dumpster-fire3131

[dumpster-fire3131]

GIVE THIS MORE ATTENTION PEOPLE

𝓜𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓵 𝓘𝓷 𝓜𝔂 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭, 𝓐 𝓑𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽 𝓘𝓷 𝓜𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓭!

part one. part two (you are here).

synopsis. when tasked as the newest social media manager for Middle Earth's biggest metal band, the bassist makes it his mission to personally piss you off <3

pairing. Fíli / Gender-Neutral Reader

content. enemies to lovers, metal band! AU, modern tolkien! AU, slightly fem-aligned reader, possible ooc Thorin

song inspiration. "Kiss Me" by Ed Sheeran, "Dragula" by Rob Zombie, "Hysteria" by Muse

wc. 4652

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Two weeks had passed since that wild rainy night, but with how busy you were, it felt like years. Finally finished in Gondor, you had just finished touring in Rohan and were scheduled to arrive in Moria by tomorrow night. Each performance left you all running ragged as this stretch of the tour allowed little time for freedom; the moment the band was offstage, it was time to move to the next city or town. But the hustle and bustle had begun to slowly wear you all down. Even the media content had slowed down; with how often you were moving, the band seemed to barely have free time for press interviews.

The only silver lining of your constant moving was that Fíli was much less interested in pushing your buttons. Lately, his only interests outside of performing had been sleeping and songwriting. Kíli and Gimli had been going out much less, too. Ori seemed less chipper than his usual self. You could even feel yourself becoming more easily irritated as the days dwindled by.

Needless to say, you were all feeling burnt out at the half-way point in the tour.

And that wasn’t all. The storm in Gondor had messed up your travel schedules so badly that you were now sleeping on the bus with the band and Thorin. It wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened, but five new roommates for the last five days was definitely giving you more insight on the things you didn’t already know about your friends, both good and bad. 

By the first night, you quickly learned that Gimli snored as if he wished to awaken a dragon. You were seriously considering buying headphones to wear at night just to deal with the noise. You also learned that Ori handled his nighttime skincare very seriously. On the other hand, Kíli did not treat his skin with the same regard. And frankly, it was appalling.

“You mean absolutely no moisturizer?” You had asked incredulously. It’s not as if you had expected him to have a crazy skincare routine, but moisturizer was integral! “Like, none at all?”

“Trust me, I’ve already tried to talk some sense into him about it,” Ori sighed. “There’s no use.”

“I don’t like how it feels!” Kíli groaned. “We’ve been over this.”

“Honestly, your skin must feel so dry without it,” you mused. “And all that sweating on stage…”

“I shower too, you know!” He sunk into his bunk bed, running a hand through his hair. Ever the drama queen. “Besides, my skin is as smooth as ever. It’s not dry and all I need to do is wash my face. Sometimes I even put sunscreen on.”

“Sunscreen at night does nothing for you,” Fíli chimed in.

“Thank you!” Ori exclaimed. “And here I’ve been getting treated like I’m crazy.”

“Crazy about things like moisturizer,” Kíli teased.

“And let him be!” You laughed, coming to Ori’s defense. “Besides, isn’t sunscreen bad for you at night?” 

“I heard it makes you break out,” Fíli added. Ori nodded in agreement.

“I can’t imagine being alright with sunscreen but refusing something as basic as moisturizer. And what’s crazier is that you don’t even use it.” You were still in shock from this revelation. “I mean, your skin looks good despite–”

“And what’s even crazier is how loud you lot are!” Gimli scolded, opening his bed’s curtain to glare at you all, a sleeping mask strapped to his forehead. “Can a dwarf get any sleep on this bus?” 

“Apologies, sleeping beauty,” Fíli joked, relaxing into his own bed. “Looks like the party’s over.”

“Sounds like he could use some moisturizer,” Kíli chimed in. 

Ori rolled his eyes. “Kíli, that doesn’t even make sense.”

Conversations like these were becoming much more common between you. It gave you a warm feeling in your chest to feel so included in the group. At this point, you even felt like family. Even your rather cold boss had grown a bit warmer towards you, albeit with much smaller gestures. You could’ve swore you’d seen him smile at one of your jokes once!

Another thing you had learned, aside from Kíli’s deplorable skincare routine, was that Fíli was quite the insomniac. You had woken up a handful of times in the middle of the night to find him sitting on the couch, watching a movie or scrolling on his phone while listening to music. Tonight was one of those such nights. 

The route to Moria was full of rough bumps, as the mountain roads were in a desperate need for repaving. You woke up from the turbulence, bleary-eyed as you looked at the time on your phone. It was nearly five in the morning; it would soon be day. You frowned, letting out a defeated groan as you fixed the curtains bordering your bed, hoping you would be able to go back to sleep before the sun rose. Your head returned to your beloved pillow, but the road ahead had other ideas. Minutes passed and each bump or hole in the road only seemed to wake you up more and more until you were quite grumpy and equally parched. 

Finally accepting defeat, you crawled out of bed to head for the kitchen. Maybe some water was just what your body needed. Some nice cold water would surely help you go back to sleep. Right?

You tried to keep yourself from tripping in the dimly lit bus, still not used to roaming around whenever the bus was moving. Your tired eyes seemed glued to the floor as you put your entire mental power into not falling on your ass. 

“Careful, there,” you heard a soft voice say. You looked up to find Fíli sprawled out on the couch, cushions around him with his phone in hand. 

“You should be sleeping, you’ve got a performance tomorrow night,” you said, finally managing to make it to the kitchen. 

You opened the fridge, holding on with a death grip as you grabbed yourself a bottle of crisp, cool water.

“You mean tonight? It’s already tomorrow.” He chuckled. “And I could say the same about you.”

“This whole bus is shaking too much,” you said in between sips. “I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded. He sat up, clearing the couch that was covered in pillows and blankets before patting it down twice with his hand. “Well, feel free if you need company.”

There was tension in the air still lingering between you after his behavior at the hotel. A part of you thought to keep it there, not necessarily eager to bring it up again, even if it was counterproductive to your job. But for some reason, be it sleep deprivation or the desperate rocking of the bus, you found yourself joining him on the couch.

“Trying to take away my ammo?” You joked as you approached him, gesturing to all the pillows he was now hoarding away from you.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” he chuckled. “You’ve got one hell of a throw.”

You sat down, snatching one of the plush cushions from him anyways. You took another drink of your water, the cool temperature making you wish you were back in bed, covered in blankets.

“What are you up to this late?” You peered over to see what was on his phone, but he quickly turned its screen away from you. 

“Nosy, aren’t we?” He raised a brow.

“Secretive, aren’t we?” You threw back.

“Touché,” he smiled. “But still, it’s not for anyone else’s eyes yet.”

You sighed. “So I can’t know what you’re doing every night when you’re up so late?”

“Y/N, if you think of me late at night, there’s easier ways to admit that,” Fíli smirked, sitting up.

A beat passed between you after he spoke; you could tell he felt awkward after saying that, his wit beating his rational judgement.

“As if.” You scoffed, and you hoped it was enough to let him know that you weren’t going to take it against him. “Seriously, what is it?”

“A song I’m working on,” he answered, opening his phone back up but closing out the app he was hiding from you. “It’s just got a melody right now; I’ve been working on the lyrics. But it’s not ready yet.”

You took another sip of your water, now feeling sleep slowly come back to you as you yawned.

“I haven’t even shown the boys.” He admitted quietly.

“Not even Ori?” You asked.

Fíli nodded, setting his phone down after checking the time. “Not even him. It’s a bit… personal.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, not wanting to press any more. He didn’t seem ready to share and you knew better than to let your curiosity get the better of you.

“It’s something a lot different than what we normally do.” He added quietly.

“Don’t tell me that you’re suddenly writing ska music,” you joked, attempting to lighten the air.

“No, no, of course not,” he laughed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with ska.”

“Eh, I’m not the biggest fan,” you shrugged your shoulders.

Fíli raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What’s wrong with ska?”

“It’s just not my thing,” you smiled and shrugged.

“Then what music do you like?” He turned to face you more directly, setting his phone down. “Other than ours, of course.”

“Bold of you to assume I like your music,” you teased, bringing the water to your lips once more.

He brought a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “You wound me. I would hope you like it considering where you are right now.”

He gestured to the tour bus with a fake shocked expression and you had to stop yourself from laughing too loudly.

“I like it enough.” 

“Then what do you listen to when you’re not listening to us all day?”

You drew in a breath, thinking. “Honestly? I don’t have time to listen to much anymore, I guess. Between your concerts and my editing, I’m kind of only ever listening to you guys.”

You didn’t catch it, but a slight frown fell on Fíli’s features.

“But I love power ballads,” you answered, a smile on your face. “I grew up listening to them a lot as a kid.”

Fíli returned your smile. “That’s cute.”

A lull of silence brushed over you two, smiling to yourselves in the dark. You could feel yourself drifting to sleep, the bumps in the road becoming more hypnotizing than annoying now.

“What did you do before this?” Fíli asked. “You know, before my uncle hired you.”

“Hm?” You looked at him, waking up a little. “Oh, I was an intern for my professor’s company. He had me manage their website and Facebook while I was there.”

“Really? That seems wildly different than what you’re doing here,” he said.

“It was,” you agreed. “But it got me this job, so I can’t complain too much. It was nice to start out with something familiar after college.”

“This is familiar?”

“A little,” you nodded. “I’m still managing your band’s Facebook, you know. But now I do a lot more. A lot more.”

You emphasised the last part, looking away for a moment as you dwelled in your own reverie. It was hard to believe that you were here at all. Your portfolio spoke for itself, along with your work ethic, but you had never thought you’d actually be here today.

“Do you miss it?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” you said, coming back to reality as you looked over to the blond bassist. “Sounds like you’re the nosy one now.”

Fíli chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I just feel like I don’t know you as well as the others.”

“Maybe because you’re never around? It seems like you always run off whenever you have free time.” You raised a brow. “I thought I made that clear at the pool the other day.”

“You’re right,” he nodded, silent for a moment. 

You frowned, now worried that you shouldn’t have mentioned the pool again. The incident.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior that day.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you shook your head. “It’s behind us, even you said so.”

But you felt a tinge of relief at hearing him say it out loud.

“I know,” he drew in a sigh, now turning his gaze to the window. “But I think about it here and there and I feel bad for misreading the situation. It doesn’t usually happen to me.”

You laughed to yourself. “So I wounded your ego; is that what you’re saying?”

“What? Not at all,” he said, shaking his head as he looked at you again. “I just feel like I crossed a line back then and I want to assure you that I don’t intend to do so again.”

You fell silent, taking in his words as the earnest gleam in his eyes seemed to sway you. He was being genuine; it wasn’t something you weren’t used to seeing from him. 

You turned away now, looking out the window to see the black sky just beginning to dye itself blue. The sun would be rising soon.

“Thank you,” you said, a yawn briefly interrupting you. “I really appreciate that.”

Fíli picked his phone back up, raising his eyebrows at the dimly lit screen. “It’s already past five. Where did the time go?”

“I think it’s time to pause your songwriting and get some sleep,” another yawn escaped you. “And that definitely includes me.”

Suddenly the couch felt lighter, Fíli’s weight leaving it as he stood up and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. 

“Come on, then let’s get you back in there,” he said as he took your drink out of your hands and helped you up. “Can’t have our media manager on an empty battery, now can we?”

You groaned at the thought, letting him pull you off of the couch. “Thorin would kill me.”

Fíli couldn’t help his laugh. “My uncle? If anything, he’d kill me for keeping you up. My brother and I have been pushing his buttons since we were born.”

“You always push my buttons, you know,” you chuckled softly. 

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he frowned.

“Maybe that’s because my buttons are easy to push,” you offered.

He smiled, helping you back to your bed. “Maybe I like pushing your buttons.”

You clambered into your bed, eagerly welcomed back by your fluffy blanket and pillow. You closed your eyes, mumbling out one last “Good night, Fíli.”

And if your eyes hadn’t been closed, you would’ve seen the lingering smile Fíli had on his face as he had said good-night back. 

Finally rested and off of the bus, you were more than happy to have finally made it to Moria. Moria served as the beginning of the end of the tour. You were all staying for two weeks to put on eight shows, lodging provided by Thorin’s long time friend, Balin. After this, you would all be back on the road until you had reached Hobbiton for the final three performances.

You were more than grateful to be back in hotels with fresh linens, a comfort you had almost forgotten while on the tour bus. But the boys were arguably more excited than you, as a bunch of their friends lived in the city. You had overheard their plans to throw a huge party at one of the hotel’s many ballrooms. Ori had family here in the Mines of Moria who couldn’t seem to stop gushing over him whenever he brought them over to meet his band mates. Kíli and Fíli had already invited all of their local friends to come to tonight’s show and afterparty. Even Gimli had chimed in to help. Being in a familiar city seemed to be doing numbers for the group and you were more than happy to have a break from being their roommate.

“We can invite my cousins! Dori would love the wine,” Ori shouted.

“Yes! And we should get kegs so me and Nori can do our keg stand tricks!” Kíli added.

“Make that three, I think my father and uncle will be coming in, too,” Gimli chimed in.

“Easy, easy! We still have to get all the supplies before we start inviting everyone all willy-nilly,” Balin spoke, laughing at the youngsters. He was an older dwarf, even older than Thorin, with a cheeky glint in his eye that you appreciated.

You smiled at his comment, enjoying the mood around you as everyone’s spirits felt so much lighter in a familiar city. You had seen how beat the boys were after their last few performances, so the fact that they were up to planning and holding a huge party after their opening night here made you relieved to see they were having fun again.

“I’ll handle the invitations to our friends and family,” Thorin said. “Balin can help with the decorations here while you four get ready for your performance tonight.”

“Ooh, we should make it have a theme! I love themed parties!” Ori grinned.

“A theme?” Gimlí grunted. “I don’t want to bother with picking an outfit.”

“That’s true,” Kíli agreed. “We’re already going to be tired from the show…”

“Come on,” Fíli finally spoke up, getting off of his phone to pay attention. “A theme would be fun! What did you have in mind?”

Ori waved his hands about excitedly while practically jumping in his seat. “A metal masquerade!”

“A metal masquerade?” You raised a brow. “How does that work?”

“Just like a regular masquerade, but obviously metal. You know, lots of black of course. Our fans would love it too, I’m sure!” Ori explained.

You sat back, opening your phone to write down some notes. “We could make it a theme for the concert too, then. That way the fans could join in.”

“Aye, like we did in Gondor for Durin’s Day?” Gimli asked.

“Exactly!” Ori answered.

“That’s not half bad,” Kíli smirked. “I’m sure my fans would love to see how nice I clean up.”

“I might do some makeup,” Ori thought out loud. “Ooh! I could make my mask just made of makeup instead of a real one!”

“Now that sounds like a plan,” Fíli put his hand to Ori’s shoulder. “The ladies go crazy for the makeup, trust me.”

“Eyeliner is a lady killer!” Kíli chimed in, now on the other side of Ori. “I saw it on TikTok.”

“Y/N, do you think you could make that work in the next hour?” Thorin looked at you, gesturing to your phone. “I worry it’s too soon to tack on a theme for the concert…”

“Don’t worry!” Ori grinned. “Our fans are dedicated enough!”

You stood up, putting your phone away so you could make a beeline for your hotel room. “If I start right now, then I can get it up and posted in about an hour or two?”

“Then off you go!” Balin shooed you away with a laugh. “It’s going to be quite a busy night!”

“I can’t wait!” Ori cheered.

And busy the night was, indeed! And already quite the success. After retiring to your room to post about the dress code, Thorin had come over to introduce you to Threl, who would be your assistant until your final show in the Shire.

“He’s more than accomplished, and I trust he won’t disappoint.” Thorin had praised. “He’ll also be handling most of your videography while you’re here, so you can give more attention to everything else. I can’t have my band’s social media manager running out on me now that we’re at our most busy.”

Threl was around the same age as Kíli and Fíli, with deep almond skin and dark reddish-brown hair, which was tied up in a bun to keep out of his face. He held a hand towards you, a grin on his face.

“I’m here for whatever you may need,” he said, his voice like honey. “Thorin’s kept me up to speed.”

You smiled and shook his hand, excited to get to work with him. “Well, hopefully that list isn’t too long.”

Luckily, you had managed to get the outfit theme announcement out in time and thousands of fans arrived with masks on and gorgeous outfits put together. Honestly, you were a little jealous of some of their closets! It also made for great video content for Threl to capture, who was traveling across the stage whenever he needed a new angle.

He was just as capable as Thorin had advertised him as. Right from the start, Threl had no issue taking your directions as you showed him your past posts for inspiration. He had already seen half of them, too, making sure to study up on what you were expecting before even meeting you. He was skilled with his camera and even quicker than you were, managing to keep out of the way while snagging some of the best angles you’d seen yet! And with him out there doing half of the work, you now had a lot more time on your hands. Truly, you wished you had gotten an assistant sooner with how easy this was making your job!  

You were in awe at how put together everything was. The concert was arguably one of their best; they were performing to a sold out crowd, with energy and control you’d never seen from them at previous performances. A part of you wondered if the party helped to fuel as incentive, but in your heart, you knew the key was being in such a familiar city that they could also call home. They were at their best when surrounded by the people and places they loved; you had seen it in Mirkwood from Kíli and Gimli. But now, in the great dwarven mining town of Moria, all four of the band were truly alive. Even Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarf you had come to recognize as curt, to-the-point and a little grumpy for your tastes, was grinning ear to ear with his friends backstage. 

And for a moment, you could tell where Fíli got his smile from.

The music was pounding as you walked further backstage to the green room, wanting to catch up on some editing now that you finally had the chance. You could hear the crowd screaming and the pyrotechnics being triggered before you shut the door, taking a seat in an armchair as you readied your laptop. A smile spread on your face at the familiar sound of the adoring audience. 

This was definitely the highlight of your career so far.

Hearing the audience roar over Ori’s vocals was enough to make you beam with pride and excitement. You still couldn’t believe you were here sometimes. Fresh out of college and serving as the media manager for one of Middle Earth’s most famous metal bands? If you had been told this a year ago, you would have laughed. But it was becoming so surreal, so familiar now, that it was beginning to feel like home.

There was still about two hours left of the concert when Thorin walked in, coming to take a water bottle from the stash in the corner. He looked over at you, grabbing a second water bottle that he placed on the coffee table as he took a seat next to you.

“How is everything going?” He asked, prompting you to look up at him as he nodded towards your laptop. 

“Really well,” you acknowledged with a smile. “It really helps having Threl out there while I can work on this.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he nodded. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to accommodate you with him earlier in the tour.”

“It’s fine, I managed,” you wave him off. “I’m just glad he’s here now.”

“You did much more than manage, I can assure you,” he shook his head. “The fans and outreach speak for themselves.”

“Honestly, they do half of my job for me,” you joked. “All I do is give them fan-cams.”

