lost his arm,” Casey said, running his finger over the sketch’s limb. Mikey carefully erased it, trying to keep his surprise and terror to himself. This wasn’t about him. “Master Donatello built him a new one. It looks a lot like Raph’s.”

That was easy for Mikey to draw, and he replicated it in two tries. Leo revealed himself slowly, becoming a hardened, but still caring, version of Mikey’s older brother. He looked wrong, but not because Casey’s description was inaccurate; he shouldn’t have ever been forced to be so serious, to carry so much.

They moved on to Donnie. The futuristic tech he had adopted and the complicated battle shells he had built were impossible for Mikey to draw with verbal description alone, but Casey took it easy on him and mentioned that he always had a cloak on, the better to hide the glowing lights he couldn’t resist building into everything he touched. He had a similar build to Leo and still drew his eyebrows on. His face was slimer, forehead big as always, and expression flat, not quite unfeeling but less warm than he managed now. Again, Mikey had to put his feelings away.

Mikey was next. He retained the roundness of the face, and carefully crafted the tufts that Casey described, on either side of his head, along with the long lines of worry, stress, and exhaustion. The spots on top of his head, and the cloak that pooled around him, clasped with the symbol that had represented the family since Donnie had asked Mikey for help designing it when they were small. No mask, but Mikey didn’t ask. It was hard enough to see himself, aged up, wrung out, carrying the weight of mystic powers and protecting a resistance. He drew with purpose, trying to imagine himself beyond Casey’s short descriptions, tried to place the small personality quirks—drew comics for kids, mother henned by Donnie and Leo despite being the strongest of them all, carrying on without Raph—within his own face, and ended up with something that looked both completely foreign and very familiar.

Raph was last, and the hardest for both of them. Casey didn’t have a clear picture, but what he did describe wasn’t much different from the Raph that currently was. A scar across his right eye, a few gouges in his shell, non-descript, black jacket, mask to the end. Casey remembered him with a slightly slimmer face (probably from malnutrition) and a more pronounced chasm between his eyes. Most of all, he remembered his eyes, kind and worrying, and his smile, comfortable, welcoming, understanding. He used to read Casey bedtime stories and would tuck the little children into bed. He would make Donnie take breaks and force Mikey to eat when he struggling to perfect his powers, crunched under the ever-ticking clock of the apocalypse. He smiled at Leo and told him he was proud.

These small memories slipped out of Casey as he spoke, as he illustrated each of their faces with his hands, as he guided Mikey’s pencil. Mikey had to focus to keep himself from tearing up, because Casey had led a whole life, a life of heartache and pain, but also of love and compassion, guided by versions of the brothers that would never be. He had lost important, real people, and the grief of that had to be weighing him down. It was amazing that he managed to laugh as much as he did.

When they finished, the both of them emotionally spent, Leo was standing at the stove, mixing the potatoes with a metal spoon. They had boiled over and they hadn’t noticed; Mikey could tell from the residue on the stove. Leo didn’t make a sound as he stood there, and Casey and Mikey didn’t comment. Instead, Mikey carefully pulled the page free from the book and held it out. Casey took it with shaking hands.

“We can’t be them,” Mikey said, and watched Leo turn toward them, “but they’re with you.” He tapped the top of the page with his pencil. “They’re real. They’re here.” He leaned forward and pressed the eraser into Casey’s forehead. “And here.” The eraser touched Casey’s chest.

Casey stared at the drawings, at the four faces that he had grown up with and would never see again, and blinked hard, loosening small tears. “I— Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Mikey said, and pulled Casey into a hard, rib-cracking hug. “Without you, we’d all be lost.”

“Without them—” Casey broke off, choking, and buried his face in Mikey’s shoulder. “Without them, we’d all be—”

Mikey didn’t speak, just hugged him tight, and looked up at Leo. His older brother stood at the stove, hands curling and uncurling, and, for just a second, his expression looked exactly like the one in the drawing.

[Read the rest on ao3.]

[ducknotinarow]

Was Casey furious and embarrassed? Yes. Was he going to kick Raph’s ass? Totally. Then why wasn’t he already attempting to beat them to a pulp? Because Raph currently had his forehead on their shoulder, clearly resting against him, their silent way of seeking comfort. Least, Casey thought it was their silent way of doing so; he knew he did it after that big fight with Hun that left his arm snapped. Boy the Doctors were pissed at him for that one. Point is, he doesn’t immediately move to start biting, kinda just...letting Raph remain there. It gave him a moment to think really,

“Yeah, course I think all that stuff ‘bout yer Raph,” He admits in a murmur, feeling how red his face is, “I know I aint able t’ say it, I get, I dunno, tongue tied when we get all mushy an’ stuff...but like, yer d’ kinda mean the Worl’ t’ me yanno...” 

There’s all those warm fuzzy feelings again. The same ones he felt when they napped together during that rain storm. The same ones he felt when he saw Raph and Angel hanging out. The same ones he gets whenever Raph is being all soft with Young Savage. Casey gets stupid, well, stupider, whenever they begin to buzz. Maybe that’s why he’s looking to his notebook, slowly turning the pages to the specific piece of writing Raphael was reading. He bites his bottom lip; maybe he can’t say it to them, but, he could always try reading it out to him. Cause Casey felt a lot, and he felt it all so deeply,

“...It aint always yer meet someone like you, someone that helps yer see the day through. Someone with the same rage and fire, not just to fight but also with desire, For a long time I’ve been alone, trapped in the shadows an’ stayin’ there ‘cause I thought it was my home. But then I met him, an’ the World didn’t seem so dim. With green eyes that shine like an emerald, lookin’ int’ them makes my heart tremble. An’ a mask as red as my heart, that bleeds for him whenever we’re apart... Raphael is his name, since meetin’ him my life aint been the same. The weight of the World feels lighter, the stars we lay under t’gether look brighter. The way he laughs and grins at me, breaks the chains of my fears and sets me free. I’ve never been so protected, never met someone that I’ve felt so connected. We are an eternal flame, an’ I feel so safe whenever I even think of his name. He’s helped me forget some of the pressure, made my life feel so much better. I aint ever loved someone like Raphael, from his temper to his strong an’ deep green shell. I see him as my best friend, someone I can always depend. I see him as my lover, I aint ever gonna feel this way for another. I see him as my rock, someone t’ ‘elp me tag the city with chalk. Many will find our love weird, but I aint gonna let it be smeared. Cause t’ me it aint ever gonna find it shameful, to look at Raphael as my Guardian Angel...” 

Casey was aware of how much his face was burning in that moment, heart slamming against his ribcage. But he had done it. He had read out the entire poem without stuttering or making an idiot out of himself. And hey, maybe this will stop Raphael from looking more into it, because, in truth, the entire book had writings and drawings about the two of them. Casey just knew he had only brought up ‘emerald’ in one of them. Raph didn’t need to know he had an entire thing dedicated to them though. Turning his head a little, Casey tried to smile his way, aware of how mushy he had just been. He’s about to suggest that they ditch dragon hunting to stay here instead, but when he’s able to catch just a little bit of their face, Casey frowns,

“H-hey Raph? What’s wrong? Are yer okay?” 

Book dropped to the floor, Casey turns, quick to grab the Turtle and bring them into a hug,

“I-it’s okay Raph...I’m ‘ere,” Casey holds them tighter, “I’m ‘ere.” 

| Continued from here because emotions uwu

Forehead to Casey’s shoulder he couldn’t explain what was rattling around in his head at the moment. HE was feeling giddy learning just how big of a sensitive ass Casey was more so about Raph himself. But it wasn’t out of some sort of cloud 9 emotional high he leaned into his boyfriend it was something else,just out of some instinct he found himself moving in to lean in against Casey. Sort of just lost in the moment. Their was a nice warmth buzzing within in his chest as he thought over the bit he saw in Casey’s notebook. Okay maybe he was being stupid here? maybe. Of course, the guy you are dating is gonna well you know like things about you? Wow this did sound dumb out loud.After all Raph thought Casey’s brown eyes were the best thing in the world. So yeah sure Casey liked Raph’s. How did he put it right emerald eyes. Raph wasn’t sure why it was hitting him so damn hard in this moment though. Why he was seeking comfort from Casey right now, neither of them ever worded that need they sort of found different ways to express it like another secret code they had between each other.

“Yeah, course I think all that stuff ‘bout yer Raph,”

There’s a small hitch in Raph’s breath just now when hearing Casey mummer that under his own breath. Needing a second to tell himself off for reacting like that was a surprise. Fuck what was with him? 

“I know I aint able t’ say it, I get, I dunno, tongue tied when we get all mushy an’ stuff...but like, yer d’ kinda mean the Worl’ t’ me yanno...”

Raph glances up from Casey’s shoulder a moment at that last bit. Eyes wide and fixed on the human, question what they just said in their gaze alone. Raph meant the world to Casey? He swallowed hard just now, his heart pounded against his shell just. Raph wished he read more of what Casey put now, he only focused on some small bits. Wondering if he asked if maybe they would let him read more? maybe with permission he be okay with it? Casey though kind of did Raph one better. He heared the sound of pages rustling off to the side glancing over watching Casey’s look at their notebook just now, or he guesses it might be more than a notebook Casey wrote into.

“...It aint always yer meet someone like you, someone that helps yer see the day through. Someone with the same rage and fire, not just to fight but also with desire, For a long time I’ve been alone, trapped in the shadows an’ stayin’ there ‘cause I thought it was my home. But then I met him, an’ the World didn’t seem so dim. With green eyes that shine like an emerald, lookin’ int’ them makes my heart tremble. An’ a mask as red as my heart, that bleeds for him whenever we’re apart... Raphael is his name, since meetin’ him my life aint been the same. The weight of the World feels lighter, the stars we lay under t’gether look brighter. The way he laughs and grins at me, breaks the chains of my fears and sets me free. I’ve never been so protected, never met someone that I’ve felt so connected. We are an eternal flame, an’ I feel so safe whenever I even think of his name. He’s helped me forget some of the pressure, made my life feel so much better. I aint ever loved someone like Raphael, from his temper to his strong an’ deep green shell. I see him as my best friend, someone I can always depend. I see him as my lover, I aint ever gonna feel this way for another. I see him as my rock, someone t’ ‘elp me tag the city with chalk. Many will find our love weird, but I aint gonna let it be smeared. Cause t’ me it aint ever gonna find it shameful, to look at Raphael as my Guardian Angel...”