“You’ve been doing an impeccable job,” he said, his deep voice humming with approval. “You should know that.”

You fell silent, not used to such outward praise from your boss. You smiled at him, closing your laptop and taking a sip from the water he had fetched for you.

“Thank you, that really means a lot, Thorin.”

Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarf you had come to recognize as your no-nonsense boss, was never the typical employer or band manager you had expected. He had a slight temper, and sometimes he wasn’t great at explaining what he needed from people, but he cared deeply. About the band, about its members, and even about you. He knew when to reprimand his nephews or correct the band’s schedule, and he was always very thoughtful about it.

Which meant that if he was sitting here, telling you just how good you were doing at your job, then he meant every word of it.

“In the past, we haven’t had many in your position who were able to keep up with the workload.” He took a sip of his water. “But you’ve truly outshone them.”

You grinned, basking in the praise. “I do my best.”

And it was true. After all, the band’s social media was your biggest portfolio credit yet. With over five hundred thousand followers, to boot.

“And I can see that in your work,” Thorin agreed, his voice softening. “So when this is over, I want us to have a discussion about hiring you full time, regardless of tours.”

You immediately sat up straighter, almost dropping your laptop in shock. “Really?”

“You’ve already proven yourself more than enough,” he nodded. “And I see the way the boys are around you. Even from just doing your job, you help them work better in theirs. That’s the kind of people we need in this industry.”

He stood up, brushing off his pants. “Now isn’t the time or place, but I suggest you consider it as an option before the tour ends. I know that may not be enough time, with only a month left, but we can talk more once we’re back in Erebor.”

You nodded, trying your best to find the words while containing your excitement. “Yes! Yes, of course. I look forward to it, sir.”

And with another nod, Thorin took his water bottle and headed for the door. But before leaving, he turned back to you.

“Will you be at the afterparty?” He asked, his voice a bit louder now. It was probably harder to hear near the door.

You checked your phone, looking at the time. “I haven’t decided yet. There’s still a lot to post before tonight’s over. And I have no clue how much footage Threl has for me to go through.”

Thorin hummed in acknowledgement, looking down at the ground for a moment before returning your gaze. He held up his phone, checking something.

“I’ll send Threl back here with the footage he’s got, then. Use that for tonight’s show. After that, I encourage you to take the night off and join us at the ballroom.” Thorin cleared his throat. “Be sure to let Threl know too; he’s more than welcome.”

“Of course, sir.” You nodded, opening your laptop back up before pausing. “Wait, I don’t think I have anything to wear on theme…”

“I can send Balin to take care of that,” he reassured, now typing something on his phone before giving his attention back to you. “For now, just focus on your work.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” you smiled at him, trying your best to hold back your excitement until he left.

Finally the door shut, and you couldn’t contain it anymore, letting out a mixture of a scream and a laugh as Thorin’s words hovered in your mind. One that, unbeknownst to you, Thorin could hear even through the door.

[dumpster-fire3131]

𝓜𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓵 𝓘𝓷 𝓜𝔂 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭, 𝓐 𝓑𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽 𝓘𝓷 𝓜𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓭!

THIS IS PART ONE OF AN ONGOING SERIES.

synopsis. when tasked as the newest social media manager for Middle Earth's biggest metal band, the bassist makes it his mission to personally piss you off <3

pairing. Fíli / Gender-Neutral Reader

content. enemies to lovers, metal band! AU, modern tolkien! AU, slightly fem-aligned reader, possible ooc Thorin

song inspiration. "Untouched" by the Veronicas, "I Don't Wanna Be Me" by Type O Negative, "Again" by Flyleaf

wc. 5791

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Most people would be delighted to have a job this huge just two years out of college. Hell, your previous classmates would probably kill to be in your position. But being the social media manager of one of Middle-Earth’s most famous metal bands wasn’t the dream you originally thought it would be.  Sure, Durin’s Doom was known for the craziest fan base that’s kept them popular for the last few years they’ve been active, but everyone knew that their social media advertising was severely lacking compared to their rivals. When they did manage to post videos of their concerts, they would quickly go viral – known for their flashy pyrotechnics and rather attractive band members. This in turn would attract new fans of various demographics, but none of their previous social media managers would last long enough to ride that wave.

This is where you came in. On the cusp of their two-year anniversary from their first sold-out show, their manager hired you – fresh out of college, bright-eyed and eager to prove yourself – to run a full blown marketing campaign for Durin's Doom.

Within your first few months with the band, Thorin Oakenshield, the band’s manager, had told you right off the bat that you would be going on their Mithril Memoirs tour for the next five months. Named after their newest album, it was their biggest tour yet: a total of 62 shows starting in Erebor and stretching from Gondor to Moria and ending with some smaller sets in the Shire. Featuring music from their new album as well as some of their cult classics, each concert was easily almost three hours long – many were already sold out.

“We need to make their content more personal,” he had explained while smoothing back his long black hair. You could see faint streaks of silver in it, probably from age as well as stress. 

“Now, you’re all at the height of your career,” Thorin added. “It’s the first time they’re going on a tour of this size.”

“The shorter videos seem to do well online, that’s enough for me,” Kíli chimed in, a grin on his scruffy face as he relaxed into the futon in Thorin’s office. His short brown hair was pulled back away from his face, other than his bangs.

He was the lead guitarist of the band and one of Thorin’s nephews. He was fun to hang around, but you didn’t always care for how carefree he could be. 

“Well, I’m not just here for content like that,” you sighed. “There’s more to managing a brand than making TikToks and t-shirts.” As if you had gone through four years of study just to make Instagram Reels; you would sooner turn in your degree.

“I never understood that app anyways,” Gimli grumbled. The drummer was just the youngest of the band and yet you swore sometimes that he had the soul of your cynical grandfather; he even had the long beard to match. “I always keep swiping and pushing unnecessary buttons.”

“Perhaps more fan cams would help?” Ori suggested, completely negating the fact that you had tried to steer them off of video content. He was the second youngest, with short brown hair and a short beard to match. He was also the vocalist of the band. “The fans always love using them for their edits online.”

“I’ve seen those!” Kíli beamed. “They can’t get enough of us! Ori, did you see the one where they were shipping Gimli and–”

“Enough,” Thorin’s voice boomed, shutting them down. “All of you. We’re trying something new. Thanks to all of the interviews you’ve all elected to skip out on as of late, your fans and even investors feel disconnected with you.”

“I thought they liked our mysteriousness,” Kíli grumbled. 

His uncle shot him a glare, which seemed to shut him up for now. “Those touch-starved fans of yours who make edits of you late in the night won’t be satiated with just a young face, Kíli.”

Kíli’s expression sank. You held back a smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

“Do you have something to add, Y/N?” Fíli finally spoke, much to your chagrin. The blonde bassist and backup singer loved trying to get on your nerves. You had learned quickly to not be fooled by his charming braided beard or charismatic smile. Unlike his brother, he was more tightly wound. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as mischievous.

Your smile dropped. “Only that I agree, is all. Thorin has a point.” 

Thorin sighed. “All of you, quiet. Y/N, I have put you in charge of the new campaign I’ve begun setting in motion.”

The plan in question? Video content, of course. Your worst enemy.

Surely, there was nothing wrong with video content as a concept. Editing footage could be quite fun if you had the time on your hands. But the time needed to complete such a task was usually double your usual output, meaning you were usually isolated for hours just to get the job done.

In truth, your real passion was in the networking of your job. Outreach coordination with new sponsors to create social media campaigns had always been your strongest suit. You loved the conversation and mingling; being able to talk about what you were doing was what made it exciting. It was what kept you motivated. And it didn’t stop at just sponsors. You loved to read the comments people would leave on a post you had spent so much time on. It was what made your job so special.

According to Thorin, your job while traveling with the band was to make a documentary-style post with the members every week of their tour. Ideally, he wanted you to capture content showing the journey of the band as a means of telling their story to their fans. Through this, their fans could see exclusive behind-the-scenes content and build an even better relationship to their favorite heavy metal dwarves. And not to mention the fact that it would totally boost ticket sales. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if you were totally alone on the project. Once in Moria, you’d be having an assistant help you out, a dwarf by the name of Threl. You were relieved to hear you’d have some help, but you were still worried you wouldn’t be able to handle this big of a project on your own.

It wasn’t a lack of confidence; you knew your work ethic was nothing to scoff about. You were determined and very eager to show your worth. But this was nothing compared to your past jobs, which were much smaller than a five month tour with Erebor’s most famous metal band.

And oh, what a nightmare it was!

The first month had actually been fairly easy. At first, it wasn’t so hard; weekly content was always a better deadline than daily content. Ori was always willing to help film as the vocalist, even going so far as to tease some unreleased music in some of the videos. Every now and then, you’d even livestream from inside the tour bus, showcasing the layout or sitting on the couch while eating dinner. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the easiest way to wrangle Kíli and Gimli for content. They were always trying to sneak off, getting into all sorts of trouble. You hadn’t seen either of them for a whole weekend while the tour stretched through Mirkwood; it drove you insane. But you were lucky to be assured by Ori, who told you that both of their elven partners lived there. 

While it was still irksome for them to shirk their responsibilities, a part of you had been relieved to hear their reasons. Besides, you had some solace seeing that Thorin wasn’t entirely pissed off at their absence.

“They do this every time we travel here,” Ori explained. “Long distance love is like that.” 

You smiled, pausing from editing the tour footage. “It must be lovely to pass through for them, then. Spending time doing romantic things for the ones they love.”

“It is, Kíli always makes Tauriel a gift basket before he sees her here,” Ori smiled softly. “It’s so romantic, though I know she’s just excited to see him at all. She plans out the entire day for them when he’s in town, doing all sorts of fun activities.”

“Among other things,” Fíli interjected with a smirk.

Ori frowned. “Come on, you don’t need to tell any secrets here–”

“Oh, I can certainly tell you what they’re doing,” Fíli retorted. “It’s no secret, that’s for certain.”

“Fíli, seriously.” Ori rolled his eyes.

“I’m just saying, they don’t seem eager to be back in these bus beds,” Fíli couldn’t keep the grin off of his face.

“We get it,” you intervened, an unamused stare directed towards the bassist. “You guys have sex. Seriously guys, we’re not kids here. And I don’t want to hear about your… escapades.”

“They’re no escapades of mine!” Ori cried as he pointed a finger at his bandmate, appalled that you would even rope them in together. “He’s the one always bringing someone over in the wee hours of the night!”

“Well, some secrets don’t need to be aired out, do they?” Fíli returned, clearly caught off guard.

“Easy for you to say, huh?” You raised a brow, scoffing. “Sitting there as if you weren’t about to air out your brother’s laundry.”

“That’s the brother tax!” Fíli raised both arms in a shocked surrender. “He does it to me all the time, telling everyone my secrets!”

“What secret? I can hear you plain as day!” Ori replied. 

“Well excuse me for not putting on a noise machine! Didn’t realize you didn’t own any earbuds.”

“Seriously, who even wants to do that in these bus beds? They can barely fit us!”

“Bold of you to assume that we use the beds.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” You stood up, picking up your laptop with you. Suddenly the tour bus’s couch didn’t seem as comfortable as it had just been. You would just have to edit the footage elsewhere.

“Pack it up, guys. Y/N said the party’s over.” Fíli joked, much to Ori’s dismay.

You made your way to the passenger seat of the bus, eager to leave the boys behind. At least you hadn’t slept in the tour bus with them; you could still be thankful for the hotels. All you had to do was keep making videos and not wonder about what happens on the bus after you’re done filming.

Thankfully, you were already seeing results. Thousands of fans would join the livestreams and even more loved the weekly videos. Thorin was pleased with your work; you were already proving yourself rather quickly. Besides, even if the band members were a little too exuberant for you, it didn’t stop you from enjoying the free concerts from backstage. It made you feel like a kid again to hear the loud music and see the flashy pyrotechnics, only this time you had the grown-up job to go along with it.

By the second month, even the band members were starting to enjoy the process a little more. Kíli adored the attention he got when he brought the camera on stage to film and his fans loved being included even more. Sometimes you could never find your camera because Ori and him had stolen it to go film some sort of lunch mukbang in between concerts. Even Gimli had started pitching in, albeit by only doing Q&A videos, claiming that he couldn’t stand the other stuff. Noticing how much they had taken to the videos, Thorin had even purchased another camera specifically for the band to use. You were more than grateful for the eager help.

But conversations like the previous were the reason you were living a partial nightmare lately. You had gotten to know the band members and their odd quirks and you always knew how to deal with them. You’d even feel inclined to call them your friends. But for some reason, the bassist knew how to push every single button you had. With no hesitation.

Fíli was always a wild card. Both of Thorin’s nephews were wild and impulsive, but you could usually predict whatever Kíli was scheming; you knew his tells by now. Plus, he usually worked in pairs, so it was always easier to track him down. His brother on the other hand? If he wasn’t sneaking in some pretty groupie into the tour bus late at night, then he was out partying with the band or locked away song-writing. And while it was abysmal, you were fine with the routine, so long as you were out of it. But lately, he wanted to entertain a new objective: getting under your skin in any way he could. 

You had already thought him annoying in these first two months of tour; with his witty remarks and sarcastic drawl, he seemed like every other egotistical musician you had met. And sure, when he and his brother teamed up, the pranks were funny; even you could admit that. But as the third month began, he had decided it was his personal mission to drive you insane. And you were starting to lose it.

There you were, in a hotel Thorin had booked at the last minute due to the bus breaking down. Hit by torrential rain storms while touring through Gondor, the band had to cancel two of their three tour dates there just for the sake of safety. To say Thorin was stressed was an understatement; along with issuing refunds for the lost concerts, service also had to be done to the bus, and there was no telling how long that would take. Thus, Thorin had gotten everyone three hotel rooms, all right next to each other. One for the band, one for yourself and one for Thorin. You hoped that the soft bed would help a little of his stress, but there was no telling for the grumpy older dwarf.

But despite having to cancel two of their concerts, the morale of the band was better than ever. So used to sleeping in the bunk beds of the bus, this hotel was like a paradise to them. Sure, they were devastated that they wouldn’t be able to perform, especially Kíli and Ori. But like kids in a candy store, the young dwarves wasted no time in enjoying their break from the cramped bus. Kíli and Gimli had already started having drinking competitions in the hotel bar. Ori was making use of their expansive spa services. And as per usual, Fíli was nowhere to be seen. 

But none of that mattered to you now, because you were too busy making full use of the indoor pool. 

You sunk your body into the warm waters, glad that you had packed a bathing suit at all. You were worried it had been for nothing, since your past hotels hadn’t had anything more than a small gym. But this? This was perfect. A sigh escaped your lips, even more grateful that the pool was heated. There was nothing more relaxing than a midnight swim, and while it was still early in the night, you had every intention of staying as long as you were allowed. 

Your body felt light as air as you floated on your back, letting yourself drift wherever the water chose to take you. It was a large pool, and empty too, so you were eager to make use of the space. You closed your eyes, steadying your breathing so you’d stay afloat, half tempted to grab a lounge float and take a long-needed nap in the waters. Even without a float, you could feel yourself drifting away in an almost meditative space. It was bliss. The water hugged you like a warm hug and you felt light as ever. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this light or this relaxed. You made a mental note to recommend this to Thorin; maybe this would help him to relax from his own stress.

In this tranquil moment of yours, nothing mattered. Not the band. Not your job. And certainly not your–

“You drowning over there, love?”

Immediately your head shot up to see who had interrupted your pool-induced peace, but the sudden motion only made you lose your perfect floating posture. Arms flailed in the water and cheeks felt hot from embarrassment, as you steadied yourself back to standing upright. You must have looked like a dying fish.

You looked over at the intruder, embarrassment now turning to annoyance as you rolled your eyes and loudly groaned. Lo and behold, a whopping twenty feet away at the other edge of the pool was none other than Fíli, the famed bassist of Durin’s Doom. You didn’t even care about him seeing your obvious annoyance.

Constant teasing and mockery was his usual modus operandi, which meant that tranquil state you had been in was far, far away now. 

“You probably wish I was,” you retorted. “I was enjoying myself, you know.”

“And I was enjoying the view,” he responded just as quickly. Sharp-witted, he was. 

“I could file that as harassment, you know.” You scoffed. 

You shrank into the water, eyeing up his cargo shorts and loose fitting tank top. “Nice swimsuit.” 

“Well I didn’t exactly pack for a vacation, now did I?” He sat down at the edge, bringing his feet into the water now. 

“I suppose not,” you said, hands running through your hair to get it out of your face. It seemed you were stuck with sharing the water with him. “Enjoying the pool?”

“I should be asking you that.” His eyes seemed to burn into you. “By the way, lovely swimsuit.”

You scoffed. “Very original.”

“What? I mean it.” He grinned. “What’s wrong with a little harmless flirting?”

You stood there, stunned. For a second you wondered if your ears had gotten waterlogged. You even felt your eye twitch.

“It just seems a little out of place for you–”

“Oh come on,” he waved, dismissing your thought. “It comes naturally when I see someone as stunning as yourself.”

Okay, now you were certainly confused. 

“Is this another strategy of yours to annoy me?” You asked. “Because I’m not just some fan, here. I know your antics by now.”

“Depends on if it’s working or not,” he said. “What a joy it is to be known.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he was just being annoying. Honestly, it felt a little relieving to know he didn’t mean it. He was your boss’s nephew and you were not willing to risk this job when you had put so much work into it already.

“Don’t you have someone else to be pestering right now?” You asked.

“Where else should I be?”

“Maybe somewhere that doesn’t require a swimsuit,” you scoffed, swimming over to the steps of the pool so you could sit.

Fíli laughed at your remark. “Well excuse me for being reasonable with my packed wardrobe. Clearly you packed more accordingly.”

“That’s the beauty of staying in hotels instead of a metal band’s tour bus,” you remarked, and you couldn’t help the laugh that followed. For a moment, you would actually consider this interaction nice.

“And here I thought you were just having a bunch of one-night stands.”

You did a double take at his words. “Right, because you’re certainly one to talk. I’d say I have a little more self-worth than that.”

“Don’t disrespect the hustle, now.” He countered.

“Oh, is that what it is? I’m not sure if Ori would agree. Should we ask him?”

“Are we flirting right now?”

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the pool, but at this moment he wasn’t entirely annoying. Witty, sure. Annoying? Eh, you could handle it.

“As flattering as that may be,” you said, climbing out of the pool. “I think you’ve misread flirting for me just doing my job.”

You started wringing your hair out, water clinging to your body as you reached for your towel.

“I didn’t realize witty banter was in the job description,” he joked.

“It’s not,” you nodded. “But it does come with the employee. Banter and I are a package deal. Call that the Y/N tax.”

He laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile at yourself.

“Is that right? So I misread you filming me a lot more often lately? Is that correct?” He raised a brow, his smile now turning into something more unreadable.

“You’re joking, right?” You raised a brow, unsure if he was still messing with you or not. “Are you talking about the montage we’re making?

“I’m serious,” he nodded. “This whole time I thought you were trying to tell me something.”

Your eyes widened and you had to bite your tongue from mouthing off. He genuinely thought that you filming B-Roll of him was your way of flirting? As if this was some shoddy romantic comedy. And even if it were, you certainly knew to be more forward than that.

“Fíli, I can assure you that the only reason I may have been capturing more content of you is simply because you’re the member with the least amount of footage.” You turned to face him, stepping closer as you tried to clear the air. The warmth of the water was starting to get to you; you could feel your cheeks burning. “We’re making fan cam montages for each of the members right now, all from the shows we just did in Minas Tirith. I just made sure to capture more of you since you’re so hard to track down half of the time.”

“I was brought on this tour by your uncle to produce results.” You did your best to come off as firm and poised. You wanted there to be no room for misunderstanding between you two. “There was no ulterior motive. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.”

He sat there for a moment, silent as he understood. Then he nodded, looking down at his feet before meeting your eyes again. You could only watch in silence, baffled by his behavior. You hoped he understood; the last thing you needed was any miscommunication with something like this.

“Right then,” he slapped his hands on his thighs, nodding to himself. “My mistake.”

He looked to you, offering his hand as his usual smirk returned to his face. A silent ask to help him up from the pool.

You sighed, reluctantly crossing over to him, your free arm reaching out to help as your other hand kept your towel in place. “Alright then, let’s just–”

And before you could even realize what had happened, SPLASH!

Water filled your nose and your arms flailed about as you panicked to get your footing on the pool floor. You were lucky you were in the shallow end as you managed to quickly recover and stand in the water. But much to your dismay, your towel was now soaking in the warm waters with you. It had been a personal towel, too. The only one you had packed.

Fíli couldn’t control himself from laughing, his eyes crinkling like old paper at the sight of his little prank. Perhaps that had been his plan all along, to reel you in with some accusation of flirting all so he could act like a child and push you into the pool. You wouldn’t put it past him. Him and his brother were always down for childish antics. The bar was never too low for the likes of them.

“Are you serious?!” You shouted, now visibly upset. “Is that your new thing? Making me think my job’s on the line so you can just drown me? Is that what we’re doing here?”

He stood up now, still roaring with laughter. “Drown you? You were doing that very well by yourself earlier! What would you need my help for?”

He was practically wheezing now. “You should have seen the look on your face!”

The thought crossed your mind to drown him yourself. It would’ve been easy with your height difference anyways. But that would mean losing your job as well as a few morals, and so the idea left your head just as quickly as it had come.

But gods, it pissed you off to see him laughing so hard at your expense. And your towel’s expense!

“Well that’s just great,” you muttered, losing your patience with the bassist. You collected the sogging wet towel from the pool, now much heavier with the weight of the water, and gave it your best shot as you threw it at him.

THWACK! Right into his smug little face, the weight of the wet fabric pushed him back until he stumbled forward, falling into the water like a buoy.

You laughed to yourself, surprised it had been so effective and feeling a little bit of satisfaction as you waded over back to the stairs. Though, it seemed you would have to walk back to your hotel room sopping wet. Because for some god forsaken reason, this hotel didn’t offer complimentary towels.

You didn’t even want to go near him right now to retrieve the towel. It would be too tempting to just drown the dwarf.

You crawled out of the pool, wringing your hair once more as you watched the blonde resurface, towel now in his calloused hands.

“And for the record,” you called out, hoping his ears were dry enough to hear you. “If you weren’t so impossible to track down, I wouldn’t have to record you all the time. Seriously, I can never find you unless you’re onstage. It’s either you’re performing or you’re out at the pub or you’re teasing Ori or you’ve got some girl on the bus couch!”

You stormed off, heading straight for the door before turning around and giving your last piece of mind. “I can’t even look at those couches the same anymore!”

Slamming the door behind you, all you could think about was how much you desperately needed a shower and a warm bed.

Hours later, after a cold walk to your room followed by a warm shower, you were just about to tuck in for the night before Ori had already come knocking on your door asking for help to bring Kíli and Gimli to bed. According to the poor nervous vocalist, Kíli and Gimli had gotten piss drunk while playing a handful of drinking games. The games didn’t stop until one of the players conceded one way or another, and in this case, both players had conceded by blacking out and passing out.

“I came down from my massage to find them both slobbering and slurring their words,” he explained with a panicked tone. “I don’t know what else to do! Thorin will kill us if he finds out!”

“Ori, it’s almost one in the morning,” you frowned at the young vocalist. “Are they really that drunk already?”

“I know and I’m so sorry to bother,” he said. “But I wouldn’t have come asking if I didn’t have any other option. Plus, you’re our friend.”

“If they’re already out, why not leave them there? Let them soak in their own consequences?” Despite your annoyed tone, you were already putting on some shoes to come with him.

“Thorin would kill us even more if we did that,” he frowned. “The press would have our heads.”

You rolled your eyes; in your opinion, you didn’t think that a dwarven metal band caught plastered would read as much of a headline. It would be like saying water was wet, or a fork was found in a kitchen. But Ori’s panicked state was enough to make you want to help the poor fellow.

“Where is Thorin, then? Or Fíli?” You asked, wondering how no one else seemed available to help. 

“Thorin’s asleep and I couldn’t find Fíli in the room,” he frowned. “Please help me, Y/N. I’ll do whatever you want for the next week when we’re not performing, I swear!”

Fìli, nowhere to be found? Again, a fork was found in a kitchen. You weren’t even surprised anymore; it wasn’t like you were eager to see his smug face, anyways.

“Alright, alright,” you waved. “There’s no need for all of that now. Let’s just get these two in bed. You can thank me later.”

You followed him down to the hotel bar, where a very displeased bartender greeted you with a glare. You did your best to apologize and close their tabs, adding in a generous tip while Ori attempted to wake them both up.

“Come on, we’ve got to get you in bed,” he pleaded.

“Bed? I’m already in bed,” Kíli giggled to himself amongst his incoherent babbling.

“Alright, come on, boys,” you sighed as you joined them. 

“Should we try one at a time or both at once?” Ori asked.

You looked over at Gimli, who was curled up on a hotel lobby couch. For now, Kíli was being the most disruptive. You wrapped his arm around you, motioning for Ori to help out as you tried getting the poor dwarf on his feet.

“Best we start with him, I think,” you grunted, having to hold up most of his weight.

An hour later, you had successfully dragged two very drunk dwarves out of the hotel bar, into the elevator and all the way down the corridor to their shared room at the end of the hall. Kíli had been lucid enough to get up and walk, but his definition of walking was quickly discovered to just be hanging on to you two. Gimli, on the other hand, only needed the incentive of another beer to get him to go to bed. Fortunately, he passed out in his bed before he could realize you two were duping him. Unfortunately, he had thrown up all over your feet on the way up.

Ori was doing his best to take care of a half-lucid Kíli, helping him drink some water and get into bed while you vigorously scrubbed your feet in their bathtub. You considered it karma; if they were going to throw up on you, the least you could do was wash it off in their bathroom.

“That’s it, then,” Ori whispered as he came into the bathroom to wash his own hands. “We did it.”

“Albeit with some casualties,” you gestured to your feet. “I’m never doing that again.”

Ori gave a worried laugh. “Again, I’m so sorry about that. I tried to get him to a trash can–”

“Yeah, like he was going to go for that,” you groaned. “He kept thinking it was a big glass of water.”

“He gets really stubborn like that when he’s drinking,” Ori explained. “You should see him on Elven wine.”

You sighed. “Well, at least we got the job done. We make quite the team, it seems.”

“One that I hope we don’t have to break out again anytime soon. Again, I can’t thank you enough for your help. I genuinely don’t know what I would have done without you.”

You laughed at Ori’s remark, sharing the sentiment. “It’s fine; it’s over with now. Are they both asleep?”

“Kíli might moan and groan a bit more, but Gimli’s out cold. Either way, it’s enough work for tonight. And I’d feel awful if you had to help out any more than you already have.” He gave you a sheepish smile, thanking you again for your efforts at almost three in the morning.

“What are friends for?” You gave a weak laugh, drying your feet off as you gave a fist bump to the vocalist. “At least you all don’t perform until tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, just our luck; they’ll both be complaining all day about their hangovers,” he sighed. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Ori,” you smiled, giving him a hug before quietly leaving their room and finally returning to yours.

You shut your door behind you, a huge sigh of relief leaving your lips as the promise of your warm bed now seemed ever closer. A part of you was tempted to just sink into your bed, but you knew that your entire body probably needed a scrub after deadlifting drunken dwarves. Tonight seemed full of obstacles.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Never mind. Apparently your obstacle was another late-night visitor. You groaned, ripping open the door without even bothering to look through the peephole. 

“Ori, I thought you said they were asleep…” You shook your head, caught off guard by the person in front of you. “You’re not Ori.”

There stood Fíli, eyes heavy with sleep and your towel, now dry, clutched in his left hand. He was in different clothes than when you had seen him last, ditching the wet cargo shorts for some rather comfy-looking flannel pants and a white tank top.

“Oh, they’re surely asleep,” he confirmed. “And in my bed, no less. I just came from there.”

“Sorry, I thought you were Ori,” you frowned. “We just finished putting them to bed… Wait, where have you been? We were looking for you earlier when we had to drag your brother from the bar.”

“I’ve been in the laundromat. I had to ask some of the staff for help, so it took a while.”

He handed the towel over to you, its fibers still very warm, as if it had just been taken out of the dryer. “I came back to return this. I figured you might want it back.” 

You took it with curious eyes, now feeling a little embarrassed for hitting him with it earlier. “You went through the trouble of washing and drying it?”

“Consider it my apology for hitting on you earlier.” He said. “You’ve got one hell of a throw, by the way. I’m lucky I fell into the pool and not the concrete.”

Now you felt your cheeks flush, embarrassed of your lack of patience earlier. 

“Right, I’m sorry about that,” you swallowed your pride as you apologized. The last thing you needed was any incident that could make you lose this job. “I just want to make it clear that I have no ill will against you–”

“It’s behind us, don’t worry. It’s not like I’m a tattling child who will tell my uncle,” he reassured. “We’re adults.”

You let a small breath of relief pass your lips.

And for a moment, you two just stood there. It was a bit awkward, but at least the air between you had been cleared.

“Well, it’s late,” he muttered.

You nodded. “Right. Good night then, Fíli. And thank you for my towel, that was kind of you.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

[dumpster-fire3131]

Title: More Than a Pill Part 2

Marshall has you curled against him, his arms wrapped tight around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go. His body is warm, solid, his heartbeat steady against your cheek.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you breathe.

Neither of you speaks for a long time. You just lay there, tangled together, your body still thrumming with the aftermath of him. Of everything he gave you, everything he poured into you.

Then, his voice breaks the silence.

“I heard you that night.”

You freeze.

You know what he’s talking about.

Your breath catches, your fingers twitch against his chest, but you don’t pull away. You can’t.

Marshall tightens his hold on you, his lips pressing against the crown of your head, like he can feel the way your entire body just locked up.

“Your voice,” he murmurs, hoarse and quiet. “It was like a lifeline.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I don’t remember much,” he admits, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your spine. “Not about what happened. Not about what you went through that night.”

You do.

You remember all of it.

The terror. The helplessness. The cold, suffocating dread as you knelt beside his lifeless body, shaking him, screaming his name, begging him to wake up.

You remember clutching his face, pressing your forehead to his, whispering please don’t leave me, please, I love you, I love you, please stay.

Your voice was raw by the time the paramedics arrived. Your hands were shaking so badly you could barely dial the phone.

But Marshall… he doesn’t remember any of that.

Except—

“But you,” he breathes, voice breaking, pulling you closer. “I remember you.”

Your throat is tight, your chest aching.

“I remember your voice,” he confesses, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I clung to that.”

Something inside you shatters.

Because you spent so long believing he chose to leave you. That in that moment, in the haze of his addiction, he didn’t choose you.

But maybe… maybe he did.

Maybe some part of him was fighting.

And maybe—just maybe—your voice was what kept him here.

You press your face into his chest, gripping him harder, because you don’t know what to do with that. With the truth of it.

Marshall doesn’t push. He just holds you, lets you process it, lets you feel it.

Because for the first time in a long time, neither of you is running.

Marshall doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t ask you to speak. He just holds you, his fingers running slow and steady up and down your back, like he’s grounding himself in the feel of you. Like he needs the weight of you against him to believe that this moment is real.

You swallow hard, your throat thick with emotion. Your heart is pounding, but not from fear—not this time.

“I thought you were gone,” you whisper finally, your voice barely more than breath. “I thought I lost you.”

Marshall exhales sharply, his arms tightening around you.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, his lips pressing into your hair, lingering. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shake your head against his chest. “I begged you to stay.”

His body tenses, like the weight of your words is settling into him, pressing down on him, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

“You did,” he admits, voice raw. “And I did, baby. I did. I stayed. I fucking stayed because of you.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching his, needing to see the truth in his words. And you do. It’s written all over his face—etched into every line, every tired, broken part of him.

He lifts a hand, brushing his knuckles along your jaw, reverent, careful. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “Not ever again.”

Tears burn in your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. You just nod, because you want to believe him.

And for the first time in a long time… you think you do.

Things are getting better.

Slowly, bit by bit, you’re starting to believe him.

Marshall keeps his promises—he’s there when you wake up, arms tight around you, his voice the first thing you hear in the morning. He’s present with the girls, making them laugh, making up for all the moments he missed. He watches you closely, always making sure you’re eating, that you’re okay, that you’re not slipping away again.

It’s not perfect. Some days are harder than others. But you’re trying, and so is he.

But the nightmares come back.

Even with Marshall’s arms around you, even with his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, the darkness still finds you.

It starts slow. A few restless nights. The occasional jolt awake, heart hammering, breath coming too fast. You shake it off, press closer to Marshall, let his warmth ground you, lull you back to sleep.

But it doesn’t stop.

The dreams come sharper, more vivid. The bathroom floor. The cold, unresponsive weight of his body. The frantic way you shook him, Marshall, please, wake up, wake up, wake up—

You wake gasping, your body trembling, drenched in cold sweat.

Marshall stirs instantly, his grip tightening around you. “Baby?” His voice is thick with sleep, but the second he feels you shaking, he’s awake. His hands cup your face, his breath warm against your skin. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to steady yourself, trying to push it down, but your body won’t stop shaking.

Marshall doesn’t press. He doesn’t ask. He just pulls you in, pressing you against his chest, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back.

“I got you,” he murmurs into your hair. “I got you, baby. I’m right here.”

And he is.

He’s here.

But the fear lingers. The images burned into your mind refuse to fade.

And no matter how tightly he holds you, how many times he promises you he’s not going anywhere—

You can’t shake the feeling that one day, you’ll wake up, and he won’t be.

The nightmare pulls you under before you even realize you’re dreaming.

It’s the same as always—the cold, lifeless weight of Marshall’s body on the bathroom floor. Your own screams ringing in your ears. Your hands shaking as you press against his chest, trying to wake him up, trying to bring him back.

But this time, he doesn’t wake up.

This time, you’re screaming his name, but he’s slipping further and further away, until—

Your eyes fly open, and you gasp for air, your heart hammering in your chest.

It takes you a moment to register where you are—to remember that you’re in your bedroom, in your home, and that the nightmare isn’t real.

But something is wrong.

Because Marshall isn’t here.

The bed beside you is empty. The warmth of his body is gone.

Your breath catches in your throat, a strangled noise clawing its way up your chest. Your mind is too foggy with sleep, too raw from the nightmare to make sense of anything.

He’s gone.

He’s gone.

You don’t realize you’ve sat up, don’t register the way your hands fist into the sheets, how your breathing is coming in short, panicked gasps.

All you know is the cold, suffocating fear flooding your veins, the way your body starts trembling uncontrollably.

No, no, no—

Your pulse is racing, your vision blurring at the edges, your entire chest tightening like a vice around your lungs. You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe—

The bedroom door creaks open.

“Baby?”

Marshall’s voice cuts through the haze, but you’re too far gone to hear it.

He steps inside, pausing the second he sees you—sees the way your chest is heaving, the way your hands are gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles are white.

His entire expression shifts. “Shit—”

He moves fast, crossing the room in seconds, dropping onto the bed in front of you.

“Baby, look at me,” he says, voice urgent but soft. His hands reach for yours, prying your fingers from the sheets, wrapping them in his own. “It’s okay. I’m here. Just breathe, alright?”

You’re gasping, your whole body trembling, and you can’t stop. The panic has its claws in you, and it won’t let go.

Marshall cups your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumbs brush against your cheeks, grounding, steady.

“Baby, listen to me,” he murmurs, voice steady but laced with something desperate. “I’m here. I didn’t go anywhere. I was just putting Whitney back to bed, I swear. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

You blink rapidly, trying to process his words, trying to hold onto him. Your breaths are still shaky, your chest still tight, but his hands, his voice, him—

He’s pulling you back.

Marshall shifts closer, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath is warm against your lips, steady, soothing.

“Breathe with me, baby,” he whispers. “In and out, just like me. I got you.”

It takes a minute, but finally—finally—you inhale, deep and shaky, matching the rhythm of his breath.

Marshall doesn’t let go, doesn’t move. He just holds you.

And you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you from drowning—because right now, he is.

Your breathing is still shaky, but it's slowing.

Marshall doesn’t move from where he’s pressed against you, his forehead resting against yours, his hands firm but gentle as they hold you steady. You can feel the tension in him, the way his fingers tremble slightly where they cup your face.

He’s scared.

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen that look in his eyes before. Not like this. It’s raw, open—like the thought of losing you, even for a second, is something he can’t bear.

Finally, you manage to whisper, “I—I thought you were gone.”

Marshall’s eyes close, his jaw tightening. “Baby…” His voice breaks, and when he opens his eyes again, they shine with something that makes your chest ache.

“I just went to put Whit back to bed,” he says softly, his thumbs stroking along your cheeks. “I should’ve woken you up, I should’ve—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

You swallow, your fingers twitching against his. You still feel unsteady, like the fear hasn’t quite let go of you yet.

Marshall sees it. He always sees it.

Without another word, he shifts, pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he’s shielding you from the world. His hand cradles the back of your head, pressing you into his chest, and you can hear the rapid beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, voice rough, hoarse. “I swear to God, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt, gripping tight.

“You scared me,” you admit, your voice small, broken.

Marshall’s arms tighten around you, his lips pressing into your hair.

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “I know.”

You sit like that for a long time, tangled together in the quiet. His heartbeat slows, his breathing evens out, and little by little, your body starts to relax in his hold.

But neither of you goes back to sleep.

Marshall doesn’t let go.

And you don’t ask him to.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—curled in his lap, his arms wrapped around you, your fingers still fisted in his shirt like if you let go, he’ll disappear.

Marshall just holds you. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to make you talk. He just presses his lips into your hair every so often, his fingers tracing slow, steady circles against your back.