Raph felt frozen, hanging on every word that left Casey’s mouth just now, was this vain of Raphael? Listening so intently on all this? Because it was about him? No it was about Casey’s feelings for him. That was a bit of difference but damn was it vain to seek out more to hear more on what Casey felt and saw when it came to him? Raph knows Casey is his best friend. he trusts them with well everything. Every thought that crossed his mind, his stupid fear of bugs with how much he makes sure his stock of bug spray never gets lower than six cans. Casey trusted him back of course he knows considering what Casey was willing to admit to him even. They even trusted their romantic feelings to each other. Crossing over that line between friends and lovers... though sometimes Raph wondered if being with another human would be easier they would have to sneek around just for a date after all. Casey worte he wouldn’t feel this way for another? Raph was his rock? He knew Casey found it easy to lean on him but Raph was that much of a support for them? Of course Raph knew he helped casey he just never thought much on it. He liked coming over to Casey’s place it was..his get away. he helped them with his sister now that she knew him or just picked up the place a bit anything that meant spending more time with Casey. Raph kind of thought it selfish but. He blinked a second finding his vision started to blur he was trying to stay focused on Casey, watching their mouth as they were reciting their poem.What? what was going on with him right now, hand lifted up a little to hold on to Casey’s hoodie, gripping on to the fabric tight. Grounding himself a moment. He knew Casey saw him as some kind of guardian Angel and of course Raph would do anything. ANYTHING. For Casey. To keep them safe, to help them anything if it was Casey Raph knew he would go to the ends of the world. He would follow Casey down the darkest paths if it was for Casey he would do it in a heart beat. So why was hearing all of this about himself self from someone he loved so fiercely getting to him? He knew Casey liked him..but it was hitting him. Casey saw all of this in him? This was in Raphael? How?  Raph hadn’t noticed Casey stopped just now he was just left standing in a daze he was starting to grasp at what was going on with him.

“H-hey Raph? What’s wrong? Are yer okay?”

He didn’t even notice the tears till Casey’s voice snapped him back to realty. Only aware of the warmth from his tears against his cheek when the sound of the book landed on the floor had him shift his gaze down and he noticed how blurred his view got just now. Body tugged over as Raph found his face pressed in against Casey. Their arms moved to hold around him.

“I-it’s okay Raph...I’m ‘ere,”

Words weren’t coming to him, fuck he was doing it again. Breaking down like this in front of Casey. Raph just shut his eyes tight as he buried his face in against their chest, slightly rubbing his face in against them in a poor attempt to dry his tears but they just kept coming out. Raph kind of wished Casey had just kicked his ass instead right now. He wasn’t against letting Casey see him like this course not..he trusted Casey to fall apart like this. Maybe thats why he was able to break down like that with them, cause he just could. Something reassuring in Casey’s comment though.

“I’m ‘ere.”

Raph nodded his head he still couldn’t get words out, fuck, he breathed in heavily trying his best to clam himself to sooth his tears to at least tell them he loved that poem. He wanted to memorize every word they just said. He wanted it in Casey’s voice though. It couldn’t be in his voice. Both hands gripping onto the front of Casey’s hoodie now. There was no way Raphael could say anything remotely close to even nice. That’s why he wanted to memorize exactly how Casey said all of that to him. From Raph it be a lie, but Casey? never he could trust it from Casey. “I’m..fine” he manages out “just..fuck” Near burrowing into Casey’s chest now as he gripped tighter on to them. “ I love ya...so fuckn’ much Case” was all he could get out before falling quite once more. Well as quite as a sniffling turtle could be.

[sylvain-writes]

Unbroken (Mikey x Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, pre-relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, Mikey whump, brothers not coping well with stress/fear, victim blaming, affection, love confessions, friendship/love

Mikey's been injured beyond anything his family has experienced before, leaving his brothers terrified. While Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo struggle with their own guilt and fear, you take over your dearest friend's medical care. for @brightlotusmoon

Tension pours from the Lair into the tunnels. You move quickly. 

Something had told you to bring your delivery of medical supplies early, but what you had chocked up to a gut-feeling now feels much more likely to have been a call from the energies that connect you to Michelangelo and his Father. That psychic pull flares as you draw near and there's no longer room for doubt.

Your messenger bag slips down your arm as you increase your pace. It catches on your elbow awkwardly as you carry the heavy cooler of sundry medicine vials, but you don’t let that slow you down. There’s panic in the air - anger and fear. Casey’s and Raphael’s voices echo through the space - another call for your attention. 

Casey urges Raphael to stop raving before he says something he’s going to regret. But his pleas are ignored. 

Raphael shouts over Casey’s shoulder from the tunnel into the infirmary. He spits accusations and threats at someone unseen. 

In plain clothes, but with all the authority of a Detective, Casey gives Raphael a final warning before pushing past his raging friend and stepping up to you.  He grabs the cooler and leads you into the infirmary, thanking god for your arrival.

“Donnie will be so glad you’re here.”

You would have come sooner had someone sent word. You’re about to say as much when Casey steps out of the way and the sight of Mikey laid up on a hospital bed leaves you speechless. Frozen. Donnie gives you a frightened look before his eyes drift to his quarreling brothers, then draws the curtain to block them out.

Raphael’s bellows behind your back, shocking you out of your stupor. “Ya shoulda been there!” 

Your heart leaps, thundering against your ribs. You turn around, breath caught in your throat wondering how on earth you could have prevented such a thing. But Raphael is rounding on Leo, not you, shoving his older brother square in the chest as he brings his face too close. 

“Ya shouldn’ta sent him away!"

Tension ripples up Raph's arms from his fists to his shoulders as he crowds Leo into a corner. "This is on you, Leo. If he don’t wake up- If he don’t... “ 

When words fail him, Raphael launches himself at his brother with a growl. 

Casey’s face twists into horror as Leo, outwardly stoic and calm, takes his brother on. 

In a quick series of grabs, Leo has Raphael twisted and pinned against the wall in seconds. Leo eyes him with a look of impatience and disappointment. “Walk it off, Raph.”

“Try’na get rid of me too, huh?” With his face pressed against the cement, Raphael grinds out his words through clenched teeth. 

Leo turns to Casey, as if he doesn’t have time for such an inconvenience as this. “Get him out of here. He’s making Don nervous." His grip on Raph lets up as he turns to face the curtain once more. "We’ve been hurt before. We heal. Everything is going to be fine.”

You've only caught a glimpse of Mikey's condition. But you've never seen Donatello so scared. You wonder who Leo is trying to convince.

Raphael seethes as Casey takes him by the arm, but he isn't forced out of the room. "Ain't been this bad. Never this fuckin' bad."  Raph's voice is hoarse from shouting and crying, but his words don’t seem directed at Leo anymore. As his disbelief turns from swears to prayers, you think you hear him making deals with god and the devil.

“Swear to god, bro,” Raph says, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, “if you don’t wake up, man…” With his elbows on his knees, Raphael buries his face in his hands. 

Casey lays a hand on his friend's shoulder before the radio at his belt urges him topside. "I'm sorry," he says to the room. "I gotta..."

Raphael's head hangs lower, but he nods. 

Leo stands stoic - arms resting at his sides, ignoring Casey's words of departure, watching the drawn curtain. Blinking but not seeing. His breath is even enough for him to be attempting some form of meditation, and you think that’s for the best. But you wonder how long the quiet will last.

Casey tips his head toward the hospital bed. A small jerky movement that grabs your attention. You look at him, head spinning. “You gonna be OK with this?”

You glance over your shoulder to where the curtain hides Donnie and Mikey from view.  Slowly, you nod. Even before med school you were proficient at compartmentalizing. You can help Mikey without becoming overwhelmed by seeing your best friend in whatever condition he’s in. You just need to get in there, see what you’re working with.

“I’ll be alright,” you tell Casey and remind yourself.

You wave him off, draw back the curtain, and take a fortifying breath. 

At the head of the hospital bed, Donnie moves as if on autopilot. He's set a PICC line just under Mikey's shoulder and is starting a transfusion. He's talking himself through the steps, laying out his plans for what to do next. Even as you approach, he remains completely focused on his tasks.

His hands shake as he lifts a fresh bag of fluids to the IV stand. Careful as he tries to be, the bag slips from the hook and lands with a wet slap on the floor. 

You crouch down to help and lay a hand on his arm as he apologizes for this little hiccup in Mikey's care. 

Unshed tears cloud his vision.  He looks almost as pale as his brother lying on the bed. It's obvious he's doing the best he can, and you couldn't ask for more.

Donnie watches you easily hang the bag and open the line. He holds his breath as you properly take in the scene. “He shouldn’t have been out there alone,” he says quietly. It sounds like another apology.

From the edge of the curtained area, Leo parrots the same words. The way he says them, however, sounds like an accusation. 

“He knows better,” Leo continues, coming closer to Mikey's bedside. The more Leo speaks, the more life returns to his eyes. Fire heats Leo’s words. You suppose anger is easier to feel than fear. “What was he thinking?” 

From the floor, Raphael chokes on a sob. “You knew better. The fuck were you thinkin’, huh?” 

Leo widens his stance and rolls his shoulders back, ignoring his younger brother's latest outburst.

The monitor at Mikey’s bedside beeps, Mikey starts to convulse, and it’s easy to tune out everything else.

You and Leo struggle to hold Mikey still as Donnie checks the equipment.

Donnie adjusts the speed of the morphine drip, scanning Mikey's body and the monitor displays. His mouth is set in a hard line. His jaw ticks with how hard he's clenching his teeth to keep his lip from trembling. 

He wipes his eyes on the back of his wrist and pretends he's not close to tears seeing his only little brother injured beyond what any of them have ever faced. 

Even as their eldest brother works to restrain Mikey from further aggravating his injuries, Leo asks if it's really a good idea to increase the narcotics. "We don't want him dependent on that stuff." 

It was the last straw for Donatello. His resolve falters. He faces Leo with color high on his cheeks and opens his mouth to argue. But he sputters and fails to string together an explanation fit for Leo’s approval. Too much of his energy has been depleted by Mikey's care for Donnie to dumb down his course of treatment into terms Leo can understand. 

You place a hand on Donnie's shoulder and offer him a knowing look. 

"One thing at a time," you tell Leo with the calm authority of your medical expertise. "We get Mikey through this, first. We'll titrate him off the meds when he no longer needs them." 

Exhausted and exasperated, Donnie ducks his head and steps aside to let you take over. He watches you assess the work he's done. He holds his breath as you review the scans and x-rays he provides. 

There’s nothing for him to be ashamed of. His stitches are hasty, but they'll hold. The broken bones have been set properly. 

There's a pain in your chest as your brain switches the images in front of you from patient to Mikey to patient again. You know that unbiased detachment will serve you best in your decision making tonight, but the crease between your eyebrows twitches as you spend a second too long watching Mikey's eyelids flutter, hoping for them to open.