You should be exhausted. You are exhausted. But every time you close your eyes, you see it all over again—the empty bed, the cold bathroom floor, the absence of him.

And Marshall feels it. He knows.

Because eventually, he shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking along your cheek. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs. “Lie down with me.”

You hesitate.

It’s not that you don’t want to. It’s just—if you close your eyes again, if you let your guard down, what if it happens all over again? What if you wake up and—

Marshall seems to hear every thought running through your head, because he shakes his head before you can say anything. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “I swear to you, baby, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You study him, searching his face, trying to find some reason to doubt him. But there isn’t one.

He means it.

So, finally, you nod.

Marshall exhales, like he’s been holding his breath waiting for you to say yes, and then he moves, easing both of you down until you’re tucked against him, his arms locked tight around you.

You bury your face in his chest, inhaling deep, letting his warmth seep into you. His heartbeat is steady, solid. Real.

And this time, when sleep starts to pull at you, you don’t fight it.

Because even in the dark, even with the nightmares waiting for you—

Marshall is still here.

The first thing you register when you wake up is that Marshall is still here.

The second is that he’s not in bed.

Your heart clenches for a brief second before you hear his voice, low and quiet, coming from the bathroom.

You shift slightly, listening, your body still heavy with exhaustion but your mind sharp enough to pick up on his words.

"Just the next few days, I think we need this." A pause. "Okay, noon?"

Silence. Then the faint rustling of movement.

You keep your eyes closed as you hear the bathroom door open, Marshall’s footsteps soft as he steps back into the room. You don’t need to look to know he’s watching you, debating whether or not you’re awake.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, voice tinged with sheepishness.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you mumble, “Enough to know you’re either buying something for the girls or having an affair, but neither one bothers me when I’m this tired.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Then, Marshall laughs.

It’s a real laugh, deep and unrestrained, and something inside you warms at the sound of it.

God, you’d missed that.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he mutters, but there’s nothing but affection in his voice.

You finally crack one eye open, catching the way he’s looking at you. His expression is softer than you’ve seen in months, like he’s holding onto this moment, like it means something to him.

And maybe it does.

“Neither, baby,” he finally says, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing his fingers along your cheek. “Nate’s picking up the girls. I figured a weekend together might be good for us.”

You blink, absorbing his words.

A weekend. Just the two of you.

No distractions. No walls. Just… you and him.

Your throat tightens, emotions swirling in a way you can’t quite process yet.

But you nod.

Because the truth is, you do need this.

And maybe, just maybe—this is the first step toward finally finding your way back to each other.

Marshall doesn’t give you much of a choice.

The second you sit up, he’s already moving. “Stay here,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom.

You hear the water start running, then the quiet pop of a bottle opening. A moment later, the faint scent of lavender drifts into the room, and your brows lift slightly.

Is he—?

Marshall steps back into the bedroom, rolling up his sleeves. “I ran you a bath,” he says like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Bubble bath, actually. Figured you could use it.”

You blink at him, still half-asleep, still processing.

A bath.

It’s such a small thing, but the way he says it—like it’s not just about the bath, like it’s about taking care of you—makes something lodge itself in your throat.

“I—”

“No arguments,” he interrupts, pointing a finger at you. “You go relax. I got the girls.”

You hesitate, glancing toward the hallway where you know they’re probably already up, already full of energy. “Marshall—”

He gives you a look. “Baby. Go.”

You huff a little, but there’s no fight in you. Not when he’s looking at you like that, like he just wants this for you.

So, you stand, padding into the bathroom. The second you step inside, the warm scent of lavender and vanilla surrounds you, and you glance at the tub, filled nearly to the brim with bubbles.

Your chest tightens again, but this time, it’s not painful.

You sink into the water, the heat instantly loosening your muscles. And for the first time in a long time, you just breathe.

Outside, you hear Marshall with the girls—Whitney giggling, Hailie making some joke, Alaina laughing along with them. And Marshall, patient and easy, getting them dressed, fed, packed.

Handling everything.

So you don’t have to.

And you let him.

The bath helps. More than you expected. The warmth seeps into your skin, the scent of lavender filling your lungs as you let your body relax for the first time in months.

You lean your head back, eyes closed, just listening. The faint sounds of Marshall and the girls downstairs reach you—Hailie cracking a joke, Alaina chiming in, Whitney’s sweet little giggle bubbling up between them. And Marshall—his voice, steady and warm, so present.

By the time you pull yourself out of the bath, you feel lighter. Not fixed, not healed—but like you can breathe.

You towel off, slipping into a pair of shorts and one of Marshall’s old t-shirts—soft and worn, smelling faintly like him. It hangs loose on you, but you don’t care. If anything, it feels right.

When you head downstairs, you find Nate standing in the entryway, the girls’ bags at his feet. He must’ve just arrived, because all three of them are wrapped around Marshall, hugging him tight before they leave.

You pause for a second, watching.

Marshall has an arm around each of them, his head ducked slightly as he murmurs something that makes them giggle. And for the first time in so long, you see it—the way they adore him, the way he holds onto them like they’re his whole world.

It hurts—because for a long time, he let that world slip. But now, he’s trying. Really trying.

You step forward, ready to help make sure they have everything, but before you can say anything, Whitney turns.

And the second she sees you, she runs straight for you.

Your arms are full of her before you even register moving, her tiny frame clinging to you, her head pressing against your chest.

Your heart clenches.

She hasn’t been away from you since that night. Not really. Not in the ways that matter.

You smooth a hand over her hair, murmuring softly. “Hey, baby.”

She clutches at your shirt. “Do we have to go?”

You exchange a glance with Marshall over her head. His expression softens, but he doesn’t say anything, letting you handle it.

You crouch slightly, looking into her big, worried eyes. “You’re gonna have so much fun with Uncle Nate,” you say gently. “And it’s just for a couple days, baby. Daddy and I will be right here when you get back.”

Whitney bites her lip, still hesitant. “Promise?”

You cup her cheek, nodding. “Promise.”

Marshall steps up then, resting a hand on her back. “And you know Uncle Nate’s probably already got snacks in the car.”

Nate scoffs. “Obviously.”

That makes Whitney giggle a little, her grip loosening just enough.

You squeeze her tight once more before handing her off to Marshall, watching as he lifts her up, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

And as you watch him, something deep inside you whispers—

Maybe this weekend is what you both need.

The second Nate’s car disappears down the driveway, you turn to head back inside—

Only for Marshall to scoop you up before you can take a single step.

You let out a startled noise, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. “Marshall!”

He smirks, not stopping, not hesitating, just carrying you straight back inside like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “What?” he teases, shifting you higher in his arms. “Told you this weekend was about us, baby.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight it. Instead, you rest your head against his shoulder, letting yourself relax into him. “I just got out of bed,” you murmur, voice still a little tired, but lighter than it’s been in a long time.

Marshall grins. “Yeah? Guess I’m putting you right back in.”

And he does.

He carries you upstairs, straight into the bedroom, and gently lays you down on the bed. But before you can sit up, he’s crawling in after you, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close.

Your breath catches for a second. Not because you don’t want this—you do—but because of how easy it feels. Like the weight of the past few months isn’t pressing down on you for once.

Like maybe, for the first time in a long time—

You can just be here. With him.

Marshall presses his face into your neck, his arms tightening around you. “Just wanna hold you,” he murmurs. “That okay?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you whisper, curling into him.

And for the first time in what feels like forever—

You let him.

The room is quiet, the kind of silence that only exists when there’s no one else around—just you and Marshall, tangled up together in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

He’s been holding you like this for a while, arms locked around you, his body warm and solid against yours. Every so often, he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle. Other times, his fingers drift idly along your stomach where your shirt has ridden up, barely-there touches that make your breath hitch even though they’re nothing more than innocent.

But eventually, inevitably, you feel it—the way his body is reacting to the closeness, the heat of him pressed against you, the slow, unconscious shift of his hips like he’s trying not to give himself away.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you push back against him just enough to tease. “Thought you just wanted to hold me?”

Marshall lets out a low, almost pained chuckle against your skin.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with something deeper, something darker, “you’re prancing around in my clothes, looking like you do, and you think I don’t want whatever I can get?”

Before you can even respond, he moves—rolling you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress beneath him.

You inhale sharply as he hovers over you, his weight braced on his forearms, his eyes dark and hungry as they rake over your face, your body, like he’s taking in the sight of you spread out beneath him and memorizing it.

Your heart pounds.

Because this isn’t just want.

This is him needing you.

And God help you—you need him too.

Marshall doesn’t rush.

He just looks at you for a long moment, his breath warm against your skin, his body pressing you into the mattress but not in a way that traps you—just in a way that reminds you he’s here, that he’s yours.

His fingers skim down your side, slow, deliberate, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When his hand settles on your bare thigh, squeezing lightly, you shudder beneath him.

He notices.

Of course he notices.

A slow, knowing smirk pulls at his lips, but there’s something else in his eyes, something deeper than just desire.

Devotion.

Like he’s trying to tell you without words how much he loves you, how much he’s still in love with you, even after everything.

You swallow hard, your fingers lifting to thread through his hair. “Marshall…”

His eyes flicker up to yours, searching, waiting.

And you realize—you have all the power here.

Not because he wants you.

Because he needs you.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself need him too.

So you pull him down, closing the space between you, and when your lips meet his, it’s not slow, not soft—

It’s desperate.

It’s home.

Marshall meets your kiss with just as much desperation, his hands tightening on your body like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. There’s no hesitation, no teasing—just raw, unfiltered need.

His lips move against yours with a hunger that steals your breath, his body pressing closer, heavier, like he wants to fuse himself to you, like he needs to feel every inch of you against him to believe this is real.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he groans into your mouth, deep and guttural. The sound sends a shiver through you, heat pooling in your stomach, making your grip on him tighten.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath. His forehead presses against yours, his thumb stroking over your cheek. “You got any idea what you do to me?”

You swallow, your heart pounding so hard you think he can probably hear it. “I think I’m getting the picture.”

His lips twitch, but his eyes stay serious, intense. “Nah,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Not even close.”

You shiver at the heat in his voice, at the way his hands start moving again, slow but deliberate, memorizing you all over again. Every touch, every kiss—

It’s a promise.

That he’s here. That he’s staying. That no matter how much he’s fucked up, no matter how much he’s hurt you, he’s never letting you go again.

And this time—

You believe him.

The world outside fades away.

There’s no past, no pain, no weight of everything that’s come before—just you and Marshall, tangled together in the sheets, in each other.

The day passes in a blur of soft sighs and whispered words, of hands mapping familiar paths like they’re learning each other all over again. He touches you with a reverence that steals your breath, kisses you like he’s trying to commit the taste of you to memory.

And in the moments in between, when your bodies are spent but neither of you want to move, there’s stillness.

The kind you haven’t had in years.

You lay curled against his chest, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your back. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

At some point, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head. “You hungry?”

You hum, eyes half-lidded, too comfortable to move. “Mmm, maybe.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “That a yes or a no?”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze. “That’s a you’re comfy and I don’t wanna move.”

His lips twitch. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

His expression softens, something tender flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “I really do.”

And just like that—

Your heart is his all over again.

You’re drifting, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your head rising and falling with the steady rhythm of Marshall’s breathing. His hand is warm where it rests against your back, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin.

Then—pat.

His palm smacks lightly against your ass, jolting you just enough to pull you from the haze of sleep.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and lazy. “I’m taking you out. Go get dressed.”

You groan, burying your face deeper into his chest. “What if we just… stay here?” You yawn, stretching against him, your body molding even closer to his. “Order in. I’m comfortable right here.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath your ear. “I know you are, but we’ve been in this bed all day. We gotta get out for a little bit.”

You peek up at him, pouting. “But I don’t wanna.”

His lips twitch, but his expression stays firm. “Tough. Get your pretty ass up, put on something nice, and let me take you somewhere.”

You huff dramatically but don’t move just yet. “Where are we going?”

He smirks. “It’s a surprise.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Marshall…”

He leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, his voice dropping to a coaxing murmur. “Come on, baby. Just trust me.”

And just like that—how the hell are you supposed to say no?

You sigh dramatically, stretching again as if you’re really considering getting up. Marshall watches you with an amused smirk, clearly seeing through your act, but he doesn’t push.

Instead, you let your fingers trace slow, lazy patterns on his chest, mirroring the way he’d been touching you before. You feel the way his breath catches just slightly, the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“Okay,” you murmur, letting your lips ghost over his jaw. “I’ll get up.”

Marshall hums, pleased. “Good girl.”

You smirk against his skin. “But…”

His grip on your waist tightens slightly. “But what?”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes full of mischief. “I think I need a shower first.”

His brow lifts, clearly intrigued but playing it cool. “Yeah?”

You nod, slipping a leg over his hip, straddling him lazily. “Mmhmm. And, you know… since you’re so determined to get me out of bed…” You lean in, your lips brushing against his, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe you should help me.”

Marshall groans, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping tight. “You tryna distract me, baby?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Maybe.”

He exhales sharply, then suddenly flips you, pressing you into the mattress, his body hovering over yours. His smirk is dark, full of something dangerous and needy.

“Shower,” he rasps, nipping at your jaw, his hands already pulling you up with him. “Now.”

You giggle as he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you straight into the bathroom—

And neither of you end up getting ready for anything for a long, long time.

After finally managing to pull yourselves from the shower—eventually—you towel off, wrapping yourself in a robe while you rifle through your dresser. You don’t feel like dressing up too much, but you want to look nice, so you settle on a simple sundress, one that’s soft and light against your skin, paired with some sandals.

You keep your makeup minimal, just enough to make you feel put together, and let your hair fall naturally. There’s a warmth in your chest as you glance at your reflection—it’s been a long time since you felt like this. Like yourself.

When you make your way downstairs, Marshall is waiting by the front door, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his arms crossed as he leans against the wall. But the moment he sees you—

His entire posture shifts.

His eyes drag over you slowly, from the curve of your legs to the way the dress fits against your body, lingering just a second too long on the exposed skin of your collarbone before finally making it to your face.

You see the heat in his gaze.

The way his tongue swipes over his lips, the slight clench of his jaw.

And suddenly, you know.

You know exactly what he’s thinking.

You stop on the last step, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

Marshall exhales sharply, shaking his head slightly, but his eyes don’t leave you. “You tryna test me, baby?”

You smirk, feigning innocence. “What? I just got dressed.”

He lets out a low, almost pained chuckle, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, and now I’m seriously reconsidering letting you leave this house.”

You step closer, resting a hand on his chest. “You were the one so determined to take me out, remember?”

Marshall groans, tilting his head back like he’s suffering, before his hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him. His voice is rough when he speaks.

“Five more minutes and I’m sayin’ fuck the restaurant.”

Marshall drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. The radio plays low in the background, some old-school hip-hop track that neither of you really acknowledge, lost in the quiet comfort of just being together.

It isn’t until he pulls into the parking lot of a small, familiar diner that your heart stutters in your chest.

You blink, turning to him with wide eyes. “Marshall…”

He just smirks, cutting the engine. “Figured we could take a trip down memory lane.”

Your chest tightens as you take in the sight of the place—the same flickering neon sign, the same little windows with the red-and-white checkered curtains. It’s not some fancy restaurant, not some high-end, five-star experience—

But this place had meant everything to you once.

Back when Marshall barely had two dollars to rub together, back when he’d been hustling to make his music work, back when a night out at this diner was the nicest thing he could afford.

And you’d loved it.

Not because of the food, not because of the place itself—

But because of him.

Because you knew how hard he’d worked just to take you here, how much it had mattered to him to make you feel special.

Your throat tightens as you turn back to him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You remembered.”

Marshall scoffs, like the idea of him ever forgetting is ridiculous. “’Course I did.” His expression softens, a hint of something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “Ain’t like I could ever forget my girl’s favorite place.”

You bite your lip, overwhelmed, your heart aching in the best way.

And when he reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers before pulling you inside—

For the first time in a long, long time, you feel special again.

The bell above the diner door jingles as you step inside, and the familiar scent of greasy diner food, coffee, and something sweet fills the air. It’s nothing fancy, nothing pretentious—just a small-town comfort, the kind of place where time seems to slow down. You feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you, and for a moment, it’s like you’re not here, not now.

You’re back in those early days, when Marshall was still chasing his dreams, when every date was an adventure no matter where you ended up.

The waitress at the counter recognizes you both immediately, giving you a warm smile. “Well, look who finally came back,” she says with a laugh, her eyes twinkling. “The two of you still going strong, huh?”

Marshall grins, a little shy but full of that same old charm you’d fallen for all those years ago. “Yeah, we’re still here,” he says, squeezing your hand as he guides you to a booth. “Just haven’t had time to visit much lately.”

You slide into the booth across from him, your heart swelling at the sight of him, so much the same and yet so different. His jeans are a little more expensive now, his t-shirt probably from one of his tours, but the look in his eyes is still that same raw intensity, the one that had been there when he first took you out to this place. The one that had made you feel like you were the center of his world.

Marshall leans back in the booth, his hand still on yours, but now his gaze is fixed on the menu. “You want the usual?” he asks, that familiar playful glint in his eyes.

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, you know me too well.”

He chuckles softly, glancing over the menu for a moment before his gaze drifts back to you, softening. “Guess I’ve always known you pretty damn well.”

Your heart skips a beat. “I guess you have.”

For a moment, there’s just the two of you, the quiet hum of the diner around you, and the connection that’s still there. You don’t need fancy places or extravagant gestures.

This moment—this simple, perfect moment—is all that matters.

The waitress comes over and takes your orders, and as she walks away, Marshall leans across the table, his voice low but full of meaning. “I never forgot, you know.”

You glance up, meeting his eyes, your pulse quickening at the sincerity in his gaze. “Never forgot what?”

“Us,” he says simply. “I may have been lost for a while, but I always knew what we had. What we still have.”

You swallow hard, emotions you’ve buried for so long threatening to spill over. “I don’t know how to believe that sometimes.”

Marshall’s expression hardens for a moment, like he’s fighting to keep control, but his voice stays steady. “Then let me show you. I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

Your heart clenches at the promise in his words, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him.

You sit there, watching Marshall as he absentmindedly taps his fingers on the table, eyes lowered to his hands. The noise of the diner hums around you, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you, the weight of everything you’ve been through sitting heavily between you. It’s almost suffocating, the need to say something, the need to make sure he understands.

The words are caught in your throat for a moment, but you push them out.

“Marshall…” Your voice is quiet, soft, but it’s firm, like you’ve finally made a decision.

He looks up at you, his brow furrowed slightly, the warmth in his gaze never leaving. “Yeah?”

You swallow hard, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your napkin, eyes darting to the cup of coffee in front of you, then back to him. Focus—this is important.

“I’m scared,” you admit, voice wavering just a little. “I’m scared of what’s happened between us. I’m scared of what we’ve gone through, what you’ve gone through… and how I’ve just… I don’t know, let everything change.”