Mikey is barely conscious, groaning with every squirming movement but seemingly unable to keep still. 

The file Donnie's prepared lists a concussion on top of deep tissue bruising, stab wounds, broken bones, a dislocated knee, and a cracked plastron. Mikey's head is wrapped. Thick gauze pads the left side of his skull and dark bruises color his swollen face. With each injury your interest in the case, in the patient before you, grows more clinical. 

You mutter, more to yourself than to Donnie or anyone else, your review of what's been done and what still needs doing. Donatello nods along, keeping up and eager to learn even in the midst of the crisis. Perhaps especially due to the nature of this one. 

And after a few more minutes of tweaking the medications, your dear patient eases more deeply into sedation. 

You smooth your hand over the gauze above Mikey’s ear and allow yourself a breath of relief. His glassy eyes blink up at you, unfocused until you run the back of your fingers down the side of his face. 

Memories of all the times he’s called you ‘Angel’, the times it felt less like a place holder for ‘Dude’ and more like a pet name chosen specifically for you, poke and prod the edges of your mind until one memory rushes through.

You and Mikey sitting on the rooftops together. His feet dangling over the edge of the building, kicking out a rhythm as he percusses with his hands upon his thighs. You rocking forward and back as he listens with rapt attention to you talking about Med school: your residency, your hopes and dreams for advancing the field of neurobiology, and the sundry inbetween stuff that never feels like tangents when you're speaking with him. 

You’re lost in the memory of the night, of you and Mikey and endless possibilities, when Donatello gives your shoulder three taps and pulls you back to the present.

The hairs on your arms rise when Master Splinter arrives to check on Mikey's progress. You wish you could say it was his raw psionic power that gives you chills, or his virtuous presence that tears your attention from your patient. There's no compassion or concern flowing from him right now. And it's neither respect nor admiration you feel for him in this moment. 

Though Splinter approaches the bed, his energies remain rather distant. Cool. Complacent. He reaches out to Mikey through their psychic bond and nods in approval. "He will learn from this,” Sprinter says, voice a low, monotonous hum. “Grow stronger." He turns from his youngest with a clipped, "Humph," and moves to the corner of the room without offering a word of comfort to any of his sons. He sits to meditate, unperturbed by the scene.

As if taking a cue from their father's indifference, Leo and Raphael start up their squabble again. 

It's too loud. Too much. Reading Splinter's energy and watching Mikey's shrink from it like a kitten being scolded for mistaking wicker furniture for their scratch post tests your nerve, grates on your mind, and burrows under your skin. 

A year into your residency, and twice as long helping the Hamatos, you think you'd be able to handle anything. But you begin to get shaky. How Donatello worked so long with his brothers looking over his shoulder and arguing behind his back, you'll never know. 

Every now and then Splinter comments on the strength of Mikey's chi. He seems oblivious to the fact that his son was literally writhing in pain on this hospital bed moments ago. The harder Splinter insists on Mikey’s resilience and tenacity, the more you feel Mikey pulling in on himself, frightened to show his Father the truth of his condition. Protecting his family from his frailty and pain even as he lay nearly unconscious.

Meanwhile, Leonardo insists that this all could have been avoided if Mikey would have exercised some patience and common sense by not going up to the surface alone. 

“Where were you, anyway, Raph?" The unending feud cycles around and around. "You’re supposed to look out for him.”

When Leo starts apologizing on behalf of Raph's and Donnie's negligence, you think his younger brothers are going to snap. You make the call to get them all out, so you can focus on Mikey without worrying about playing referee.

Leo catches Splinter on the way out, making plans to meditate together through the night.

Before Donatello leaves, he pops by for a goodnight. “Get well quick, little bro,” he pleads, squeezing his arm and dropping a kiss upon the crown of his brother’s head.

Raphael does similarly, adding that they’re bedroom won't be the same tonight. Without Mikey's headphones hanging off the side of the bed, still playing music while his snores somehow ride the beat of each song, Raph won't get a wink of sleep. “Won’t sleep til you’re there buggin’ me again.”

Mikey responds with quiet murmurs that his brothers all but ignore. They're more accustomed to and comfortable with hearing their own voices than listening to their brother's pain.

With the room clear, it’s easier to hear Mikey’s mutterings for what they are. Though speaking through a fog of pain and anaesthetic, he’s not incoherent. 

Your heart sinks to realize he understands what's happening to him, that he’s likely heard everything that’s been said in the room. The shouting, the crying. The selfish demands on his suffering body. The detached sureness of his Father. 

So confident that all will be fine, Splinter hadn’t even laid a hand on Mikey or spared a shred of empathy before he had gone. 

You pay close attention to Mikey’s words, letting them inform your care. 

Mikey’s eyes peek through heavy lids, trying to follow you around the room. But when you’re at his side again, and your hand strokes his face, his eyes close.  He leans into your palm despite his bruised and fractured jaw. 

For a few minutes you remain just like this - cradling his face in your hands, watching him drift in the haze of sedation, feeling his energies ebb and flow from their hiding place in their search for the safety he’s always found with you.

“I’m here,” you assure him gently. “It’s only me.”

Your promise is enough for his energies to move free. 

Hushed sounds and quiet clicks of your tongue fill the space between you as you put Mikey’s mind at ease. Your fingers pitter-patter over his cheek bones and down the sides of his neck as you palpate for further injuries. They pass over his clavicle and shoulders as Mikey stutters a breath.  

A sling traps his arm against his chest, where his fingers tap the scute over his heart. It’s a small movement, perhaps one of the only movements he can safely make in his condition, and even then, it must be a challenge. For someone you’ve only seen lying this still during his most depressive episodes, you think being incapacitated thusly must be torture.

His bandaged hand is heavy as you lift it. His fingers are cool under the press of your lips. They curl reflexively around yours and you kiss his hand again. 

“My best days are the ones I spend with you,” you whisper. It hurts to be burdening him with such a thing right now, but you also think it’s a truth he should hear sooner rather than later. 

Mikey’s chest rises and falls with staggered, labored breaths as you pet his chest. You talk and Mikey lets your voice wash over him. He leans his head back, relaxed and floaty, feeling like he's in a dream. And as he has so many times before, in dreams, Mikey tells you he loves you.

You bite your lips together as tears fill your eyes. For the first time tonight you think they’ll truly spill over. “Love you, too,” you say, and it doesn’t matter to you whether he means it romantically or as friends because the relationship you share and the love you’ve fostered for each other doesn’t need labels or constraints. 

When Mikey seems to be falling asleep you try to give him some space, but he doesn’t want you gone. His mind is quieter when you’re at his side. 

You rub his leg as you stand by his bed. Though your back is aching and your feet protest the constant bustle, you still haven’t been able to sit. 

“Tell me if you need anything,” you say in earnest. 

Despite your efforts to keep Mikey hydrated, his words are but a croak. “Just you.”

“Hm?” 

“You here. Could you-” Mikey’s eyes close and his hand turns palm up on the bed. Though he can’t muster the strength to lift his arm, his fingers curl and release inviting you back. You slide your hand into his and give it a light squeeze. 

“Stay,” he whispers weakly.

Sleepy, and still in pain despite the heavy opiate cocktail you and Donatello created for him, Mikey gives a weak tug on your hand and whimpers, begging you to understand what he needs.

You climb up, thankful for the extra wide bed, and rest against his wrapped plastron carefully. He buries his face into the top of your head. He nuzzles the hand you’ve raised to cup his cheek. The soft, sleepy sounds he makes drift in and out, sometimes words and sometimes just a hum. 

“...M no good,” Mikey mumbles into your hair, and you feel his breath hitch. “Not good enough.”

“Oh… no, baby,” you say, bracing yourself on the mattress and pushing up to look him in the eye. You stroke the lines of his brow ridge above his eyes, left and right, until his eyes flutter open. They shine with tears threatening to fall. “You’re always enough. Always been enough.”

He gives the slightest turn of his head, but his eyes stay locked on yours as if desperate to believe your words. His lip trembles. His tears slide down his cheeks.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart.” You continue to pet his face, but you let his tears fall freely, letting him know it’s alright to cry.

“For you?” Mikey asks, bordering on inaudible. But you hear him. The question rises from the depths of his being, calling out to you, and you answer the call with the truth of your soul.

“Always. Perfect for me. Forever perfect for me.”

[saviorinsilk]

Again

Ship: Wilhemina Venable x Fem!Reader

Description: Wilhemina Venable is your College English Professor and on a particular night you learn your lesson for speaking out in class. This is an AU!

Words: 1869

Warnings: Punishment, professor x student, strap on sex, spanking, domination and discipline.

A/N: You guys wanted more of Venable spanking reader so here you sluts go!

Tears clouded your vision of the textbook that was laying open on the desk in front of you. Your body jerked forward when yet another harsh slap rang loudly through the Victorian styled office. Ms. Venable had delivered another brutal hit on your already red, welt covered ass. You didn't make any noise, you wouldn't dare. Your professor had taught you better than that. But oh how you wished you could vocally express yourself.

"Again Miss Y/L/N." Ms. Venable spoke from behind you, her bruising grip loosening up so she could ghost her hand up your lower back and back down. She caressed the sensitive skin of your burning red ass in slow circles as she pushed your dress that was already hiked up, even higher and out of her way.

You supported yourself on one of your shaky elbows as you wiped your eyes with your free hand, the words on the page in front of you now clearer.

"First Person; In the subjective case, the singular form of the first person is "I," and the plural form is "we." "I" and "we" are in the subjective case because either one can be used as the subject of a sentence." Your voice was small, the half-hour of canning you had already endured because of your slip up in Ms. Venable's English lecture, having already caused you to sink deep into your submissive headspace. You braced yourself for the impending attack, making it easier to hold back the whimper that dared to escape.

Ms. Venable's delicate but deadly cane collided with your ass for what felt like the hundredth time, your weak legs beginning to shake as your full ass bounced with the force of the hit.

You took that as your cue to continue and once again began reading over the next paragraph on the page she had been making you repeat, this time your voice shaking as she hit you once, twice and three times.

"Second Person; You use the second-person point of view to address the reader, as I just did. T-The second person uses the pronouns "you," "your," and "yours." We use these t-three pronouns when addressing one, or more than one, person." Your voice was beginning to falter and you wished you had just kept your mouth shut and hadn't made that stupid snippy remark in class.

"Actually Ms. V, wouldn't you want to use first person?" You regretted opening your mouth the moment the classroom fell silent. You knew you had fucked up and everyone else did as well, giving you sympathetic looks as Ms. Venable slowly made her way over to your seat, her cane clicking loudly against the tile floor as she did. She didn't stop until she was standing directly in front of your desk at the front of the class, her piercing dark gaze locked on you. You couldn't bring yourself to meet her eyes as she spoke.