Marshall’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just watches you, that quiet understanding in his gaze.

“But I can’t keep pretending anymore,” you continue, your voice stronger now. “I can’t keep acting like I don’t need you. Like I’m not still in love with you, because I am, Marshall. I always have been.”

You take a shaky breath, the weight of your confession pressing down on you, but you don’t look away. You can’t. You’ve been avoiding this for too long, keeping yourself closed off for so many reasons, but not anymore.

“I don’t care how messed up everything is. I don’t care that I’m scared. I need you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and I can’t stand being close to you, having you this near and pretending that I don’t still want you. Don’t still love you.”

Marshall doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at you, as if trying to gauge whether you’re being completely honest or if you’re about to pull away again. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling with every breath, and for a second, the tension between you feels unbearable.

And then, finally, he speaks, his voice low but filled with conviction.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that. Waiting for you to finally let me in again, because I never stopped loving you. I’m not going anywhere. And I’m gonna spend every damn day proving that to you, if I have to.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as he reaches for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles gently, like he's trying to reassure you, to show you that everything you’ve been longing for is within reach again.

“You don’t need to be scared,” he adds, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And just like that, something inside you—something heavy and broken—starts to heal.

[dumpster-fire3131]

Title: More than a Pill

The house is quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the girls moving around in their rooms. It’s been like this for weeks—silence stretched thin over years of love worn raw. You sit at the kitchen table, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup, staring at the man across from you. The man you’ve given everything to. The man who’s breaking you in ways you never thought possible.

Marshall looks… empty. Sober, yes. But empty. His hands are clasped together, knuckles tight, like he’s holding himself together with nothing but sheer force of will. His blue eyes are dull, rimmed with exhaustion, and when he looks at you, it’s like he’s seeing you through a fog. Like you’re already gone. Maybe you are.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You exhale slowly, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. “I don’t think you can.”

His jaw tenses, his fingers flexing on the table. “So that’s it?”

“No,” you shake your head, throat tight. “I’m not leaving you. But I’m done pretending.”

His brows furrow, and for a second, something flickers behind his eyes. Panic. Pain. But he doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve spent years putting myself last, Marshall. And I didn’t mind. I understood.” Your voice shakes, but you force yourself to keep going. “The kids needed you. The music—it was your dream, and I could live with that. But the drugs?” Your breath hitches. “I can’t justify that. I can’t make sense of it, not even in my own mind.”

His face crumples, but still, he says nothing.

“You had a choice,” you whisper, the words barely making it past the lump in your throat. “And you chose to leave me. Not physically, but you left. Over and over again. You would’ve rather died than stay with me.” Your voice breaks, and you hate yourself for it. “And I still would’ve taken you back. Even after everything. I would’ve forgiven you if you had just… chosen me.”

His head drops into his hands, fingers threading through his hair. His shoulders shake, and for the first time in years, you see him cry. Really cry. Not the quiet, frustrated kind of grief he lets slip in the dead of night, but the wrecked, broken kind. The kind that leaves nothing behind.

But you’re too tired to comfort him. Too tired to tell him it’s okay.

Because it’s not. And you don’t know if it ever will be.

---

The days pass in a haze of routine. You wake up early to get the girls ready for school, pack their lunches, remind them to grab their backpacks. You smile when you need to, laugh at their stories over dinner, make sure homework is done and bedtime routines are followed. You keep everything together because that’s what a mother does.

And after they’re asleep, you slip into the guest room.

You don’t even look at your bedroom door anymore. You know what’s waiting for you behind it—memories of a life that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. You see Marshall on the bathroom floor, the way his skin had looked too pale, too lifeless, the way your hands had shaken as you called for help. It’s been months since then, and the anger is gone, burned out until there’s nothing left but the hollow ache of knowing the truth.

He chose the pills over you.

And no matter how much you wish you could hate him for it, you don’t. You just feel… resigned. Because what hurts the most isn’t that he was an addict. It’s that you were never enough to make him stop.

Marshall notices, of course. He always notices. He watches you like he’s searching for something he’s already lost, like if he just looks hard enough, he’ll find the woman who used to love him without hesitation. But she’s gone, or maybe she’s still here, buried under months—years—of pain.

He tries, though. In his own way. Little things, at first.

He lingers when you pass each other in the hall, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but knows he can’t. He offers to help with dinner, his voice careful, like he’s afraid you’ll shut him down. He sits beside you on the couch when the girls are curled up watching TV, his knee barely brushing against yours, waiting to see if you’ll move away. You don’t, but you don’t lean in either.

And when the girls go to bed, and it’s just the two of you in the quiet of the house, that’s when he really tries.

“I didn’t see it,” he says one night, voice rough like it’s been stuck in his throat for hours. “I didn’t see what I was doing to you.”

You close your eyes, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

“I love you,” he says, desperate now, the words almost breaking apart before they reach you. “I never stopped. I was just—”

You pull away before he can finish, before he can make this harder than it already is. You stand, arms wrapped around yourself as you shake your head.

“I can’t, Marshall.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears it. You know he does.

He exhales sharply, his head dropping, hands clenched into fists. He doesn’t try to stop you when you walk away. He never does. Because you both know you’re too afraid to let him in again.

And he’s terrified that he’s already lost you for good.

---

It goes on like that for weeks. Months.

You live in the same house, co-parent the same kids, share the same space—but you might as well be ghosts haunting separate lives. You don’t fight, don’t scream, don’t hurl accusations at each other anymore. There’s nothing left to say. You’re just… existing.

Marshall still tries.

Some nights, when the girls are asleep and the house is too quiet, he lingers in the doorway of the guest room, watching you with something wrecked in his eyes. He never steps inside. Maybe he’s afraid that if he crosses that threshold, you’ll shut down completely. Maybe he knows you already have.

You wish you could be angry. Anger would be easier than this constant ache in your chest. But the truth is, you don’t have the energy to hate him. You’re just tired.

Tired of loving someone who didn’t love you enough to stay.

He never begs. Never pleads. That’s not his way. But his actions—God, his actions are screaming. He wakes up early to make sure the girls eat breakfast before school. He drives them when he can, picks them up when he’s not in the studio. He cuts back on work, spends more time at home, lingers in rooms you’re in like he’s hoping some part of you will acknowledge that he’s trying.

And the worst part? You see it. You see the effort, see the guilt weighing him down. You see the way he’s fighting to be the man you needed him to be all along.

But it doesn’t change the fact that, when it mattered most, he wasn’t.

Tonight is no different. You’re sitting at the kitchen table after putting the girls to bed, staring at the cup of tea you made but have no intention of drinking. You hear his footsteps before he speaks.

“You should sleep,” he says softly, stepping into the room.

You don’t look at him. “I will.”

He hesitates, and you know what’s coming before he even says it.

“Do you even see me anymore?” His voice is raw, like it physically hurts to ask. “Or am I already gone to you?”

Your fingers tighten around the mug. You don’t answer.

Marshall exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “I love you,” he says again, like saying it enough times will somehow fix the damage. “I don’t know how else to say it.”

You let out a hollow breath. “Loving me should’ve been enough to stop you.”

The silence after that is suffocating. You finally look up at him, and it nearly destroys you. He looks wrecked. Older. Like he’s spent every second of sobriety carrying the weight of his own mistakes.

But you can’t fix this for him. You can’t fix him.

So you stand, walking past him without another word, ignoring the way his shoulders sag, ignoring the way everything inside you is screaming to turn back.

Because you’re not sure you can survive breaking all over again.

---

The exhaustion isn’t just in your body anymore—it’s in your bones, your soul. You don’t sleep, not really. You close your eyes and drift, but the moment you slip too far, your mind betrays you. You see Marshall on the bathroom floor, his skin grey, his lips parted like he was already halfway gone. You hear your own screams echoing in your head, your hands on his chest, shaking, begging, please, please, don’t do this, I love you, I love you, I love you.

You wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, clutching at the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping you grounded. And then you lay there, staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dragging yourself through another day.

You barely eat. You pick at your food, push things around on your plate, take just enough bites to stop the girls from asking questions. But they see it. Hailie watches you too closely, her brows furrowing when you wave off breakfast, when you say you’re not hungry at dinner. The younger girls don’t say much, but they cling to you, their little hands holding onto your arms, your shirt, your fingers—like they can feel you slipping away and don’t know how to stop it.

And then there’s Marshall.

He’s watching too, and it’s killing him. You can see it in his eyes, the way he stares at you like he’s trying to piece you back together with sheer willpower. Like if he just looks long enough, hard enough, you’ll come back to him. But he’s the one who broke you, and you don’t know how to let him fix it.

He’s been patient. He’s given you space, taken every hit, every quiet rejection, every moment where you’ve turned away from him. But tonight, something shifts.

You’re sitting on the couch, curled into yourself, staring at the TV without really seeing it. The girls are asleep. The house is quiet. And then he’s there, standing in front of you, blocking the screen like that’s ever what you were looking at.

“Enough,” his voice is quiet, but there’s something behind it, something strained, something wrecked. “You’re killing yourself.”

You exhale, turning your head, but he crouches down, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You’re fading,” he rasps, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but knows he shouldn’t. “I see it. The girls see it. And I can’t—” His voice breaks, and he looks away, inhaling sharply through his nose. “I can’t watch you disappear, baby. I can’t.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your throat is tight, your chest aches, and you know, you know what you need.

You need him.

But how do you reach for the person who shattered you? How do you ask the one who let you fall to be the one to hold you together?

Tears slip down your cheeks, and before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you whisper, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Marshall’s breath shudders. “Then let me.”

He moves then, cautiously, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll push him away. His hands hover near your knees, his face inches from yours, waiting. Always waiting.

And for the first time in months, you don’t pull away. You let him touch you, let him kneel in front of you, let him press his forehead to your lap like he’s praying for something he’s afraid to ask for.

His shoulders shake, and it takes you a second to realize he’s crying. Marshall never cries.

“I love you,” he chokes out. “I swear to God, I love you.”

Your hands tremble as they lift, hesitating before sinking into his hair, holding him there, anchoring him.

“I know,” you whisper, and it’s not forgiveness, not yet, but it’s something.

And for now, it’s enough.

You don’t know how long you sit like that, your fingers tangled in Marshall’s hair, his forehead pressed into your lap. The warmth of him seeps into you, familiar and foreign all at once. His breathing is uneven, shaking, his hands clenched into fists against his thighs. Neither of you speak. Neither of you move.

And then it happens.

A strangled sob tears from your throat, breaking the silence, breaking everything. It rips through you, through the walls you’ve spent years building, through the numbness that’s been keeping you together. Your whole body shudders, and suddenly, it’s too much. All of it. The pain, the exhaustion, the ache of loving someone who shattered you and still somehow owns every single broken piece.

Marshall lifts his head, eyes wide, desperate. “Baby—”

But you can’t stop. The sobs come hard, fast, tearing you apart from the inside out. You press your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no hiding from this.

“I c-can’t,” you gasp, curling in on yourself, your whole body trembling. “I can’t— I don’t know how to—”

“Shh,” Marshall is on his knees, reaching for you before he can think twice. He hesitates for half a second, waiting for you to push him away. But you don’t. You can’t. Because for all the ways he’s hurt you, for all the ways he’s broken your heart, he’s still the only thing that has ever made you feel safe.

His arms come around you, careful at first, then tighter when you don’t resist. He pulls you against his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head, his lips pressing into your hair. “I got you,” he breathes, voice thick, wrecked. “I got you, baby, I swear to God.”

You fist your hands in his hoodie, holding on like you’ll disappear if you let go. Your tears soak into the fabric, but he doesn’t care. He just rocks you, whispering broken apologies, words you can barely understand through the static in your mind.

“I didn’t mean to— I was so fucking lost—” His voice cracks, his own tears hot against your temple. “But I love you. I love you more than anything. More than the music. More than—” His breath stutters. “More than I loved myself.”

You don’t know if this fixes anything.

You don’t know if it ever can.

But for the first time in months, maybe even years, you let yourself feel it all. And you let him hold you through it.

Your sobs shake your whole body, your fingers gripping his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. Marshall holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his arms wrapped around you with a desperation you’ve never felt from him before. His breath is hot against your hair, uneven and wrecked, but he doesn’t say anything. He just holds you, like maybe that will be enough to make up for all the times he didn’t.

But it’s not enough.

Through the gasping breaths, the tears burning down your face, you force out the question that’s been strangling you from the inside out.

“Why?”

Marshall stiffens, his grip on you tightening for a split second before his body goes completely still.

You press your forehead against his chest, your voice breaking as you whisper, “If you love me… why couldn’t you love me enough to stay?”

His breath shudders against you. “Baby…”

But you don’t stop. You can’t. You’ve spent years swallowing your pain, pretending it didn’t exist, forcing yourself to accept the things you could never understand. But not now. Not anymore.

“I would’ve done anything for you,” you choke out, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like you could pull him inside your chest and keep him there forever. “I would’ve given you anything you wanted—anything—but all I ever needed was you.”

Marshall pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands trembling as they cup your face. His eyes are haunted, shining with unshed tears, filled with so much regret it nearly crushes you.

“I was fucked up,” he whispers, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks, his breath coming in uneven bursts. “I was so far gone, baby. I didn’t see it—I didn’t see what I was doing to you. To us.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears slipping free. “I needed you, Marshall.” Your voice cracks, the pain raw, bleeding. “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

His face crumples, and then he’s pulling you back into him, wrapping himself around you so tightly it almost hurts. “I know,” he breathes, his lips pressing against your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. “I know, baby, and I swear to God, if I could take it all back—if I could go back and choose you the way I should have, I would. I swear on my life.”

His voice is breaking, shattering, and for the first time, you can feel how much he hates himself for what he’s done.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he still did it.

And you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive him for that.

You try to pull away, try to put space between you before you drown in the weight of all of it—the love, the pain, the years of wanting him and never really having him the way you needed.

But Marshall doesn’t let go.

His arms tighten around you, his breath ragged against your hair as he whispers, “Not this time, baby. Just let me hold you.”

His voice is raw, pleading, like he’s terrified that if he lets you go now, he’ll never get another chance.

You shake your head weakly, pressing your palms against his chest, but there’s no real strength behind it. You don’t even know why you’re fighting. Maybe because you’re scared—scared that if you let yourself sink into him, you’ll never find your way out again.

“Marshall…” Your voice is barely a whisper, barely anything at all.

“I know,” he breathes, his lips brushing your temple, his fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I know, baby. Just—just let me do this. Please.”

Your resistance crumbles.

Because you want this. You want him. You’ve always wanted him, and no matter how much he’s hurt you, no matter how many times he’s left you in the dark, your body still aches for his touch like it’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel whole.

So you stop fighting.

You let your forehead rest against his chest, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie as your body sags against his. And the second you do, he exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

His hand slides up, threading through your hair, his touch so gentle it nearly shatters you all over again. “I love you,” he murmurs, over and over, like he’s trying to sew the words into your skin. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Because you know. You know he loves you.

You just don’t know if it will ever be enough.

Sleep takes you before you even realize it, exhaustion finally winning after months of restless nights and hollow days. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t fight it.

You fall asleep in Marshall’s arms, his warmth wrapped around you like he’s trying to hold all the broken pieces of you together. His heartbeat is steady under your ear, his hand tangled in your hair, his breath slow and even against your forehead.

And when you wake up, everything feels… different.

The sheets are soft, familiar. The scent surrounding you is home—his detergent, his skin, something undeniably Marshall.

Your bed. Not the guest room.

Your breath catches as you slowly blink awake, disoriented. The last thing you remember is crying in his arms on the couch, but now—now, you’re here. Back where you swore you’d never be again.

And he’s still here, still wrapped around you like he never let go.

Marshall is pressed against your back, his arm draped over your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is deep, steady, but you know him. He’s not really asleep. He’s just watching, waiting for you to run.

Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat as you take in the room. It’s exactly the same, untouched by your absence, like it was waiting for you to come back. But from this angle, from this bed, you can see the bathroom door.

And you can see the spot on the floor.

The spot where he almost died. The spot where your world shattered.

Your breath stutters, and instinctively, your fingers clutch at Marshall’s hand resting against your stomach. He tightens his grip immediately, like he knows exactly what you’re seeing, exactly what’s running through your head.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice hoarse, rough with sleep and something deeper, something fragile. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, a tear slipping down your cheek. Because he says that, and you want to believe it. But he was supposed to be here before, and he wasn’t.

And no matter how tightly he holds you now, you don’t know if he ever really will be.

---

The silence in the room is thick, almost suffocating, but it’s different now. It feels like a fragile thread between the two of you, taut and delicate, as if everything hangs on this moment, on the quiet understanding between you.

Marshall’s hand rubs small, soothing circles on your stomach, his lips still pressed against your neck, warm and familiar. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t let go of you. It’s as if he’s trying to prove something, to show you with every breath he takes that he’s here now. And the worst part? You almost want to believe him.

Almost.

You take a deep breath, the weight of everything sitting heavily in your chest. The room feels both too small and too vast at the same time, like there’s too much space between you both despite the fact that his body is wrapped around yours. The sheets rustle as you slowly shift, the motion making him stir.

“Don’t,” he whispers, tightening his arm around you as if to stop you from moving. “Please. Stay.”

The word stings in a way that makes your heart ache. Stay. He used to say that to you, back when it meant something, when it wasn’t just a plea in the dark.

You close your eyes again, trying to quiet the storm of thoughts running through your mind. You’re so tired of this fight. So tired of holding everything together, pretending that you’re okay when you’re barely breathing. But you’re here. You’re still here. And for the first time in months, you don’t want to pull away.

But you can’t forget.

You can’t forget the wreckage. The bathroom floor. The overdose. The way your world fell apart.

"Why did you do it?" The words escape before you can stop them, and the second they’re out, your heart lurches painfully in your chest. You never thought you’d ask him this again. You never thought you’d need to know the answer.

Marshall’s breath catches behind you, his body stiffening for a moment before he slowly exhales. His fingers trace the edge of your shirt, his touch careful, almost tentative. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice tight with regret. “I was lost. I didn’t know how to… how to stop. I thought I could handle it. Thought I could keep it together. But I couldn’t.”

You stay silent, trying to process the words, trying to breathe through the tightness in your chest. You can feel his words. You can feel how broken he is. But that doesn’t change the fact that it was him who broke you, who broke us.

“I don’t want to be the person who does this to you anymore,” he continues, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “I swear, I don’t. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right. Trying to be the man you need me to be.”

It’s the way he says it—like it’s a promise, like it’s his final chance, that makes you want to believe him. But there’s a part of you, the part that’s been hurt too many times, the part that’s been waiting for him to prove it, that still holds back.

“Do you love me?” Your voice cracks, barely a whisper, and it’s so broken, so small, that you almost can’t believe you’ve asked.