"If you are going to try and correct me Miss Y/L/N, at least do it right."

She snapped back, the class straining not to erupt in laughter, fearing her wrath. A hand shot up at the other side of the room but Ms. Venable took a moment before she nodded at the girl.

"I believe the correct answer is actually second person Ms.Venable." Stupid Casey. You hated Casey. She was such a kiss ass. Always offering to help Ms. Venable after class, purposely being the last one (other than you of course) to leave the class so she could steal a few extra moments with your professor. You hated how jealous the blonde, skinny College girl made you; but you couldn't help it. Even the knowledge that Casey thought of Ms. Venable in that way made your blood boil. And Ms Venable knew it too.

"Very right Casey. Glad to know some of you are paying attention. As for you Miss Y/L/N, we will discuss your behaviour after class."

There had been nothing you had been able to do but clench you're fists and get through the rest of class.

"You will be in my office by 11:30pm sharp." Was all she said before directing her attention back to her computer.

She didn't need to ask. Only You and Ms. Venable knew the truth. That this was exactly what you had wanted. When you didn't move she glared at you, making you blush and quickly pick up your books and throw your bag over your shoulder. Your plan was progressing perfectly and her furious gaze only made you squeeze your thighs together harder, biting your lip the way you knew drove your secret lover crazy.

Her office was connected to the small apartment she lived in on campus. It was a 5-minute walk from your dorm, one you had gotten quite accustomed too.

You still remember the first night you spent in her office. Ms. Venable had offered to tutor you through the writing project she had assigned. She had sat across her desk from you and for the first time you had witnessed her smile, telling you that your outline looked perfect. It was something that didn't often happen from the tough grader. That had been the first night. A tutoring session gone sexual.

Today had been no different, except you knew what was awaiting you and it wasn't praise. She barely had spoken to you before she had bent you over her desk, slamming the textbook down in front of you and making you go to page 62, paragraph 23, demanding you begin reading.

Ms. Venable had seemed to have found a tad of mercy in her cold heart, as she lowered her cane, instead gently tracing the welts and light bruises that had already begun to form from the assault from her cane.

You took the chance to catch your breath, squeezing your eyes shut, demanding that the salty tears that dared to spill down onto the pages below to stay put.

That's when you heard it, the light sound of her skirt dropping, the delicate lavender fabric pooling at her feet before the woman stepped out of it and slid it out of her way. The sound elicited both excitement and fear in you. It made your stomach twist and the warmth that had built up in your core was becoming painful.

That's when you felt it, smooth and rock hard against your ass. She had been wearing her strap the whole evening and by weight of it, you knew it was your favourite one.

Ms. Venable leaned down over you, the dominance she radiated causing you to press your thighs together, desperate to quench the painful arousal that the dark woman had caused. Her strap pressed again your wet cunt as she snatched your long hair that was already pulled up in a ponytail (convenient for her) in her fist. You couldn't help the high pitched squeak that slipped past your lips as she yanked your head back. You could feel Ms. Venable's hot breath against the shell of your ear as she used her foot to kick your legs wider apart; granting her access to the part of you that only belonged to her.

"You enjoy being a brat? Embarrassing me in front of all my students?" She sarcastically asked, slapping your cunt roughly with her impossibly large cock. You bit your lip to keep your moans locked inside, drawing blood as Ms. Venable delivered a few more slaps to your aching cunt. You shook your head frantically, crying out as you opened your mouth to answer her.

"No Ms! I'm a bad girl! I'm sorry!" You whimper as she pulled your earlobe into her mouth.

She hit you with her hand harder than you were expecting and simultaneously slide her large, thick cock into you. The impossible stretch you felt as Ms. Venable buried herself completely inside of your dripping, warm and throbbing cunt, made you moan deeply, fresh tears pricking your eyes. You arched your back painfully and dropped your head to the wooden desk, smashing against it loud enough to cause Ms.Venable's predatory expression to falter for a split second. The concern faded quickly though when she felt you began to grind your hips back, desperate for your professor to give you what you needed.

She moaned in pleasure as she watched your tight hole stretch perfectly around her cock, like you were made for it. Made to serve her.

Ms. Venable's hand came down on your right ass cheek and then the left, her dark eyes blown black with lust. She could tell you were close, noticing the way your whimpers became more desperate, the textbook falling flat on the desk, your head resting on top it.

"Ah, ah, ah don't be a greedy little slut. You better not cum until you're finished." Ms. Venable warned you in a calm tone as she stayed still inside of you, as torturous as it was for her, the stimulation of the base of the strap had begun to make her clit throb but she knew you wouldn't last if she didn't.

Ms. Venable may have been a cruel Mistress and a strict teacher but she knew how sensitive you were after a spanking. How the pain lit your body up like a live wire. Plus, after how good you had been for her, she truly didn't want to have to punish you for cumming without permission.

"Third Person; The third person is the most common point of view used in fiction writing and is the traditional form for academic writing. Authors of novels and composers of papers use "he," "she," or "it" when referring to a person, place, thing, or idea." You practically screamed the last sentence, bucking your hips back roughly, trying to get Ms. Venable as deep inside of you as you possibly could. You were sweating, crying and shaking like a pathetic mess, exactly how Professor Venable liked you.

"PLEASE! Fucking hell! Please, Ms. Venable! I won't forget again!" You sobbed, becoming frantic for something, anything that would soothe the burning and twisting sensation in your lower abdomens

Ms. Venable chuckled to herself, proud of the effect she had on you. If she were honest, she was glad you had finished up as she couldn't stand the intensely of her own arousal another second longer.

"Good girl. Such a smart slut. Now cum for me" You barely had time to register her words before Ms. Venable began thrusting into your roughly, a sure-fire way to have you cumming around her cock.

When your orgasm does snap in your belly Ms.Venable pulled you up, your back crashing into her chest. Your body went ridge, fire washing over you and Ms. Venable held onto you tightly, supporting your weight as she fucked you through your orgasm. "Thank y-you Miss!" You barely got the words out as your body shook with the aftershock of your orgasm.

Ms.Venable smirked wickedly as she shoved you back down on your elbows, cock pulled from your cunt with a sharp spank on your ass cheek. When she finally spoke again, you froze, hearing the three words you dreaded the most.

"Again Miss Y/L/N."

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[perriewinklenerdie]

Don’t you leave me right here (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N:  Hi guys! ARE WE ALIVE? PB DELIVERED, PERIOD. I haven't felt this on the edge of my motherf'n seat. This fic is a rewrite of the diamond scene in Chapter 11 plus my own spin on it and the aftermath because I have no self control.

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @awhmilkywey @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble @akshara16 @maurine07

  Enjoy! <3

--------------

Ethan’s eyes haven’t left hers since he entered the room. Now, sitting next to her, she could see, clearer than ever, the desperation and panic, etched into them deeply, following him like a shadow. Her words had a clear effect on him, shocking him into silence, drawing the quietness around them out into what seemed to be infinity. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with emotions, but his eyes were still firmly focused on her, never straying, holding all of his hopes and dreams.

“Since we’re sharing regrets, do you mind if I share one of mine?”

The question took her by surprise. Ethan was never a man to openly express his feelings, or regrets for that matter, and she could almost feel the change in his behavior, in his approach to the situation they were currently in, as though fate gave him a sudden shove into the direction he was eyeing for quite some time now, but was too terrified to pursue.

“Go ahead.” Claire nodded slowly, her movements expressing how tired and sore she felt, toxin draining her faster than any of them anticipated. He took her bare hand into his gloved one, deep regret striking him painfully when he didn’t feel her skin upon contact. The electricity he learned to anticipate, hell, welcome with every time they touched, wasn’t as intense, his brain relying on the memory of her closeness to induce the same sensation.

“I wish I hadn’t asked you to stay away.” he admitted quietly, lowering his head in shame slightly. Her tired face twisted in confusion and surprise, taking in the new information, the one she was waiting for, the words she wanted to hear so many times before.

“You do?”

“We’ve wasted so much time.” Ethan paused, his eyes becoming a shade darker to accommodate his growing shame and pain. Shaking his head, he rephrased. “I’ve wasted so much time.” His hold on her hand tightened, as though he could pass through it all that he was feeling. He was never good with his words when it came to her, only moments of brilliance here and there; she was always better at this than him. But now, he couldn’t run; he didn’t want to run. “I should have held you in my arms every single day and told you how much I-“

His voice broke. Unable to bring himself to say a word, he took a deep breath, searching her green eyes for anything that would tell him that she would make it, that it wouldn’t be the last time they were talking, that he would have the opportunity to do this properly. She deserved to be confessed to properly, not when fear was running through his veins and panic was making him talk like he’s never talked before.

“How much I care about you.”

A bright smile lit up her face, and to Ethan, she looked as though the whole massacre of the past day didn’t happen. To him, she was as beautiful as ever. Her fingers squeezed his in excitement, dimmed by the lack of energy. “I’ve always thought we should be together.”

“You have?” he chuckled, running his thumb over her knuckles. She nodded, grinning like she always did.

“Kind of thought it was obvious, actually. We were always drawn to each other, from day one.”

“I’d hate to presume anything.” He felt himself relaxing, falling into the comfort of their day to day bickering, feeling like he was coming home. And in a sense, he was. Somewhere between him trying to run from her and now, they built a safe place for one another, without realizing it, always being pulled towards each other in times of need. “Though… that feeling was very definitely mutual.”

Ethan’s hold on her hand became tighter, expressing his excitement. The smile that lit up his face must have been the biggest she’s ever seen to this date; he’s never been happier than in that exact moment. Claire’s face fell in disappointment, longing spelled out all over it. “I wish I could kiss you.”

“Soon. You will soon.” He promised, partly to her, and partly to himself, making himself swear to never let her get away again. Guilt was eating him alive, driving him mad, making him want to kick himself for being a fool for so long. “Claire? What’s wrong?” he immediately asked when he saw her expression change into a pensive one once more.

“It just hit me that Rafael might be the last real human contact I ever get to have, not through plastic.” She took the plastic surrounding his wrist between her two fingers, rubbing the material between them. His head told him to reassure her, but his heart couldn’t stand to be that far away from her, even if the suit was still separating them.

He moved from his chair, sitting down next to her, and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to him; not as close as he’d like, but it would have to do. “Look at me.” he said, trying to keep his voice level, letting the emotions take control after some time. Their eyes met, same emotions reflected in them. “You can’t think like that. You can’t give up.”

His soft gaze made her feel as though she could almost touch him, through all the layers of thick plastic. Rip apart the barriers that kept them away from each other, hold onto him and never let him go again.

“But I can kiss you… sort of.” her voice was raspy when she said those words, her hand already raising his until she could press her lips to his knuckles, shielded away from her. He cupped her chin, stroking the line of her cheekbone with his thumb tenderly. He muttered her name, softly and quietly, trying to find the words for the impossible situation they’ve found themselves in, but found none.

With his hold on her never wavering, he maneuvered them into the horizontal position, allowing her head to rest, her eyelids drooping against her will slightly. Their gazes were still locked, like they were since the moment he stepped inside her realm of isolation, and they remained that way until she fell deeper into his embrace, nuzzling her face against his chest with a ragged breath.

“I’m glad I at least got to hold you one last time…” she muttered, inhaling the clean scent of the room they were in. His hold on her tightened, expressing how much he wanted to be confident in his own words.

“This isn’t the last time, Claire. I promise you that.”

--------------

He was right. In the morning, her friends arrived with the cure, and hours later, she was showered and recovering in her very own, new and clean, room, taking every opportunity she had to rest. Her flatmates came by, but couldn’t stay for long, with their shifts starting soon. One person that was by her side every moment he could, was Ethan.

He visited her more times than a boss checking up on his colleague would be deemed appropriate, but he didn’t care. When he asked Sienna, earning himself a teasing grin from her in the process, he learned that none of their coworkers noticed or cared about him and Claire being close, the information being the last push he needed to spend as much time with her as he could or wanted.

The first time he visited, he lingered in the doorframe, watching her with a vulnerable and timid smile. She turned her head at the feeling of a slight heat on the side of her face, her eyes brighter at the sight of him. She beckoned him to sit next to her, neither of them saying anything yet.

His hand was shaking when he took hers gently, unable to believe that they were able to touch each other again, that she made it through and that they still had a chance. After last night, not much was left unsaid and they both knew where their feelings were placed. They still had a long way to go, but Ethan was ready to take the leap, follow her wherever she wanted to take him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, tangling and detangling their fingers nervously. Claire stretched a bit, sitting up in her bed.

“I’m much better now. Headache is letting up too.” He placed his other hand on her forehead, his cool skin meeting her slightly warmer one. A small moan escaped her lips as her eyes fell shut. “Now that is perfect.”

“Yeah?” he laughed, looking at her with utmost adoration. She nodded, breathing in and out deeply. When she gazed at him again, their faces were much closer than she remembered them to be. Her first instinct was to lean away, expecting him to do the same, as they were in the hospital and anyone could walk in on them. Their only ally was the fact that the room didn’t have a window, so one would have to open the door to actually see what was happening inside.

But he didn’t do that. After coming so close to losing her, every moment with her felt precious, and he had every intention of savoring it. The heat of her body, the scent of her shampoo, the comfort of simply talking to her and being by her side. Yesterday’s Ethan Ramsey would keep his distance and maintain a professional front, even if it hurt him. The new Ethan Ramsey simply didn’t care anymore. Or, rather, he cared more than he used to be able to admit. He’s spent past months wallowing in regret and drowning in endless ocean of what-ifs. To say that he was tired of his own rules would be an understatement.

Ethan pressed a soothing kiss to the inside of her wrist, whispering softly, his voice full of pain. “You don’t even know…” he trailed off, his voice breaking for a split second before he composed himself again, taking a deep breath to ground himself.

“I know.”

It became their routine. For the next five days, she would wake up just in time to see him walking through the door, two steaming cups in his hands, one coffee and one tea. Once she was cleared to eat normal food again, he also began bringing meals he’s spent every evening and half of his nights making, both of them talking quietly while eating.

“You’re going to spoil me too much with all this delicious food. How am I supposed to move back to eating instant ramen?” she gasped dramatically, her grin growing even wider when he smirked.

“You could always eat dinner with me. I wouldn’t complain.” He pointed out, words leaving his lips before his mind could filter them. He really wouldn’t mind if she agreed to spend more time with him. His own bold words made a wave of excitement run down his spine, endorphins rushing through his bloodstream. Her eyebrow shot up teasingly, making him sweat for her answer until, eventually, she nodded, so happy she could probably emit light.

“Is that a date, then?” her voice betrayed how nervous but hopeful she was. The same euphoric expression appeared on his face, just like it did a few nights ago; he decided, right then and there, that he’s been longing to feel like this for a long time. Since the moment the thought of them being together became a possibility, in fact. This feeling of fullness, of being exactly where he wanted to be.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Claire. Though, I won’t lie, I would very much like to take you out on a proper date once you’re fully recovered.” He kissed her cheek, his eyes holding the streak of vulnerability when he leaned away. “And I’d like to be there for you in the meantime.”

They both visibly relaxed, tension leaving their bodies as they fell into their each other’s arms, the embrace warm, as tight as he dared to hold her given the circumstances, carrying the desperation that seemed to still have them in its hold.

“I’d like that very much.” she muttered, her words muffled by the material of his white coat, pressed against her lips.

------------

“Dr. Trinh, may I speak to you?” he called out, probably a bit louder than he should, a few interns stopping in their tracks, terrified and feeling sorry for the resident. Sienna, however, kept her face neutral as she followed the attending to his office, observing his face carefully, trying to decipher what could this possibly be about. As soon as the door closed and he got visibly got nervous, she had her answer.

“How are things going with Claire?” she asked lightly, cocking her head to the side when his gaze hardened for a second, coming to his senses immediately after he remembered their conversation a few days back. He cleared his throat before answering.

“I’d like to believe they’re good. Going in the right direction too. That’s actually why I asked you here.” He guided her towards the seat by his desk, twisting his fingers anxiously. “Claire is getting discharged today. We talked about me picking her up, and she suggested staying at my apartment, but I think she’d be more comfortable in her out home, in her own bed. Surrounded by things she knows.”

“No offense, Dr. Ramsey, but I’m pretty sure she knows your apartment pretty well too.” She giggled when a furious blush started creeping up his neck, unable to disagree with what she said. “But besides that, what is it that you’re asking me here?”

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience to you, and I’ll understand if you’re unable to help me, but I thought I’d ask.” He stumbled over his words, the whole premise causing him to lose the ability to think clearly. “Would it be possible for Claire and I to- uh…”

“Watching you stumble over your words is an unusual sight, I must say. Are you asking me if we could spend the night somewhere else so that the two of you could have the freedom to talk?” she made it easier for him, sensing his cry for help in the way he talked.

“Yes.” He blurted out, shocked at his own forwardness. “There are some things we need to discuss. I just want her to be as comfortable as possible.”

“We just so happen to have wanted a sleepover at Bryce’s place. What a coincidence, huh?” she smiled enigmatically, then took her phone and sent the message to the rest of her flatmates excluding Claire. Minutes later they had their answer. “We’ll leave the house at six thirty. Claire has the keys. Good luck, Dr. Ramsey.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, smiling to himself as he fell deeper into his chair. All that was left to do was get through the rest of the day, get her discharged and hope for the best.

------------

“Come on, let’s get you home.” He greeted her, waving a stack of papers in his hand. Claire’s eyes widened in excitement, swinging her legs over the side of the bed almost immediately.

“You’re kidding.”

“When do I ever joke, Dr. Herondale.” His features hardened momentarily, only to melt into the teasing smile right after.

“Ooh, so serious and professional.” she joked, walking over to him slowly. Her hand brushed against his, sparks flying up their arms. “I haven’t been to your apartment in a while.”

“Actually, I’m taking you back to your place.” He picked up her bag, turning to look at her. Her mouth opened in surprise and confusion, unsure what he was talking about.

“I thought you wanted to keep an eye on me.” she muttered, her spirit falling as her hopes for the evening began to fall apart.

“I still intend to do that. I just think that you’d be more comfortable in your own space, your own home and bed.” Ethan felt his cheeks reddening, holding his breath while waiting for her answer.

“Are you sure that you want to spend the night with all my flatmates? I wouldn’t mind if it weren’t for the fact that I… kinda hoped to be alone with you.”

“Oh, really?” he smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing them against each other gently. “Then I guess it’s good that they’re sleeping at Bryce’s place tonight.” He watched how the corners of her lips went up and up, forming a charming smile, a quiet question hanging between them. “I asked Sienna if she could arrange it. I think she wants us to talk.”

“She does, I have no doubt about that.” Claire’s feet moved on their own, bringing her even closer to him, stopping just as they were breathing the same air. Her gaze strayed from his eyes to his lips, staring at them shamelessly. “Take me home, then.”

Ethan offered her his arm, a warm sensation spreading in his chest when he felt her touch, firm and trusting. Gripping the bag in his other hand, they moved towards the exit, making sure to leave her discharge papers at the nurse’s station.

He held her hand throughout the whole way to her apartment, and even when they walked towards the elevator, he still wouldn’t let her get too far away. There was an intense need in every move he made towards her; she noticed it on the very first day after she was cured. His touch was lingering, his hands gripping hers for a moment longer than usual. His gaze swallowed her whole. His kisses that never reached her lips, no matter how much both of them wanted it, were tender but with underlying strength to them, fueling them both for the next couple of hours until they would meet again.

Claire dug up her keys from her purse, opening the door to let them in. Ethan set the bag down on the floor next to the entrance to her room, turning to look at her. She remained by the front door, hands folded behind her back, looking at him with the intensity that made him fall apart. With each step she took towards him, his heartbeat got faster, his senses gained sharpness, tuning into her frequency.

“What’s your plan?” she asked, taking one of the buttons of his sweater into her grasp, rolling it between her fingers. It was a genuine question, but she would be lying if she said that she didn’t mean to tease him. They were like that, always toeing the line, crossing it over and over again.

“You’re in control here, Claire. You tell me.”

“I’d kill for a shower. I would ask you to make yourself comfortable but…” she stepped on her tiptoes, her lips a mere inch away from his ear. “… you can always join me.”

He almost choked on air, his breath kicked out of his lungs at her suggestion. She kissed his cheek, giggling when she leaned away, seeing his face slightly redder than before. Figuring out that, at least to some extent, she was teasing him, he relaxed a bit, running his hand up and down her arm. “You go ahead and do that, and I’ll try to think of something to cook.”

With that, they separated for the next thirty minutes. She left the door slightly open in case something happened, or they needed to talk, their strategy from Miami still working wonders. Ethan managed to get the food cooked and waiting for them in twenty minutes, deciding to wait for her, sitting on the couch and observing the sun that was barely visible over the horizon.

He’s thought in depth about what he wanted to tell her. He knew what he wanted to tell her, so many sleepless nights spent on thinking of her, or rather, trying not to think of her. There always was a part of him that knew that all his desperate attempts at keeping his distance, pushing her away and denying what was so obviously in front of him, would fall short. He refused to believe it at the time, but here he was now.