Marshall doesn’t hesitate. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart against your back. “I do,” he says, his voice thick, hoarse with emotion. “I always have. And I always will. No matter what.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t know how to. Because right now, all you feel is exhaustion. Exhaustion from the years of pretending you could be strong enough to carry this weight. Exhaustion from the parts of yourself you’ve had to bury just to make it through.

So, for now, you just close your eyes and let him hold you. You let yourself sink into the warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him, even though you’re scared. Scared of what you might feel tomorrow. Scared that you’re letting yourself hope again.

But for now…

You let yourself believe.

The sunlight filtering through the curtains is soft, warm, almost comforting. You stir slowly, your body still heavy with sleep, but the moment you blink your eyes open, you feel it. The familiar weight of the bed beneath you, the quiet pulse of life in the room.

But what you don’t expect is him.

Marshall is lying next to you, propped up on one elbow, watching you with an intensity that sends a soft shiver through your chest. His eyes are fixed on your face, but there’s no judgment in them, no distance. Just something raw. Something soft. His fingers lightly caress the curve of your arm, tracing small patterns like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

For a second, you don’t know how to react. You blink at him, disoriented.

���Hey,” he whispers, his voice low and gentle, as though he doesn’t want to break the peace that seems to be hanging in the air between you.

“Hey.” Your voice comes out thick, still hoarse from sleep. Your throat feels like it’s been stretched too tight.

But there’s something else, something deeper than just the warmth of his touch, deeper than the softness of his gaze. You don’t know what it is at first, but then you realize.

This is the first time since that night—the night of the overdose—that you haven’t had a nightmare.

You glance around the room, trying to ground yourself in reality. But there’s no looming dread. No anxiety in your chest. No replay of that moment, of the fear you felt watching him barely breathe on the floor.

It’s just silence.

And Marshall.

You swallow, your throat tight, suddenly overwhelmed by the quiet serenity of the moment. You tilt your head to meet his gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world slows down. The weight of everything is there, but it’s not suffocating you. Not now.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask quietly, your eyes tracing his face, looking for any trace of the man who almost lost you.

“Not long,” he replies, his voice soft. “I couldn’t sleep. I just… I didn’t want to move. Not yet. I wanted to watch you. Just to make sure you were okay.” His thumb lightly grazes your wrist, and the tenderness of it nearly shatters something inside of you. “You’ve been through so much, baby. I know I’ve been a part of that… and I don’t want to be the reason you’re still hurting.”

The air between you is thick with unspoken words, with everything that’s been left unsaid. But as you stare into his eyes, something shifts. Something fragile, something hopeful, blooms in your chest.

You don’t have the strength to speak. Not yet. So you simply reach for his hand, placing your palm over his, the warmth of his skin grounding you in this moment.

And when your eyes meet again, you realize something else. It’s not just the nightmare. It’s everything.

The pain, the hurt, the fear. It’s still there, lurking in the background, but for the first time, you’re not consumed by it. For the first time in months, you’re not suffocated by the weight of all the brokenness. And somehow, you’re starting to believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, you can start to heal.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but right now… right now, Marshall is here. And for once, that’s enough.

---

The moment shatters the second you step out of bed.

It’s easy to pretend in the dark, in the quiet safety of tangled limbs and whispered promises. But the morning light doesn’t lie. The morning light exposes everything.

You move on autopilot, slipping from the bed, ignoring the way Marshall watches you, the way his hand twitches like he wants to reach for you. You don’t give him the chance. You don’t even look back.

The second your feet hit the floor, reality comes crashing down.

The girls. Breakfast. Packing lunches. Making sure everything is in order, making sure they never feel the cracks you’ve been barely holding together. You move through the motions, your hands steady, your voice even. Smiling when you have to, laughing when it’s expected.

But inside? Inside, you’re unraveling.

The further you get from that bedroom, the further you get from him, the more it suffocates you. The memories. The weight of everything you’ve buried, everything you’ve forced yourself to accept.

He says he loves you.

He says he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you.

But promises in the dark don’t mean a damn thing in the light of day.

Because in the daylight, there’s no hiding from the truth—he still chose the pills. He still left you behind, even when he was right there. And no matter how much he says he loves you, no matter how tightly he held you last night, it wasn’t enough.

You weren’t enough.

It hits you out of nowhere, blindsiding you like it always does. The ache in your chest, the voice in your head whispering all the things you already know deep down. You weren’t enough to make him stay. Weren’t enough to make him stop. Weren’t enough to keep him from choosing the one thing that almost took him away from you forever.

You suck in a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the counter so tightly your knuckles turn white. The sound of your daughters laughing in the other room echoes around you, too bright, too innocent. You hold onto it like a lifeline, force yourself to focus, to stay here, to keep pushing forward.

Because that’s all you know how to do.

You push. You move. You survive.

But when Marshall walks into the kitchen, his eyes instantly finding yours, something inside you fractures all over again.

Because the way he looks at you—it’s different. Like he sees it. Sees the way you’re barely holding on, the way the weight of this is still crushing you. And worse? He looks like he hates himself for it.

But it doesn’t change anything.

It doesn’t change the fact that the damage has already been done.

---

It happens gradually—this pattern you and Marshall slip into.

At night, when the world is dark and quiet, you let him hold you. You let yourself fall into the warmth of his arms, let him murmur soft apologies against your skin, let him press promises into your hair like they might mean something come morning. And for those few hours, you allow yourself to believe.

But when the sun rises, reality resets.

You pull away. You go back to moving through the motions, forcing yourself to smile for the girls, forcing yourself to keep going because what other choice do you have? Marshall watches you, always watching, always waiting, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t force you to talk, doesn’t demand anything from you beyond what you can give.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because you want to give him more. You want to believe he can fix this, that you can fix this, but every time you look at him, all you see is the proof that you weren’t enough.

So you don’t let yourself fall again.

You make sure the girls are okay, you make sure the house is running, you make sure Marshall knows where to find you at night when you finally let the exhaustion win. But yourself? You don’t think about yourself.

You’re eating less. You don’t even notice it at first. The hunger fades into the background, overshadowed by everything else. You tell yourself you’ll eat later, but later never comes. Sleep is easier now, but food? Food feels like too much effort, another thing to force down when you don’t have the energy to care.

It isn’t until the dishes that it all catches up to you.

It’s a normal evening. Dinner is over, the girls are upstairs, the house quiet except for the sound of running water and the soft clink of dishes against the sink. You and Marshall fall into an easy rhythm—he washes, you dry. It’s simple, effortless in a way that nothing else has been for months.

And then, suddenly, the world tilts.

You barely register the sway of your body before it happens. One second, you’re holding a plate, the next there’s the sharp crash of ceramic shattering against the floor.

And then—Marshall’s hands.

They’re on you before you can process what’s happening, gripping your arms, steadying you as your knees buckle.

“Baby—” His voice is sharp, panicked, but distant, like you’re hearing it through water. His grip tightens as he pulls you against him, his body solid, unmoving. “Jesus—hey, hey, I got you. I got you.”

You blink, the edges of your vision blurring, your breath coming too fast, too uneven. Your body is shaking.

What…?

Your head lolls against his chest, and then it clicks. The dizziness, the weakness in your limbs. You haven’t eaten today. You barely ate yesterday. You can’t even remember the last real meal you had.

“Shit, baby, you’re burning up,” Marshall mutters, one hand pressing against your forehead before sliding down to cup your cheek. He tilts your face up, forcing you to look at him, and the fear in his eyes nearly takes your breath away. “When’s the last time you ate?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You don’t even have an answer.

His jaw clenches, and something dark flickers behind his eyes. Something like guilt. Like devastation.

“Okay,” he breathes, nodding, like he’s made up his mind about something. Then he scoops you up before you can protest, arms strong and sure as he carries you away from the shattered plate, away from the mess, away from everything except him.

And for the first time in months, you don’t fight it.

Marshall doesn’t put you down. Not when you try to push at his chest weakly, not when you mumble something about being fine. He just holds you tighter, jaw locked, arms unyielding as he carries you to the couch.

“Sit,” he orders, voice tight, as he settles you down gently. His hands linger on you like he doesn’t trust you to stay upright.

You don’t argue, mostly because you don’t have the strength to. Your body feels too heavy, your head too light, the edges of your vision still threatening to blur.

Marshall kneels in front of you, hands braced on your knees, eyes scanning you like he’s trying to take stock of just how bad this is. His gaze darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line before he mutters a curse under his breath and pushes up to his feet.

You watch as he stalks toward the kitchen, pulling open the fridge with a little too much force. You hear the clatter of dishes, the scrape of something against the counter. A minute later, he’s back in front of you, pressing a glass of orange juice into your shaking hands.

“Drink,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for a second, but the look on his face makes your stomach twist. He looks… wrecked.

So you take a sip. The juice is too sweet, almost overwhelming after days of nothing, but you force yourself to drink more under his watchful gaze.

Marshall exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before crouching in front of you again. His hands land on your thighs, gripping you gently but firmly, grounding you.

“Baby, what the fuck?” His voice is hoarse, raw with something you can’t quite name. “You haven’t been eating? Since when?”

You don’t answer, because what is there to say? You didn’t mean to stop. You just… forgot. And then, after a while, it became easier to pretend you weren’t hungry than to deal with the exhaustion that came with taking care of yourself.

Marshall shakes his head, eyes flashing. “You can’t—Jesus, you can’t do this to yourself.” His hands tighten on you for a second, like he’s trying to anchor himself. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The raw emotion in his voice makes something crack in your chest. You swallow hard, staring at the glass in your hands because you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Sorry? Baby, I don’t need you to be sorry, I need you to take care of yourself.” His voice softens, breaking at the edges. “I need you here.”

Your breath catches.

“I can’t—I can’t watch you fade away like this.” His hands slide up, settling against your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His blue eyes are pleading, desperate. “I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But I swear to God, I am here. I am not leaving you, and I sure as hell ain’t letting you leave me like this.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. Because if you start crying, you don’t know if you’ll be able to stop.

Marshall presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “Please, baby,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you. Let me fix this.”

You want to believe him. God, you want to. But the fear is still there, the doubt still lingering.

So you don’t promise him anything. You don’t tell him you’ll try.

But you do take another sip of the juice. And when his hand wraps around yours, steadying you, you don’t pull away.

---

Marshall doesn’t let up. Not even for a second.

Every meal, every bite, he’s there—watching, waiting, making sure you do it. He doesn’t push, doesn’t force, but the weight of his gaze is enough to keep you from slipping again.

It starts slow. A few bites at breakfast. Half a sandwich at lunch. A little more at dinner, mostly because you can’t take the way his eyes darken every time you put your fork down too soon. You’re not doing it for yourself. Not yet. But you can’t stand the way he looks at you when you don’t try.

The first week, he barely leaves your side. If you stand, he stands. If you move to another room, he follows. It’s subtle, but it’s there. A presence just behind you, close enough that you feel the weight of it.

By the second week, he relaxes—just a little. He stops hovering as much, but you know he’s still watching. Still waiting for any sign that you’re slipping again.

And then, three weeks in, you see it.

It’s just a glance. A flicker of something in his eyes when he looks at the kitchen sink. His jaw tightens, his throat works like he’s swallowing something back, and suddenly, you know.

It’s the same look you get when you see the bathroom floor.

Fear.

You recognize it immediately. That quiet, hollow terror that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. That awful, gut-wrenching panic that grips you when you look at the spot where everything fell apart.

The kitchen sink—that’s his bathroom floor. That’s where he thought he lost you.

Your chest tightens. You want to say something, want to reach for him, but the words stick in your throat. You don’t even know what you’d say.

So instead, you do the only thing you can do.

You step forward and take his hand.

Marshall tenses for a second, caught off guard, but then his fingers tighten around yours like a lifeline. Like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t say anything. You just hold on.

And for the first time in weeks, he lets you be the one to steady him.

Marshall doesn’t say a word.

He just stares at your joined hands like he can’t believe you’re the one holding him now. Like he doesn’t trust it to be real.

His fingers tighten around yours, rough and calloused but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he holds on too tight. Like you might shatter all over again if he’s not careful.

Maybe he’s right.

But maybe you’re tired of breaking.

You squeeze his hand, just a little. Just enough to let him know you’re here. That you see him. That you understand.

Marshall exhales, shaky and uneven, and when he finally looks up at you, his blue eyes are wrecked.

“Baby…” His voice cracks, low and raw. His free hand moves like he wants to touch you, like he wants to pull you closer, but he hesitates. Always hesitating now, like he’s still waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, for the first time in what feels like forever, you move first.

You step into him, into the warmth of his chest, and press your forehead against his. His breath catches, and then he melts into you.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in like he’s afraid to let go. Like you’re the only thing keeping him steady. And maybe you are. Maybe you always have been.

“I see it,” you whisper, barely more than breath.

He stills. “See what?”

You swallow hard. “The way you look at the sink.”

His body tenses against yours, and you know—you know.

He gets it. He knows exactly what you mean.

Because it’s the same way you look at the bathroom floor.

It’s the same fear. The same pain. The same memory of almost losing the only person you think is worth living for.

Marshall lets out a sharp breath, pressing his face into your hair. His hands grip you tighter, his body curling around yours like he can protect you from the weight of it.

Like he wishes he could’ve protected you from all of it.

“I can’t go through that again,” he murmurs, voice barely holding together. “I can’t—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head against you. “Baby, I can’t lose you.”

You close your eyes, something breaking inside you all over again.

Because you’ve spent so long thinking he chose to leave. That you weren’t enough. That he didn’t love you like you loved him.

But now? Now, you’re starting to realize that maybe he was just as lost as you were.

Maybe he’s still lost.

Maybe you both are.

So you do the only thing you can do.

You hold on.

And for the first time in a long time, you let him hold on, too.

The house is quiet.

The girls are asleep, their soft laughter and footsteps faded into silence upstairs. For the first time in weeks, it’s just you and Marshall, standing in the dim glow of the kitchen lights.

There’s a tension in the air, thick and electric, something unspoken hanging between you.

You can feel him watching you.

The weight of his stare presses against your skin, burning hot and desperate, like he’s afraid to blink, afraid you’ll disappear if he looks away.

And then—he moves.

One second, there’s space between you, and the next, his hands are on you—gripping your waist, pulling you in, pressing you against him like he needs to feel you, to prove you’re here.

Then—his lips crash into yours.

It’s not slow. It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

Rough and fast, like he’s been starving for you, like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into his skin.

He kisses you like he’s chasing something—chasing you.

Your breath catches, a startled gasp against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. His hands tighten on you, fingers digging into your hips, his body crowding against yours, needing you closer.

It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s him.

It’s him trying to tell you without words—you’re mine. You’re here. You didn’t leave.

Your fingers twist into his shirt, gripping tight, grounding yourself against him. Because he’s here, too. He’s real, and you’re tired of running from that.

A low sound rumbles from his chest as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of pain, regret, love, need into it.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead presses against yours, his breath coming fast, his hands still clinging to you like he can’t bring himself to let go.

“Baby…” His voice is hoarse, wrecked.

You don’t say anything. You just press closer, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, memorizing the warmth of him, the solid weight of him against you.

Because for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re slipping away.

For the first time in a long time—he’s holding on.

And you just might be ready to let him.

Marshall doesn’t hesitate.

The second he feels you lean into him, your fingers gripping his shirt, your body pressing closer instead of pulling away—he moves.

His hands slide down, gripping your thighs, and then he lifts you like you weigh nothing.

You don’t stop him.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, your legs wrap around his waist, holding on just as tightly as he is. Your lips find his jaw, his neck—whatever you can reach—pressing desperate kisses against his skin as he carries you upstairs.

His breathing is ragged, his grip on you firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his hold for even a second.

But you’re not slipping away.

Not this time.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t fumble, doesn’t pause. He lays you down gently, carefully, but there’s nothing hesitant in the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

His lips find yours again, and this time, the kiss isn’t just desperate—it’s devoted.

Every touch, every press of his hands against your skin, every whispered word is a promise.

A vow.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, pressing reverent kisses against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

You shudder beneath him, your fingers threading through his hair, your body arching into him.

“I need you,” he confesses against your collarbone, voice breaking. “I need you more than anything.”

Every word, every touch is laced with something deeper than want.

This isn’t just about need.

It’s about you.

About what you are to him. About what you’ve always been to him.

Everything.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Because the way you pull him closer, the way you let him hold you, the way you let him love you—

It says everything he’s been desperate to hear.

[dumpster-fire3131]

Signal boost! Please read if you want to save ROTTMNT!

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[dumpster-fire3131]

Memory

RaphaelxReader

Warnings: Amnesia, Angst

(this is so tropey and self indulgent that I was almost too embarrassed to post it, thank you @the-cauldron-witch for giving me the stones. Apologies in advance. 😅)

"What are you to me?"

You freeze, your pen stopping mid-letter. For the last week you'd been trying to figure out how to answer if he asked, and you were still at a loss. 

Don't think for him, Donnie'd said, the memories are there, he just has to form the connections. They'll be stronger, and this will go faster, if you let him do that on his own.

He knows he shouldn't be asking, but every time he looks at you he feels like he's missing something important, and the way you look at him sometimes... he can't bear it. 

"We should, um," you clear your throat, looking very intentionally at the paper in front of you, "we should really focus on this analysis. The more data we can feed Donnie, the sooner he can figure out of there'll be any serious lasting consequences to this." 

"I'm missing three years of my life, I'd say that's pretty serious," he quips, humorlessly. You still haven't looked up at him. Jaw tight, measured breaths the only thing keeping your hand steady. You'd been keeping it together for the last two weeks, you couldn't break now. Least of all in front of him. 

Six hours trapped in a reinforced refrigeration truck. He only survived because of what little body heat you could offer, but you'd both nearly died. You woke a few days later, in the infirmary, your hands still raw and recovering from frostbite, but Raphael... didn't. 

For fifteen days, no one knew if he was going to survive. You didn't sleep. You couldn't eat. You wouldn't leave his side. The number of arguments you and Donatello had about you resting were in the double digits. He might lose his brother, he wasn't going to lose his best friend, too. The only way you agreed was by dragging the couch beside the cot Raphael was laying in.  

When he awoke he couldn't remember much of anything. Slowly, over the course of the next week, memories drifted back like smoke. He remembered his father, his brothers, April, his best friend, Casey, that dumb ass, Vern, but not you. The last three years are still a blur and none of it makes any sense.

He looks at you like a familiar face at the grocery store. Like something is digging at the back of his mind, something important, but he can't quite place you. He looks at you with curiosity, even attraction at times, but the love that you built and fought for, through death and distance, is gone.

You inhale, before the pen begins to move again in your hand. He reaches up and stops it. 

"Y/N..." The familiar feeling of his hand around yours, his thumb gently brushing the hollow of your wrist, makes your chest ache and your eyes fall closed. 

Tears glitter at the seam of your eyelashes, as the words slip free unbidden, barely louder than a whisper, "I miss you..." 

His hand stills, there it is again. That feeling, understanding just outside his reach, he's pulled to you and he doesn't know why. Everything you do affects him, and right now, you're crying, and he would tear the world apart to see you smile again. 