The sound of the door closing and soft footsteps on the floor pulled him back into reality. Just as he was turning his head to look at her, she sat down, straddling him, her hands on both sides of his face, and the next thing he knew, her lips were touching his in a heated kiss. Surprised only for a moment, he placed his hands just above her hips, kissing her back with as much desperation and fire. She had her many ways of stealing his breath, but this one was one of his favorites.

She lowered herself onto his lap even more, a soft sigh escaping her lips at the contact. Ethan tried to keep his reactions at bay, letting her take over, giving himself over to her just as much as he was taking from her. He could feel her smile, his head leaning back a bit when her fingers pulled on his strands, a helpless moan echoing in the air.

He wasn’t able to tell how much time has passed, losing himself in her completely. Moving his hands to her face, he brushed her hair away, their eyes locked tightly as they stared at each other in utter silence. Water was dripping from the strands of her blonde hair, soaking his sweater and the T-shirt she was wearing. Ethan only now noticed that it was strangely familiar.

“How did you get ahold of my T-shirt?” he laughed, welcoming the sight of her in his clothes with familiarity he didn’t know he longed for. It barely covered her thighs, in their current position the material being bunched up around her hips, exposing a bit of her panties to his touch when his hands were holding her in place.

“A girl’s gotta have her secrets.” She echoed her own words from the very first day they met, his eyes sparking up in recognition. “Besides, we both know I look better in it anyway.”

They enjoyed their dinner, conversing quietly about anything other than the past couple of days or work. Ethan wanted her to relax, not think about her workload (which was already taken care of) or the horrific circumstances that led to her needing her rest in the first place. Once they moved back to the couch, Ethan having changed into more comfortable clothes, the blanket covering their legs, the conversation continuing. The biggest manifest of how comfortable they were with one another was all written in their moves, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers playing with her hair while she inspected the lines of his other hand absentmindedly.

Suddenly, his smile dimmed, his shoulders falling with his heavy breath. Claire caught onto it immediately, squeezing his wrist with an underlying question. He looked into her eyes, blue irises gaining depth as he prepared to tell her the very thing that’s been haunting him for days now.

“I can’t get rid of the panic that takes over my whole body and mind when we separate.” He confessed, searching for more words, trying to come up with a way to explain it better. She listened to him patiently, her touch firm and reassuring. “It sounds crazy now that I think about it, but I’m sure the feeling will only increase when we’re both back to work. Every time I turn the corner or look inside the room, I’m scared that I- that you- ugh, goddamn it.” he let out a frustrated sigh, sliding closer to her and touching her cheek softly. “I’m terrified that I’m going to see you in danger again. I don’t think I can survive it the second time.”

He dove forward, capturing her lips in another kiss they shared his night. Only this time, the tone of it was entirely different. Gone was the fire, the heat and the lust that had driven them both to pull closer, to have, to own. Now, the need was greater, the desperation was more palpable, and the feelings were overflowing. Each time he leaned into her, she leaned back, until she was lying down with him hovering over her, barely keeping himself balanced on his elbows while her legs were wrapped tightly around his hips and her fingers were tangled in his hair once again.

Their faces were wet with tears, cleansing them of all the stress and anger they held within them. Ethan was the first one to lean away, resting his forehead against her collarbone, eyes still closed, breathing heavily. She stroked his back, basking in the warmth of his body, staring at the ceiling.

“I thought I was going to die in there.” she whispered, not trusting her voice to carry out the words. His entire body stiffened, eyes opening at once, his lips pressed to her skin. “Without telling you how much I need you. How much I want you, right here, by my side.” She lifted his head off her chest, making their eyes meet. “How much I care about you.”

“The moment I saw you in there was possibly the worst thing I could imagine. I’ve told you that before, but I’m never going to stop saying it. I’ve wasted so much time, trying to shield you from me; you and your work. I’ve never stopped to look at us.” He stroked her cheek, his smile full of pain but at the same time, hope. “There aren’t enough words in any language that could possibly express the grief I feel, or the sheer panic that froze me in place when I realized what was happening.” He paused, wiping first hers then his own face, just as a new batch of tears replaced the old one. “I want you to stay with me. I need you, Claire. In any and every way I can get you. I finally understand my feelings. And I won’t deny them anymore. The line is so far back that I don’t even remember what it looks like. You have me. You’ve had me for a long time now.”

She didn’t say a word for a long moment, searching for a confirmation. And she got it. In the way his eyes sparkled with utter happiness. In the way his hold on her never wavered, always believing in her. In the way his body relaxed after he finally told her everything.

Claire smiled so widely that her cheeks begun to hurt a bit, then hauled him onto her, kissing him with wild abandonment. “Let’s not wait for a next disaster to see where this leads us.”

[procrastinatorimagines]

Okay Part 7

Fandom: One Chicago

Series: Okay

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Matt Casey x Halstead!Reader

Warning/s: fire, attempted murder

Word Count: 3,033

Summary: After narrowly escaping certain death you decided to turn your life around and become a firefighter, and although it wasn’t easy, you survived your first week at 51. Now, the strange circumstances of your very first fire lead you to a second, deadlier act. As you dig deeper, aided by your brothers and your new firehouse, you begin to realise just how in over your head you might be.

Tags: @alievans007 // @louiselikeswriting // @killjoys-make-some-noise-na-na // @sesamepancakes​

By the time you woke up your head was pounding and your mouth was dry, your ankles and wrists chafing against the ropes that tied you to a beam in the room you were in, where ever that was. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but as your eyes slowly focused in on your surroundings you noticed a small window on the opposite side of the room you were in, the night sky partially visible through a crack in the newspaper that had been used to cover it up.

This was bad, very bad, you thought, panicking as you tried to desperately to free yourself from your restraints, which actually seemed to do more harm than good. Taking a very shaky breath you tried to focus, breathing in and out of your nose slowly...

This had happened before, it had all happened exactly like this before. Only, this time, you weren’t alone in the dark.

When your vision began to focus and the roaring in your ears subsided slightly, you saw a figure out the corner of your eyes, looking to see Lily. Your breath immediately caught in your throat; she was as pale as a ghost, eyes red and face wet with tears and snot. 

“Lily,” you whispered, drawing her eyes to you from where they had been fixed in the distance. She looked to you, shaking uncontrollably, but you saw it then, something in her eyes. Hope? Did she think you were going to help her? 

You were, you were supposed to help her, that’s why you came here in the first place. Breath Y/N, you told yourself, focus, think, you needed to stay under control for her sake. “Hey Lily, where’s Paul? Where’s your dad?” You asked her as calmly as you could, not wanting to alarm her anymore than she was, if that was even possible.

She opened her mouth to reply when the door to the basement banged open, making you both jump as a man stormed down the stairs. He was erratic, mumbling to himself as he waved around a gun, pacing as he reached the bottom of the stairs and ignoring you both completely. 

“No supposed to happen like this... all her fault...” you caught him say, “all your fault, all Jennifer’s fault!” He aimed the gun at Lily, raising his voice as she flinched back as far as she could while restrained. 

“Hey!” You snapped at him, unsure of where such a steady and powerful voice came from inside of you as Paul jumped, apparently only just realising that you were also in the room. “Do not point that gun at her,” you demanded, catching him off guard as he looked between the weapon and his daughter, a moment’s pause gone as quickly as it came as he turned it to you instead. Far from ideal, but the better alternative.

“Listen to me, I’m a firefighter, okay and my brother Jay he’s a cop, he could help-” you began, rambling slightly, not really thinking about what you were saying as you tried to convince him to put the gun down.

Mention Jay seemed to be a bad idea, you realised it the second the words were out of your mouth, Paul’s grip tightening on the gun as he eyes flared with panic. “Cop, cop, no, no cops...” he repeated, very much appearing to have had some kind of mental break. Could he even be reasoned with?

Looking around as he began pacing again, more on edge than before, you noticed the canisters of kerosene along the wall by the stairs; he was going to burn this place down, with you and Lily in it.

“Shut up! Just shut up and let me think!” Paul yelled at a still crying Lily, and outburst that only made her cry harder.

“That’s enough, she’s a kid for god’s sake, your kid,” you tried, grating your teeth and hating how powerless you felt. You’d failed her hadn’t you? 

“We were happy before she came, she isn’t even mine, she ruined everything...” he told you, his logic making absolutely no sense to you. Still, you had to try and get on his level if you had any chance of de-escalating the situation. You’d learned that much from Jay at least.

“Okay, but how is that Lily’s fault? She did do anything, you don’t have to do this, it’s not too late,” you took a shaky breath as his eyes flicked towards the cannisters, only half listening to what you were saying. His mind had been made up when he lit that first fire, maybe even before then, it was like reasoning with a brick wall.

“Yes, yes it is,” he said with way too much conviction.

“No, wait, let’s talk about this,” you tried desperately, pulling on your restraints in vain as he wandered towards the cannisters, gun now slack at his side. 

That was when you caught it, a sharp pain in your hand as you winced, moving your hands slower to feel a now wet nail sticking out of the beam you were tied to. Your hand was bleeding, but you could barely feel it, shifting slightly so that the nail was rubbing against your restraints. Stall, a voice in your head screamed, stall.

“Talk? So you can buy time until your boyfriend can come save you?” Paul laughed in a vaguely unhinged sort of way, thankfully not noticing the confusion on your face as he continued, “is that who you were calling? Because it didn’t say - what was that name? Jay? - on your phone screen.”

You schooled your features as much as you could before he could turn around and wait for your answer. Matt. You’d called Matt. He’d know, he’d know you were in trouble, right? You hoped he would, he had to suspect you wouldn’t have gone straight home, and that that call was strange. 

Stall. You worked through the aching in your wrist, the nail catching your flesh more than once as you powered through, working the rope with everything you had.

“No, I mean, yes, my boyfriend, but he has nothing to do with this, I swear-” you hoped that sounded convincing. You’d already made the mistake of mentioning your cop brother, but if you told him you’d had a fire captain o nthe other end of the line you didn’t know how he’d react. You had to put all your faith in Casey right now, hoping to hear sirens at any moment.

“Daddy...” Lily sobbed, voice small and strained, raw from the crying as she tried to get her dad to look at her, but even when he glanced in her direction, he never met her eye. Your heart was breaking even more than you thought was possibly, stabbing pains shooting through you like the nail in your hand, but you persevered, your sheer anger and stubborn determination numbing the pain and quietening your own panic and fear.

“I have to do this, have to do this now,” he seemed to decide, nodding to himself as he put the gun in his waist band, your eyes draw to him as you worked at the rope, you were so, so close... But not close enough.

Paul took a couple of cannisters at a time, opening the caps and dumping them all over the floor, your feet jerking back as the strong smelling liquid splashed near you. “No, no, please you don’t have to do this,” you begged him.

“It’s done, I’ll finally have justice,” Paul said, your nostrils flaring in rage as you tugged harder at the ropes, your blood on them making them harder to keep steady.  Bastard, you growled to yourself

Paul turned without another word, taking the final cannister and pouring it up the stairs behind him. He took a packet of matches out of his pocket once he reached the top, the first attempt at striking it snapping the match.

Your mind was tugging you back to that other basement then, your senses slipping there too as your vision doubled and the all too familiar smell of kerosene filled your lungs. You’d cheated death once, and now he was coming to collect...

“Daddy please!” Lily cried out, cutting through you like a knife, hauling you back to the present as you willed yourself to focus, scrunching your hand into a fist. You dug your nails into the large cut on your palm, the pain keeping you tethered to reality as the second match flared to life. 

Then, well, then everything happened so fast you could barely process it. Your hands snapped free of the ropes just as the match fell from Paul’s finger tips, the top of the stairs lighting immediately as you clamoured towards Lily, ignoring the pain as you forced her restraints free. 

You looked to the already fast approaching fire as Lily stood, grabbing your leg with her arm and hugging you tightly. You didn’t have long, you knew, the poorly ventilated room already filling with smoke. 

There was only one this for it, you realised, what Casey would probably call your Halstead instinct kicking is as you threw off your jacket. “Lily, Lily look at me,” you said hurriedly, crouching down and wrapping her in it so it was over as much of her body and head as you could make it, her terrified eyes meeting yours. “I’m going to pick you up okay? Whatever you do, keep your head in my shoulder and do not let go, okay?”

She nodded quickly, sensing the urgency as you drew her into your arms, her small ones wrapping around you. There were no good option, but Lily had the best chance this way, and she mattered more. 

Here goes everything, you allowed yourself a split second to prepare yourself, and then you ran.

The stairs were still standing, for now, but they wouldn’t be for long, the fire dancing down the railing and walls as you pushed yourself, step by step, you ran up the stairs. 

Paul hadn’t bothered to shut the basement door, why would he? So you bolted for it with everything you had, you body absolutely screaming at you in fear and pain as you maintained an iron grip on the child in your arms.

And then you were out on the otherside, stumbling but forcing yourself to keep steady as you oriented yourself, the fire still all around you. You put Lily down quickly, patting her down as well as yourself, making sure you weren’t on fire. 

You needed a door, or a window, you didn’t really care. Taking Lily’s hand you looked to her. “We’re going to run, okay?” She nodded, taking your hand with a vice like grip.

A noise to your left drew your attention, making your way down the hall, barely staying up right as the burning in your legs flared up your body. You looked down as you felt your feet nearly slip on a substance, more accelerant?

This had taken place over a matter of seconds, a minute at most, and Paul was still here. You found him in the main hall, pouring the final drops of a kerosene by the entrance. There was a moment, when your eyes locked, both of you realised the other one was right in front of you before either of you sprung into action. 

You’d dropped Lily’s hand at the same time as Paul had dropped the cannister, his hand reaching back for the gun you knew was in the back of his waistband. He was fast, but damn if you weren’t faster. 

The fire had reached up from the basement and into the hall, you wouldn’t have long before it connected with the kerosene currently soaking your shoes, and then this place would go up like an inferno. 

Paul had just pulled out his gun, drawing it around his side, when you reached him, catching his wrist before he could point it and slamming his hand back into the wall. He shoved you back, definitely having the upper hand in terms of strength. “You shouldn’t be here, this is all wrong,” he told you, taking a swing at you with his gun still in hand.

You ducked, the swing wide and uncontrolled as you threw a sharp punch in his gut, building on your momentum and his loss of balance to aim another tap into his throat, kicking him back straight afterwards into the opposite wall. 

“That might be the first thing we agree on,” you snarled, moving quickly as he tried to hit you again, his gun hand twisting around, a suprised cry of pain escaping his lips as you expertly flung him over your shoulder, wrist so twisted he lost his grip on the gun. 

Sure, he was stronger, but you were a Halstead. 

He hit his head on the wooden floor and went down, Lily’s cry drawing your attention as you noticed the smoke filling the hall. 

You kicked the gun away and released Paul, who didn’t appear to be getting up any time soon, rushing back to Lily and yanking her arm, dragging her away from where the fire was fast approaching you.

That’s when you heard it, that glorious sound that made you feel like your chest was cracking open in relief. Sirens. There were sirens approaching. 

Pulling Lily forward you both scrambled towards the exit, the fire reaching the kerosene on the hallway rug as it flared to life with new found direction, hungry to consume everything in it’s path. 

The front door was right there, you could make it. Throwing open the front door you practically pushed Lily out, nearly tripping as her feet met the concete, breath in fresh air. 

Police cars were coming down the street, as well as fire engines and an amulance. 51. 51 was here, and so was your brother you guessed. 

Fresh air hit your face as you took a breath of freedom, and then you paused. Something tugging at you deep inside. Looking back over your shoulder you saw Paul, still lying on the floor as the fire quickly approached, devouring everything in its path. 

It would be too late, you knew, by the time 51 had arrived and put on their gear, the fire would have consumed him. The fire that he’d let consume the lives of two other innocent people, the fire he’d tried to turn on his daughter repeatedly, the fire he’d tried to use to end you, too. 

Every fibre of your being was screaming at you to leave him, but you knew, you knew you couldn’t. So you ran back into the burning building, hearing Lily scream as you reached Paul, grabbing him under his shoulders and hauling his with as much strength as you could manage. 

You’d gotten him outside onto the porch as truck pulled up, Stella barely stopping, let alone putting it in park, before Casey jumped out the door, barrelling towards you with a sense of pure urgency,

“Y/N!” He yelled, practically crashing into you as you dropped Paul, who was just beginning to stir. His hands found your upper arms, looking you over and breathing heavily.

“I’m okay,” you tried to tell him, your breath ragged as he led you away from the burning house, two other firefighters and a paramedic coming to take Paul, along with three officers. 

“I was so worried, I thought...” he trailed off, unlistening, one hand going to the side of your head, still worried. 

“Casey... Matt, I’m fine, I’m alive,” you grabbed the hand on your face, giving it a squeeze as you saw relief wash through him. 

“Y/N!” A small voice called, Lily rushing towards you both and she wrapped you in a big hug, buring her face in you as Casey took a step back.

“I’m okay Lily, we’re both okay,” you knelt down, ignoring the pain in your legs as you wrapped her in a big hug, picking her up as Foster signaled you to bring her over to treat. 

Boden was already giving orders to truck, seeing that Casey was too preoccupied as he followed you and Lily to ambo 61, the air getting clearer as you passed the small girl over to your friend. Foster gave your hand a squeeze, nodding to you as you nodded back. 

As soon as she was out of your arms you nearly collapsed, Casey steadying you as you sit on the edge of the ambulance, signalling Sylvie to come check on you.

“Oh my god Y/N,” she gasped, grabbing her med back.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, but she shook her head.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said with an authority you weren’t going to argue with as exhaustion washed over you.

“How is she?” Casey asked Sylvie, eyes not leaving you.

“She needs to get to med, she has a potential concussion, serious burns on her legs and she definitely needs stiches on these,” Syvlie said, wrapping up your hands as you winced, coming down from the addrenaline that must have kicked in as you started to feel everything.

Casey opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted. “I’m riding with her,” a voice cut in, Jay, appearing at your side. Casey took a respectful step back as Jay gave you a hug so tight you couldn’t breath, “I’ll let Will know you’re coming in, god Y/N, we were so worried, what the hell were you thinking?” Jay breathed.

“Sorry, I’ll try not to get kidnapped... again,” you replied, but he didn’t seem to appreciate your attempt at humour. 

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Casey told you with a smile, eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to walk away.

“Hey Casey,” you called, pausing in his steps as he looked back at you, “we got him.”

Casey smiled, eyes full of pride, “you got him Y/N,” he told you, nodding to you before heading back to truck, something unsaid hanging in the air. 

Sylvie made you get into the ambo, Jay by your side the whole ride. 

You’d got him, Lily was safe, it was finally over.

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Vulnerable [chapt. 1/2]

[2012 Leo x reader]

Based off of a request from an Anon: "A reader who is good at archery?" and the art is in fact mine, signature in the corner.

Leonardo grimaced as he walked. On his bad leg he still limped a bit, but he no longer was so dependent on his crutches. Every step was a twinge of pain in his knee, but he continued, bow in hand and looking for prey. The rest of the team was back at the farmhouse—he wanted to do this alone. He needed to do something. For himself and everyone else. 

He crept along the forest floor, senses hyper-aware of all of the things around him, as with his injured leg, he felt vulnerable. He jumped when a bird shot out of a tree nearby with another one hot on its tail feathers. When had he become so easy to start? Of course, as a ninja, he was trained to be skeptical. Aware. But he'd never felt so jumpy as he did after coming out of his coma, his throat wrecked and his knee in just as bad a condition. He took in a deep breath, then released it. Focus. 

He definitely felt like he was being watched. He was in a sea of trees and bush, wandering and out of his element, having come from the city. It was such a jarring change to have been struck down in a construction site on that frightening day, only to wake up three months later in a quaint farmhouse outside of New York City. His stomach churned slightly recalling what he could remember from his encounter with the Shredder and the wave after wave of Foot Bots. The cold rain, and their mortal enemy's imposing figure stood above him before going in for the kill. He shook himself of those thoughts—not now. Today was sunny. He had to look around him for a second as if to assure that there was light shrouding everything. That there were no shadows to hide in. Shifting his footing, his knee suddenly jerked forward and sent a shot up pain up his leg. He had to resist making noise, but in that moment, a shudder ran down his spine. The sheer pain, he remembered, of the Shredder's blades catching his neck. The trauma to his knee. He didn't know when he'd started breathing heavily, still and partially leaning on his bow. When would he ever be able to recall that day without it shaking him so deeply? Would the memories hit him during his next and inevitable meeting with Shredder? 

But he couldn't think about that now, not as he heard rustling in the brush ahead of him. He stilled. Crouching, he took to the large trunk of an oak and hid behind it, peering around the corner to catch a glimpse of what he was hearing. It sounded big; likely a deer. As long as he didn't engage with a buck and his fearsome rack of antlers, he would be okay. His knee ached as he kneeled there. No sudden movements, he reminded himself. 