You inhale sharply, pushing yourself to your feet and pulling your hand from his, leaving the pen on the table, "I need to go."

"Y/N, wait," he begs, quickly, standing, "please, I-" 

All of your faculties are being used to keep you in one piece. You don't even have the ability to attempt any kind of excuse. "I'll be back tomorrow night. We can finish the analysis then." You shove your laptop into your bag and zip it closed, slinging it over your shoulder, before you rush out of the lair to echoes of him begging you to stay. 

You barely make it home before you collapse by the couch and weep. Three years. Three years just gone. 

You pull the deep red blanket he made you last winter off the couch and wrap yourself in it, in him, in his scent, because it's the only thing of his you can wrap around you. 

You let yourself cry. Mourn. Since he woke up, you've been shoving everything down and away. 

This is not about you, you'd scolded yourself. 

You'd reminded yourself it must be worse for him. He's probably terrified, losing so much time must be scary as hell. And you'd kept it together. Every time he looked at you with that question in his eyes. Every time he said "hey" and kept walking. Every time he touched you... and let go. 

But you've reached your breaking point

The feeling of his hand on your wrist was so familiar, and you were pulled back into lazy evenings in bed, the sunset painting your skin, as the two of you found any excuse not to get up for work. Comfortable, safe, warm. Things you haven't felt since before all of this started. And it was all too much. 

Violent sobs rip through your body, as your heart rages in your chest. It's not fair. You'd already been through so much. Fought so hard. And, for him... none of it happened. The bone-deep love and connection that had become so vital to both of you, was ripped away, and you were the only one left bleeding. 

You don't notice the soft landing beside the window. 

He just stares at you for a moment. He's overcome with the need to catch you up, hold you to him, and do whatever he has to do to fix it.

"It's important, isn't it," he says finally, quietly, "what I can't remember."

You gasp and stand up, clumsily, hands flying to your eyes and wiping pointlessly at tears as you turn away, "You shouldn't be here." 

"See, I'm not so sure about that." He steps forward slowly, "because..." His eyes fall on a carved wooden rose, and he pauses. A craftsman can always recognize their work. His eyes begin to scan the dimly lit room around him. 

No photographs, but all around him are little things made by his own hands, his favorite books and movies, this place doesn't just feel familiar. It feels like home. His eyes return to yours as he continues his approach.

You fall back against the wall as he advances, "Does Donnie know your here? You really shouldn't be out running around the city by yourself. You're still recovering, it's not... safe." Your breath hitches as your back hits drywall. 

He takes your hand gently, holding it just like before, caressing the inside of your wrist. Your jaw clenches, and your eyes sting. As he invades your personal space, your body reacts on instinct, head tilting up, hand against his chest, and his responds, gripping your waist and pulling you into him, breathing in deeply a scent just on the edge of his memory. 

"That's what I'm missing, isn't it," he asks softly, tears darkening the fabric around his eyes, "that's what this feeling is... love." 

Your heart twists, and you can't breathe. You're trembling with loss and grief and you don't want him to stop. 

"I love you," he says, almost in wonder, holding your gaze. 

It's like a bullet to the chest and all the air rushes out of you. Tears stream freely from your eyes and you draw a shuddering breath. "You don't even know me," you say, and you swear you don't mean for it to come out as bitter as it does.

He flinches, stepping back, but not releasing your hand. The shame and guilt are instantaneous. None of this is his fault. You look down and away, unable to meet his amber eyes, "I- I'm sorry," you manage, "I-"

"You're wrong."

You look up through tears as he steps forward again, pulling you closer. A hand comes up and cups your cheek as the one around your waist tightens, and he looks down at you with an intensity you haven't seen in weeks. 

"I may not know your face, or remember... anything about you, but..." His eyes close and his hand slides into your hair as he dips his head and touches his forehead to yours, "I remember... this," he continues breathlessly, gripping your hair gently, "I remember this feeling... Your skin... against mine. Your scent..." 

It's there. He can feel it. Just beyond his reach. He's been grasping blindly. Needing you and not knowing why, needing to feel you under his hands, against him. 

The hand at your waist slides to your lower back, pulling you closer. "Help me," he pleads, eyes shut tight, all focus trained on you, voice thick with hope and desperation, "please... help me remember." 

Donatello's warnings burn to ash within your memory as his mouth claims yours in a searing kiss. 

It's clumsy at first. Demanding. Desperate. Like a dance he doesn't quite remember the steps to. He holds too tightly, moves too stiffly, but you open to him anyway, and a warm wave of sunlight flows into him. 

He was so cold. He's still so cold. He can't remember the truck but he can remember the cold. Seeping into him slowly. As time dragged on and his body heat waned he'd grown so tired so quickly. He could still feel it. Frost on his edges. He's tried everything. Heated blankets, hot showers, gallons of tea. He's been trying since he woke up, he just can't seem to get warm. 

But where his skin touches yours, it's like holding the sun. 

Your heat floods into him like warm, golden light. Like the dawn. Pouring into the deepest, coldest parts, and filling him completely with that feeling. Love. And there you are, beneath the melt. As vital and familiar as his own heartbeat.

His kiss softens, his hold becomes more sure, familiar. It takes you a moment, but you realize, between kisses, he's whispering, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He holds you the way he always has, and he kisses you the way he always has, and soon your crying too hard to kiss him back.

He holds you tight against him, pressing you against his chest, kissing your hair, apologizing over and over as if any of this is his fault. You cling to him desperately, afraid that if you let go it won't be real, that he'll forget you again. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, afraid that you'll be wrong, and you'll look up into his, and you'll find only questions.

His hold tightens and his eyes burn. He's angry. This is unacceptable. Unfair. He got played, and he was supposed to die in that truck. What the Oroku fuckers didn't count on, what they never count on, is you. You'd pressed yourself against him, sharing what little warmth you could. By the time the others found you, both of you were unconscious and hypothermic, but still alive, Raphael's large body wrapped tightly around yours. You'd kept his heart beating. Just like always.

He pulls back and attempts to raise your chin to meet his eyes. You resist. He can smell your fear, feel the pounding of your heart under his fingertips.

He rests his head against the side of yours and speaks your name softly, in the same voice that has pulled you peacefully from sleep a thousand times. Another sob escapes you and you curl into him tightly, before a few moments pass and you unfurl, your eyes raising to meet his. 

The weight of his gaze settles on you and you never thought you could be grateful to see such depths of pain within him, but within the pain was... everything else. From the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy, every moment of the last three years was a storm inside his eyes.

You can see the naked rage, swirling in the tempest, and it mirrors your own. Those responsible would be dealt with, later. Now, you reach back behind him, and he dips his head to make it easier for you to remove his mask. You toss it aside, and he presses his forehead to yours. You rest your hands on either side of his face, tracing the familiar scars, and you can feel his shuddering exhale. 

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"Raphael-"

"I didn't mean to-" His breath catches on a sob, and you pull him tighter against you. Burying his head in your shoulder, he wraps his arms around your waist and breathes deep. If scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, he would bury himself in you. He would never forget again. 

....

I know this isn't how amnesia works, okay??? I KNOW the plot here is swiss cheese!!! but it got stuck in my head and now you have to deal with it too, so there.

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15

[dumpster-fire3131]

please PLEASE learn how to tag your fanfics. Don’t tag fluff when it’s angst, don’t tag smut when it’s fluff and please don’t tag characters that ARENT EVEN MENTIONED IN THE FIC!!!!

[dumpster-fire3131]

TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES

WHICH version of the turtles. Should I turn into humanss

And yes I typed it the way I said it in my head instead of just writing it like normal. I am sleep deprived

Btw the version that you pick is what I'm going to assume is your favourite. And I will be picking ad well to sway the polls because I can guarantee no one will pick my favourite

(sorry if I fucked up the years)

[dumpster-fire3131]

The Kitchen Window (pt. 6 - the epilogue)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (Raph has to make his intentions clear to you and to whatever it is that you two are)

warnings - none

word count - 2.5k

READ PREVIOUS PARTS BEFORE THIS

“I look stupid, Mike.”

“Nah, bro you look great!” Raph’s younger brother is looking his outfit up and down, trying to perfect any wrinkles or stray threads, “She’s gonna love it, trust me.”

Raph scuffs his new air force’s on the cement, while the other turtle straightens the collar of the graphic tee up around his neck. Maybe he could lend his fashionable little brother a bit of slack. Mikey knew a lot more about this stuff.

It’s early August. Summer’s fleeting, to warm days and cooler nights, which are perfect for this exact occasion.

Raph has been a mess of fluttering nerves all week trying to set this date up, with the help of his brothers and April. Every little detail, meticulously planned.

At first he was gonna do it on his own, in secret. Come to your door, trip over his words and fumble the bag, because lord knows he’s not good with expressing his feelings.

Thank god for April and his siblings, though it hurt his ego a little to come to them and admit he didn’t know how to set up a lousy dinner. Of course they were happy to help. Mikey and April especially.

So now, the five of them were on the roof of your apartment complex and pulling together all of their different tastes and ideas to create this adorable little date for him and his girl.

Raphael didn’t know what the two of you were. After that bizarre (albeit fantastic) first kiss, his visits to you were so much more frequent. Even if it was quick, he’d make a pit stop to your window for a peck on the cheek that kept his spirits up for a long night's patrol. More often than not, you two would be chatting away in the late night hours. And then of course make out a little, with him hanging on the sill like a fool.

It was so great, and it filled Raph with something he didn’t know he needed. Every second he wasn’t with you, he counted down till the next time he'd meet your gorgeous face again, greeting him with a kind, welcoming smile that made his knees wobble. But that was it.

There wasn’t really a label. Not that he liked those anyway.

He just needed some clarity. Some sort of outwardly spoken agreement that you guys weren’t just really good friends who kissed and held hands and tried to hold in your laughter in the dark, trying not to disturb the peace of your neighbors.

“Oh this looks great.”

Raph watches the way April appreciates her work of a cute little vase of flowers on the center of a table, hands settled on her hips. Well, it’s less of a table than it is a large wooden crate with a nice-ish tablecloth, but it serves just the same. It’s not too extravagant, not too drab. Just right. It suits the mix of your different lives. Little, dollar store candles light the area with a warm haze, next to the tin containers filled with the meal you’d taught him to make months ago. He’s hoping it tastes as good as it did when you make it. Raph hasn’t told you how often he whips it up at the lair when he’s missing you.

“How’s lookout, Leo?”

The blue-banded turtle looks over his shoulder, where he’s crouched on the ledge right next to the fire escape ladder.

“All clear.”

Thankfully, everything seems to be coming together just as Raph wanted it to. It settles some of the butterflies that rage in his stomach. The time for one of his brother’s to go and fetch you from your apartment is growing closer and closer while Donnie is scooting the plastic folding chairs next to the crate.

He’s so not ready for this. A little voice is nagging in the back of his head to just back out now.

Raph knows you’ll at least like it. Just how you like everything else he does for you. He has no clue why this is so damn difficult.

“Alright, Raph.”

April clasps her hands together and looks up to him for approval.

“What do we think?”

He thinks it looks great. Raphael loves the gentle little glow everything gives against the dim light pollution that stretches out over the city. Will you?

“You’re a lifesaver, O’Niel.”

“Don’t forget it.”

He snorts.

“I guess it’s showtime then!”

Mikey attacks his older brother with a hug from behind.

“Aw come on Mike!” Raph’s trying to swat him off his shell, but not before his two other siblings, and April crowd him with an embrace, that eases the nerves running rampant. He rolls his eyes, but can’t hold back the grateful grin that breaks through his annoyance. Their words are encouraging and warm, fueling the confidence he’s so desperately been trying to grasp for all this time.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

“Trust us, she is gonna love it.”

Leo’s hand ruffles over Raph’s red bandanna.

“Go get em’, tiger.”

Ouf, what a cornball.

“Alright, alright!” They all break away from the group hug with excited smiles. This is home to Raphael. All his favorite people- well, most - in his corner of the ring and hyping his happy-ass up to romance a cute girl.

“Leo?”

“I’ll go get her for you.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Your apartment is warm. Over the weeks, the walls are filled with picture frames and cute decor that April and the boys have been bringing you. Polaroids of you and the boys are littered on your bedside table and posted on the fridge with little paw print magnets. Most of them are with or of Raph. Him sleeping with an open mouth, or being dog-piled on by Mike and Donnie. Your favorite is the one where you’re sitting on his shoulders, laughing, while he’s grinning into the camera flash. April took it, down in the lair, where he was parading you around after everyone had a few-too-many drinks. The once empty living space is now full of life and love and sooo, so many cat toys.

You’re on the livingroom floor now, playing with sweet Vannie to distract you from the lack of texts from your best friend. It’s been worrying you all day, that Raph hasn’t responded to any of your messages, even the funny memes, like the others you send him daily.

You’d given up on the last message, a little over an hour ago, though it doesn’t keep you from repeatedly glancing at your phone while your cat darts after the laser pointer across the carpet and onto the sofa. The little bell on her collar tinks quickly with each movement. She sees someone through your window before you. Two taps against the glass make your head whip around excitedly.

It’s not who you’re expecting, but Leo’s visit is still a nice surprise.

“Hey Lee!” You hide the disappointment with a happy smile that he returns.

“How’s it going?”

“Good! Good,” he doesn’t miss the way you’re trying to peek over his shoulder, “Have you heard from Raph at all? I couldn’t get a hold of him today.”

“Actually yeah.”

This perks your attention right back up, locking with his eyes that carry a mischievous glow.

“Oh! How’s he doing? He didn’t get hurt on patrol, did he?”

Leo chuckles.

“Nah. He’s been busy.”

Busy? Weird. Even if Raphael were kicking sorry ass, he’d text you back in a heartbeat. Something fishy was going on.

“Oh. Huh.”

“You wanna see him?”

That, you couldn’t say no to.

“Is he here?”

Leo knows, with the way you two talk about each other, that it’s love. He knows more than both of you. It's so funny how his younger brother and you will spend hours at a time just sitting in silence or talking about life, and then when you’re apart, all that one of you can think or say has something to do with the other.

“He’s up top,” his head gestures back up the fire escape. You’re already climbing out the window, while he and Vannie stare. Lee takes a hold of your arm when your foot reaches that first step. You look back at him with a puzzled stare.

“You gotta close your eyes.”

“What?”

It’s a surprise. That makes you nervous.

“Just trust me. I’ll take you up there, you just can’t look.”

Uh oh. You’re hesitant to follow his instructions, but his hand is already blinding your vision, and he’s scooping you of your feet. You shout in surprise.

“Leo, what’s going on?”

The only reply you recieve is his heavy footfall on the metal stairs. He has to take his hand away, but you keep your eyes clenched shut, partially to obey his order, but the other is so you don’t have to see how far up you might be from the ground below.

“This is freaking me out Lee,”

“I’m not gonna drop you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Oh, he knows. He’s just great at keeping secrets.

The final, thudding footstep lands on concrete, and he sets you on the ground, steadying you onto your feet. Your breath is nervous, heart racing, senses heightened. You can hear the buzz of the city off in the distance. A cool breeze brush through your hair. The concrete scraping on your wooly socks.

“Alright, take a look.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Your eyes blink open. Then again. Your brain isn’t processing whatever is in front of you, until he speaks.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

Raph’s hands are shoved into the front pockets of jeans you’ve never seen him in. They’re new. So are his shoes, and the black, long sleeve tee that’s perfectly tailored to fit, and let his shell still breathe from the back. The casual clothes are incredibly flattering on him. You can still see the faint lines of his toned muscles under the cotton, catching in soft light. He’s so handsome, it hurts. And cute. GOD was he cute.

Shifting his weight, subtly from one foot to the other and smiling, anxious and bashful, while you stare at him in bafflement. Behind him is an adorable, candle lit dinner and your favorite flowers in a glass vase, all tuned with the ambient sounds of New York.

“Oh, Raph.”

His name comes out in a sigh, incredulous, full of shock and wonder. You take a few steps forward to better take in the effort he’s thrown into all of this. You’re nearly speechless, breathless, and trying to swallow the lump in your throat. He set up a date. A date! For you!

“You like it?”

His eyes are hesitant, but full of a childlike hope when they meet yours.

“Raph, this is… you did this?”

“Well, I had help. I ain’t this creative.” Raph chuckles nervously, nodding to where Leo was standing, now gone without a trace, “But… yeah.”

“For… me?”

You’re still so surprised at the sweetness of it all.

“Well, I’d hate to be up here eatin chicken and rice by myself all night, so yeah.”

He’s easing up, gentle grin mirroring yours.

“Raph this is so great!”

Like a kid, you all but skip over to look closer at the make-shift table and chicken and rice in their bowls, stream rolling off in the tepid air, while your fingers over the tablecloth. He’s laughing at your stupidly huge smile.

“I was hoping you might think so.”

You look up at him, face glowing in the candlelight.

“I know I haven’t been texting you back. Been a nervous wreck all day.”

His expression contorted into a soft gout of admiration, a soft smile, and even softer, green eyes. Your heart leaps. You know what that look is. You’ve seen it so many times in Raph’s face and now you’re putting it all together while he stands just feet from you. He’s so perfect.

You stride back over to him and let him take your hands in his. He’s nervous again, taking a deep breath.

“Look,” he begins, “I just… I figured if we’re a thing and all…Well, I wanna do this the right way. I hope it’s alright with you. I know it’s nothin’ fancy but…”

He groans, slapping hand over his face. You giggle at how he trips over his sentence.

“I had a whole, stupid speech for this shit. Now I just look like a fuckin’ idiot.”

Those fumbling, nervous words speak novels to you. He doesn’t have to say much for you to just get exactly what Raph is trying to say.

“I think… that sounds great,” your voice is soft, “And I also think I’m in love with you and I have had no idea what to do with myself, since the first day we met.“ you exhale the words like they’ve been trying to claw their way from your throat.

This catches him completely off guard. Raph’s eyes are as wide as they were the first night you kissed him. His nostrils flare. Before you think you’ve fucked yourself up royally, he pulls you up towards him in a soul-snatching kiss that depletes the air from your lungs, feet nearly leaving the ground. You’re desperately grabbing at the collar of his shirt to deepen it, but he pulls away, and lifts you completely from the ground in a tight embrace, leaving you both gasping for your breaths.

“Jesus, you have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that,” Raph sighs next to your ear. “I love ya. A lot.”

His arms tighten further around you and you smell a nice cologne in the crook of his neck, where your head is buried.

He sets you back to your feet and lifts your chin with his finger for a much more gentle, passionate kiss, that you accept happily. His hand rests gently on your hip.

“You’re the best thing that coulda ever happened to a weirdo like me,” Raph’s forehead is pressed down against yours, with closed eyes.

“You’re better,” you counter. He gives your hip a squeeze, “Let’s be something. Even if it’s hard.”

He chuckles.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, Sunshine.”