He looked around the side of the tree and saw it. A tall, proud buck and his air of regality, eating from a plant and seemingly unaware of Leo's presence. This was his chance to make himself useful. To stick it to his cursed leg that he wouldn't let it stop him. 

Rising as slowly and quietly as he could, he lifted his bow and drew an arrow. He had to find the perfect moment. But he also couldn't wait too long, otherwise he would lose the animal. The buck paused his meal and looked up, smelling the air. He ducked back behind the tree when it actually turned its head toward him, almost as if in acknowledgement. But deer's eyes didn't face forwards—if it were looking for a threat, it would have turned its head. Ignoring that detail, Leo knew it would get his scent quickly, so there was not much time to waste as he aimed, shooting for something vital. The buck stiffened, readying to bound off. He was just about to let loose the arrow when he blinked, and suddenly, there was nothing. The buck was gone, the clearing was empty, and he was extremely confused. He stood up, letting down his bow as he stepped out from behind the tree and looked around him. It had been there one moment, gone the next. 

He jolted when a twig snapped behind him. He spun around, arrow ready to fire. Standing only but a few feet away was the large creature looking down at him, and in his surprise, Leo hesitated. He wasn't sure what to do beside lower his weapon, eyes fixated on the impressive antlers the buck donned. Those could deliver a fierce blow. 

He was backing away, opting to ditch the effort and try again another time, because the animal was certainly strong. And not with his bad leg could he defend himself as much as he would have liked—but unnaturally fast, the buck charged forward anyway. Heart pumping, Leo gasped and drew his arrow, trying to get a clear shot on the animal as it vanished around him, disappearing behind trees, reappearing elsewhere, running at him from every which way. He let out a loud grunt when he was struck in the abdomen by it, disoriented and trying to gain his footing. He tried to dodge the oncoming attack, but his knee buckled, and he fell to the ground against the mossy trunk of a massive tree. His bow was dropped elsewhere. In a last resort, he swiped his knife from his belt, eyes flitting about. He expected another blow from the strange animal, but nothing came. He was left in shock sitting there as he regained his composure, only noticing the buck out of the corner of his eye one last time. 

He watched it, brow ridge furrowed intensely as he got up and snatched his bow from the ground. The buck only stared back, his reaching presence making an imprint in Leo's mind. He knew then that there was something else to this. He had no idea, not even a clue, of where to start with it. But the creature sauntered further into the trees, disappearing into the thicket. 

"What was that?" he muttered to himself, unable to look away from where he'd last seen it. 

He returned to the farmhouse later that night, meeting you at the front porch when he dragged himself up there. His knee was irritated to all hell from the exertion, and you could tell, too; he favored his good leg when he stepped, wincing as he came over. It was then that you noticed he looked a little more rough than you'd originally thought. 

"Leo?" you said, meeting him at the stairs. He tried to give you a smile, but it was obvious he was absolutely beat, his leg was hurting, and overall, not in a good way. "Are you okay? What happened out there?" 

You helped him up the steps with an arm around him, supporting his heavy weight as he made his way into the house. He groaned, a little shameful, "I got attacked by a...deer."

He left his bow and quiver at the door. A deer? You gave him a questioning look, and he continued, "Yeah, a deer. Like with the antlers. It came at me when it realized I was there. I've never seen something move so fast." 

You were going to help him to the couch, but he shrugged your arm off with a sheepish smile, getting there himself. You sat down next to him. "So, an angry buck?" you asked. He nodded. "Weird...it's not mating season. Usually, they aren't so aggressive." 

"Well, this one was," he said, "and I know this is going to sound weird, but…" 

He knew it would be hard to explain why he suspected this was something otherworldly, due to the teleporting. He'd seen it clearly with his own two eyes. Still, it was just as confusing to him to think about as it would have been for you to hear.

"Wait, how do you know that?" he inquired. He looked over at you, blue eyes falling on yours. 

You chuckled, "My dad was into hunting, so I picked up some stuff as a kid. You learn that pretty early on; the antlers on those things can really tear you up. Though...you're lucky for having natural armor." Gesturing toward his bow and arrow, you bumped his shoulder with your own. "I'd say I'm good with one of those." 

Leo quirked his brow, curious for you to go on. He didn't doubt your statement one bit; he'd seen how you watched him practice, how sometimes, he'd catch you idly running your hand along the curves of the bow. "How good would you say you are?" 

Grinning, you padded across the room and got his bow, drawing back the string experimentally. It had been a while. You threw a glance back at him over your shoulder. "Fairly," you replied, setting it down. "I think my parents started me out when I was twelve or so. With one of those kiddie bows, the ones that are easy to pull back? I'm no master, but maybe...I could come out and help you next time? I don't think any of us should be going out alone, anyway, especially you with your…"

He noticed your eyes had fallen on his injured leg. 

"Uh, hold on. I'm not an invalid, [y/n]." 

He didn't want to be snappish, but the last part irked him a little. He could handle himself out there. How well he could was a different story, but nonetheless, he felt weirdly infantile hearing that. It should have been him telling you that and offering to help, not the other way around. 

Damn his leg. 

Still, he knew he had to swallow his pride, for now. He really was in no shape to be wandering the woods on his own. He also noticed that it was a great opportunity to bond with you more without everyone around to overanalyze it. 

"You know, I...I appreciate it. I know you're just trying to help." He tried to hide the disappointment he was feeling with himself, but it was easily replaced by more positive prospects. He hadn't ever spent that much time with you alone, as they were always going, going, going. The farmhouse and surrounding woods was a slow change of pace—a good change of pace. But even then, he still couldn't always get away from everyone else, especially Mikey and Casey. "What do you say we go out tomorrow?" 

You nodded, "I say it's a date!" 

"Y–yeah," He laughed, looking down at the floor. "It's a...yeah. I'm going to go to bed now. Goodnight, [y/n]." 

"Night," you said as he headed up the stairs. 

Mind on the kitchen for a drink before you went to bed yourself, you were slightly surprised to see April there, leaning against the counter with a curious smile on her face. "Oh, hey, April," you mumbled, reaching past her for a glass. 

"Hey," she cooed, "so, a date, huh?" A knowing grin crossed her face, along with that twinkle in her eye she got any time something like this came up. 

Face beginning to flush, you chuckled awkwardly as you filled up your glass from the tap. "Uh, it's more like a...it's not really a date. I just said that. For some reason. We're gonna go out into the woods and scope it out for a little bit." You glanced out of the corner of your eye and saw her sat at the kitchen table, patting the chair next to her. A date? Like that? No. In fact, he was likely offended to some degree that you even proposed helping him out. Not with how sensitive he was about his knee, lately, which was a hindrance to him. But you wanted to help, that's what friends were for. And maybe spending some time away from the antics of his brothers and Casey wasn't such a bad idea, either…

You were going to slip out of the kitchen, but April was set on getting the details. "Come on, girl talk!" she said, low enough so no one else would hear, but you could hear the excitement in her voice. "Did he get embarrassed? Oh, what about bringing lunch? Like a picnic, in the woods," she suggested, clasping her hands. "Quiet, away from you-know-who. It would be nice!" 

"Okay, okay, slow down there," you said. You took a seat next to her and looked behind you into the living room to make sure there wasn't anyone there, then added, "You see, I don't know for sure…" 

...if Leo felt the same way. There was a hunch, but that wouldn't do—you couldn't go off of a mere inkling, lest you ruin good friendship turning things weird. You liked him. How obvious it was, you didn't know, but you never tried to show it on purpose. 

April noticed the uncertainty of your expression and put her hand on yours in your lap. She could feel your hesitance over the subject. "You're worried that he doesn't feel the same way about you," she stated softly. "Is that it?" 

"In short," you answered with a small shrug as you kept your gaze on the edge of the table. 

She tilted her head in thought, humming to herself. "Well, I think you should go for it, if that's how you feel." 

Looking up at her, you inquired, "What if it makes things awkward between us?" That was the last thing you wanted. 

"I think Leo might have a crush on you," she said finally. "Of course, I can't tell you definitely, but...it's just the vibe he gives me."

Your heart fluttered. April's intuition had always seemed pretty on point; you trusted her judgement more often than not. The question was, did you have the guts to come out with it to him, or would it be another time gone past? Hung up on her words, you blinked. "Do you think so?" you asked honestly. 

She nodded and gave a reassuring smile. "I won't pressure you, but I still think you'll have a great time. I can put together a basket, if you want. We don't have much besides sandwiches, though." April was considerate. It was easy to feel comfortable around her; she was a gentle soul outside of combat, and supportive of yours and everyone else's pursuits (so long as they weren't harmful.) Especially pursuits of love, when they weren't directed at herself. 

You thanked her as you got up, to which she replied that it was no problem. Leo's door was cracked slightly open, you'd found out when you passed by, and inside he was fast asleep. he tended to leave it ajar out of habit; he felt that he needed to be able to hear what was going on in the rest of the house in case something happened, paranoid of ambushes. The only time he wasn't conscious of his bad leg was when he was unconscious, and even then, you had a suspicion that he dreamed about it sometimes. Maybe even had nightmares. You recalled seeing him toss and turn one night while muttering incoherent things after he'd fallen asleep on the couch in the lounge, almost rolling off the side before you decided to wake him. Both the mental and physical wound was fresh at that time, so he panicked himself awake feeling your hand lightly shake his shoulder. He apologized as you tried to help him, instead taking his crutches and left by himself. 

But Leo seemed to be having good dreams, tonight. You stopped just for a moment to watch him through the ajar door, seeing that his face was not tense, he wasn't moving around, and looked to be more at peace than he had in a while. That was all you needed to know.

"He looks pretty calm right now," a voice, Raph's, commented out from the blue next to you. He was leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched his sleeping brother. "Last few nights were rough. Wonder what has him all peaceful all of a sudden."

You couldn't mistake Raph's unusually soft disposition, even if he talked as gruffly as always. "Does he have bad dreams about it often?" you questioned him. Both of you knew what you were talking about, the event in New York City that landed them all at the farmhouse to begin with. 

Sighing, he answered with a light scoff, "More like nightmares." For a second, you thought he was annoyed by you asking, but he continued, shaking his head. "This just…I can't stand seein' him like this. Not like this, this, but on those nights he gets nightmares, and the hobbling around…"

"It really sucks."

"Big time." 

A silence fell between the two of you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. You both bonding over your mutual care for Leo and his well-being, brought together by circumstance. Raph went to bed. You did, too, thinking all the way that Leo deserved a good day. A normal-as-could-be day. 

You'd take April up on that picnic idea, you decided. 

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a/n: yeahh i find it difficult to believe Leo wouldn't have some kind of lowkey trauma aside physical after his last encounter with Oroku Saki before the Farmhouse