You’re both right where you belong, centimeters away from each other, smiling like idiots, and finally off that steep cliff that’s been taunting you for months. Raph is your home, and you’re his, far out of that little kitchen window.

A Polaroid click behind you just makes you shake your head with a flustered grin.

“Mikey, are you shittin me right now?”

You can hear his little brother shuffle back into whatever shadow he came from, laughing along with the rest of the party that's hidden away.

“Fuckin idiot.”

fin <3

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Oh no, wait...

What's this?

A gift for my dear readers?

Take a listen 🤭😝

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

I GOT YOUUU

I'VE BEEN SLAVING AWAY AT THIS SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST CHAPTER, JUST TO GET TO THIS POINT MUAHAHAHA

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED READING (AND LISTENING!!) AS MUCH AS I DID CREATING THIS FUN LITTLE STORY!!!

The Kitchen Window was SUCH A FUN PROJECT, and I'm so glad I've been receiving all of your guys' support, interaction, and kind words 😭😭 as a token of gratitude, I decided to make that little audio clip that has been the death of me to create 🫠

Thank you all again SO FUCKIN MUCH

This concludes the 6 part story, The Kitchen Window 🩷💓💕

Please, LIKE, REBLOG, AND ASK TO BE A PART OF MY TAG LIST SO YOU DONT MISS OUT ON MORE WRITINGS LIKE THIS ONE

Till next time!

LOVE YA BABESSSS 💕💓🩷🌸🧼🫧

taglist - [ @ladyofparchments @well-its-not-human-anymore @raphaelsrightarm @chiliiscereal @milkytheholy1 @moxfirefly @raphsgrl @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @imthegreenfairy86 @aurora-the-kunoichi @angelhazeisaweirdo @raisin-shell @fyreball66 @redsrooftopprincess @milykins @ahhhhhhhhhfuck @quitecontrary-to-mary @the-cauldron-witch @brins-rogers @yelocaltrashcan @pheradream-15 @asillysimp @miranexx @cinnamonskiss @le0n-ardo @silveritydreams @goldenflowerdragon @loveshrubs @glitterystarfishfestival @supersleepyslowpoke @floflodoesart @crimsonrubie ]

[dumpster-fire3131]

ITS PERFECT AND IM IN LOVE OML

The Kitchen Window (pt. 5)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (vannie's been missing for weeks. when her savior returns her in a broken state, it's your turn to do the rescuing)

warnings - angst, violence, themes of animal abuse, slight nsfw

word count - 3.9k

READ PREVIOUS PARTS HERE - one - two - three - four

It's hard to come to terms with the way you feel about Raphael. When he's not around you physically, he's taking up your every waking thought. It's just so abnormal, the way your paths had crossed and led you to a point where every little thing you do, is in thought of him. To a point where you lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of him, and the nights you get to see him, you come up with almost every excuse to have him stay at your window just a little longer.

Why was this so, so difficult? It was a complicated thing, the situation at hand. It should feel freeing, and light. But with the circumstances of you being a human and Raph being, well… Raph, it's stressing you out. Not even the fear of rejection, but what might happen if he’s reciprocating the same feelings. Where do you even go from there?

Raph’s hard to read. You can see the emotions always conflicting on his face, but what he’s thinking is a whole other deal. Even though he’s friendly, he’s closed off. Talking about things that are bothering him just isn’t something he does.

On top of this dilemma comes another issue that’s been eating at your insides.

Vannie’s missing.

The first day, you think nothing of it.

It’s been a long day at work, and she doesn’t come to greet you at the sound of an opening door or the shake of her food bowl. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere, under the couch or your dresser. But you’re surprised to see she hasn’t curled up in your bed with you when you wake up the next morning. Vannie always does that. Something could’ve spooked her, but was it so bad that she would hide in fear all night? You can’t find the time to look for her rushing out the door to open up shop.

After another day, is when you really get concerned. You practically flip the apartment inside out searching for your cat, opening cabinets, upturning the little furniture you own. All the while calling her name and shaking one of her favorite toys to coax her out. She doesn’t come. This was really, really bad. Had you left the window open? Did she slip out of the door when you were leaving for work one morning?

After you’ve given up on looking through your home, you turn to the few neighbors you have, knocking on their doors. All of them pitifully shake their heads and tell you they haven’t seen her. Most of them didn’t even know you owned an animal.

It’s an empty, hopeless feeling that’s breaking your heart. She was the only thing you had to come to after a tireless day of work. Every day has dragged on meaninglessly. You’re slow to close the cafe each night, knowing Vannie won’t be perched on her cat tree in the corner of your living room while she waits for you to step inside.

When you go to hang a “missing pet” poster, it looks so insignificant in the sea of all the other pictures of lost dogs and cats that are plastered onto the light post. You spend each day tirelessly waiting at the kitchen window for your baby to come home.

One night, Mikey swings by. His usual friendly and excited smile wipes clean off his face when he sees your tired eyes, puffy and red from crying through the glass. You open it, wiping at the snot dripping from your nose.

“Woah, angel.” He’s leaning down and looking toward you with caution, “What’s wrong?”

“V-Vannie,” you have to swallow the frog in your throat to keep from sobbing all over again, “Vannie’s missing. I can’t find her anywhere.”

Empathy is swimming in his eyes.

“Aw dude,” Mikey grabs your hand from the window and gives it a comforting squeeze, “I’m sorry. Didya’ put up posters and stuff?”

You nod, and squeeze back, with a sniffle.

“Hung them up everywhere. She’s been gone for over a week. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll tell the bros if you want. We’ll look for her on patrol.”

You sigh, and give him a watery, weak smile.

“Thank you Mike. You’re the best.”

He winks.

“Anytime sweet cheeks,” he looks down at his phone, “I gotta get going, but don’t worry, We’ll find your kitty!”

Mikey blows you a kiss and scales your fire escape.

That night, it’s just a little bit easier trying to find rest. Bless those boys, always looking out for you. The next morning you receive a text from another unsaved number. You know it’s Raph.

[sorry to hear about van]

[i’ll find her for you]

You smile at your phone.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A few more days slug along, before you see one of the brothers again.

It’s a night you’re supposed to be sleeping, with work the next morning. Instead, you’re laying on the couch, phone being the only light in the dark living room, and scrolling through the hundreds of pictures of your sweet kitty, through tear clouded eyes. A video of her playing with a hair tie in your empty bathtub pulls a sad little whimper from you. You miss Vannie so badly. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve seen her, and it worries you what she’s been doing, if she’s hurt, or an unthinkable other outcome that you immediately shove out of your head and lock the door on anytime it crossed your mind. Life’s been full of interruptions lately. This next one shouldn’t be a shocker, but it is anyway.

Tick.

You almost miss the noise. A few seconds later, it comes again.

Tick-ting.

You turn to look at the window. Another small rock clicks against the glass and bounces off onto the fire escape, and it calls you to get up and investigate. By the time you get there, another pebble flies at you, and it makes you flinch. It comes down below from the dark alleyway. You open the window.

“Hello?”

Mrowr.

Your heart drops.

“Vannie?”

You see the huge figure of one of the turtles stepping forward, and in their outstretched hand, is your cat. Her grey fur is soaked with the rain that’s starting to trickle outside, one ear laid back in fear and confusion.

“Oh my god. Raph, you found her!” Like a fumbling idiot, you scramble over the sink and push yourself all the way out of the opening, feet landing lightly on the metal platform. The summer rain immediately hits your hair and skin. Raphael doesn’t move. Something feels off.

The way he holds her out into the light, keeping the rest of his body in the shadows. His labored breaths can barely be heard over water tinking off every surface it can reach.

“Raph? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Raph, come here.”

You watch him. He doesn’t want to, you can tell. The way he pauses and then staggers forward on a limp foot makes your eyes widen with concern. He grunts. Then you see the deep red stains that covers his outstretched arm.

“Holy shit.”

It’s hard to make out his face. Raph’s trying his best to hide it, leveraging the darkness, down where he’s swaying unsteadily.

“Raphael, what happened?”

He just gruff’s out in response, animalistic, and pained.

“Come up here. Please.”

He sighs. The lowering of his arm, with Vannie still clutched safely, indicated his surrender. He slinks forward under the fire escape, and you feel it wobble as he ascends it. It’s slow, interrupted with strained, deep breathing and huffs of discomfort. Your face contorts from that of uncertainty into dread. Suddenly, you’re not so worried about your lost cat anymore. Raphael steps onto the scaffolding with you. He loses his footing against the slick metal, and his bad leg gives out underneath him, falling to one of his knees. He yelps with a snarled lip, all the while, Vannie held safely against his chest.

“What the fuck.”

His arm isn’t the only thing nearly coated with blood. You can see it glinting in the faint light of your kitchen and moon peeking through thin clouds, spattered across the rest of his upper half, running from his nose, and down under his mask, being washed away by the rain. He’s got new, fresh cuts, almost white from how deep they go into his skin, and dark patches of skin that seem to be bruises.

“You-“ His voice is guttural and hoarse. He swallows thickly, “You ain’t gotta look at me like that.” Raphael spits a little blood from his mouth.

“What happened?”

He turns away, instead of answering your question. Vannie claws her way out of his hold and clambers into the window with record speed, desperate to get out of the rain.

“Cat did it.”

Even in this horrendous, battered up state, he has room for jokes. Idiot.

“I’m not kidding, Raph.” You take a step forward to better look at his injuries, gently grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. You can’t tell if it’s the rain or tears collecting in his eyes.

“Come inside.”

Next thing you know, you’re guiding Raphel gently up the staircase to your floor, straining under his body weight while he leans against you for support. He stumbles through the door, tracking rain and dark red into the carpet. It’s the least of your worries right now. Raph trudges to the tile floor of your kitchenette, and slumps down to sit on his butt. It’s still dark in the space, but you can’t bring yourself to flick on the light, worried it’ll hurt his eyes, and even more focused on his countless injuries. You don’t even know where to start.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He continues his streak of silence, just looking down at the floor with an empty, tired glare, while you stand to go get a towel and clean wash-rags. The rain drones outside, getting heavier. You don’t speak to each other while you dry the rain from his skin, and then gently scrub away the blood with warm water. He allows you to clean him up without quarrel, if it means not having to tell you how he sustained such horrific injuries. You’re seated on your knees, between his legs on the floor, close enough to feel Raphael’s breath leaving his nose and cool your warm face, and catch the scent of warm summer rain and iron on his skin. He flinches when the rag dabs over one of the deep scratches above his collarbone.

“Sorry,” you look up to see his eyelids heavy, and brow scrunched in a painful expression, “It’s not gonna feel great.”

He knows, of course, and lets you continue tending to the wound with a hand that’s as gentle as it can be. It’s quiet, once again. The downpour is happy to fill its space.

Your hands softly graze over each bruise and welt that he’s gained. Each rag is soaked with lukewarm water and the rusted tint of blood, then tossed to the side to be replaced with a new one, until all of Raph’s verdian scales are clear and dry. You don’t have a fancy first-aid kit like Donnie’s. It’s a Tupperware container filled with different sized bandaids and a nearly expired tube of neosporin. It would have to do until his brother could get his nifty, medically inclined hands on him.

This is so intimate. Centimeters away from each other’s warm bodies, in the dark, while you reach to stick a bandage over a little slice on the side of his cheek. So close it feels like a dam is about to crumble into pieces. You have to speak to keep yourself from doing something stupid.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say, so quiet, it’s almost a whisper, “But-“

“They had her.”

You pull away to look into his eyes. They’re swimming with some intense emotion between anger and shame, a deep green glinting in the soft light.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. Some douchebags,” he’s recounting the confrontation in his head, and looks down at his scratched knuckles, “They were tormentin the poor thing.”

Raph remembers ducking between a few alleys on his patrol that night. He’s climbing the side of an old warehouse where he usually sticks out, high above most of the city. The fifth floor is occupied with loud laughter and rap music that blares through the broken window. A bunch of men and women drinking and smoking, resting on old furniture and crates that had been left a long time ago. He thinks nothing of it, already trying to continue up the building, until he hears a yowl.

He doesn’t want to believe it’s Vannie, that they’re gathering around and dunking in a bucket of old mop water, but her missing ear and red collar around her neck confirm his worst fears. She’s trying to claw her water from their grip, but their numbers and strong tattooed arms overpower her, and they shove her under the surface again.

Raphael is filled with a blind rage that calls him to jump down through the window and threaten them with a loud voice. He recalls the overwhelming sinking feeling in his gut when their numbers grow even larger, jumping down from crates and out of dark corners of the huge room.

“They had a bunch a’ crowbars. Pocket knives. Shit like that.” He doesn’t want to look up at your face. He can already feel the despair setting in your features.

He was overpowered so quickly. Metal bats and steel toed shoes hitting his thick skin, blades cutting, while some of them held him down by his arms and sitting on the back of his shell, plastron pressed helplessly to the concrete floor. He cries out for his brothers, while the group of ruthless attackers steal his weapons and use them to barrade down on him. It was the thought of you crying for your cat that finally pulled him from the floor in a white-hot anger, throwing them off and falling backwards.

It was all a blur from there. Ruthless punches thrown and cracking against their faces. Just his bare, bandaged hands landing blows onto anyone and everyone that crossed his path. Raphael had practically blacked out. Nobody was getting away with it. Even the ones that tried to scramble away became a lost cause if he caught them in the corner of his eyes, dragging them by their legs and hauling them into piles of rotting wood and brick walls.

You watch as he shivers through the memory.

By the time Raphael is through with the assemblage of delinquents, he’s still pumping full of adrenaline and unfathomable rage, heaving out deep breaths with a bloody spittle collecting at the edges of his lips. All were lying unconscious or crying out in pain for their absent mothers, and any who got away were lucky enough to slink into the protective shade of the corners. The edges of his vision are still fuzzy. He can feel his racing heart in his head, and the trickle of blood down the sides of his face and arms. He’s not sure if most of it is, or theirs.

“I dunno if I killed any of em’. But I was so fuckin angry.”

Raph scoops up a cowering vannie from the bucket, then turns to her main assailant, trembling on the cold floor and cradling a (surely broken) wrist.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” He sneers down at the man, who has a blackened eye, “Hurtin’ a poor animal who did nothin to ya?”

Raph dumps the dirty contents of the bucket onto him, then kicks his side.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit, is what you are.”

Afterwards, he opts to take the stairs all the way down, limping on his bad leg, and make the trek to your apartment.

He’s pulled from his hateful trance, to look at where you’re staring up at him with watery eyes.

“You saved her.”

Raph seems surprised it’s all you have to say. Nothing about beating her captors to a pulp and leaving them for dead. A tear rolls down the side of your nose. His eyes widen with worry.

“You saved my baby, Raph.”

“I-I just,” he swallows thickly, “I know how important she is to ya,”

It’s amazing. The way the room is so dark and yet all of your senses are in tune with how every muscle moves under his thick skin. How he’s expected you to be overwhelmed with fear and push him away from you, with the worry that he’s this angry monster that he’s been hiding. Instead you’re thanking him. That means more to him than he could express. He hates the silence now, hates the way he’s so awkward and how he doesn’t know the right way to respond to your gratitude. He’s adjusting to lift himself off the ground.

“I gotta get back to-“ Raphael forgets about going back to the lair. He forgets his lame leg. All the cuts and bruises, and saving Vannie. You forget about the fear of rejection and what comes next. The sleepless nights that have been holding you awake at their mercy. Instead you’re both tuned into the way you lift yourself up on your knees and grab his face and pull him down.

It’s a short, unexpected kiss that doesn’t break past your lips, faces smushed together, like puzzle pieces that don’t fit quite right. And then you pull away, both so surprised at it, that at first it doesn’t register. On the outside, your hands are frozen, hovering just above his jawline, in pure idiocy at the idea that you just did that. And in your brain, you’re beating yourself senseless, because what the fuck were you thinking??

How fucking ridiculous.

Raph’s eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them, flicking between your own. He’s breathing heavy, mouth slack, and the wordless reaction is freaking you out. You swear you can hear his heart thundering under his plastron. Or was that you?

It’s then that he grabs you right back and pulls you in for a much more calculated, breathless kiss. You lean into it, desperate and nervous, and grabbing the tails of his bandanna to bring him as close as possible.

This was happening. It was a thing.

You and Raphael sitting on the kitchen floor, with his shell pressed into one of the lower cabinets, and borderline making out. What would your mother think?

You’ve always been used to Raph’s soft touch, anytime he’d fist bump you through the kitchen window or brush past your arm. That was not him now.

His huge hands are tangled in your hair and at the nape of your neck, and he’s drinking you in like water. You’re pressing him further into the cabinet door intoxicated over the way your teeth and noses slightly graze past each other. His tongue slipping into your mouth makes you shudder and you huff. Raph’s easily pulling you up into his crossed legs.

This gentle giant was no more, firm and intentional with every move he makes. He doesn’t shy away from moving further into your touch and kissing you deeper. You can feel his mouth curl into a smile when you gasp. Your hands are everywhere. traveling up the tough texture of his plastron, to his beyond muscular shoulder, where one roughly grazes over a bigger cut. Raph pulls away with a hiss.

“Sorry!” You squeak out. It’s the first you’ve spoken since kissing him senseless. He winces but the recovery is swift, and he looks up at you with pupils blown wide, black eating away at their beautiful color, fluster evident at the warm tint to his face.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, sunshine.”

The nickname makes your stomach do a summersault. You smile, out of breath.

“You’re hot.”

Stupid! What the hell is wrong with you?!

“You kiddin’ me?” He laughs, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His voice is a low growl, and he pulls you in once again by the back of your head. Back to it, I guess.

If the window hadn’t been open, it would surely be fogged up by now, with your heated breaths floating up from the cool floor. This was great.

Unanticipated, and weird, but just so great. You have to push off of each other to stop from going any further than you already have, both sweaty, breathing heavily and grinning like you just won a Grammy. It takes a while before one of you can catch your breath. Raph nudges your shoulder.

“You’re my first kiss.”

He flashes you a five star grin with flared nostrils. You match it. It shouldn’t surprise you that much, but it does anyway.

“Yeah?” He nods, “Well, you’re my first good kiss.”

You see the pride roll over Raph in a wave.

“That good, huh?”

You shove his face away playfully when he gets close.

“Now that I think about it, it was mediocre.”

The turtle ruffles your already disheveled hair.

“Whateva. You loved that shit.”

Oh you did. The evidence of him enjoying just as much is the prominent arousal just under his naval, and you’re trying to avert your view. He catches it and his eyes blow wide, trying to quickly readjust the way he’s sitting.

“Ah! Heh-uhhh-“ Raph coughs into his fist, and then drags an open palm down his face in immense embarrassment, “Sorry! Sorry. I should probably, uh, get goin’”

It makes you giggle like a teenager. Raph’s bad leg hasn’t crossed either of your minds until he tries to lift himself from the floor and it gives out under his weight again and he shouts.

“There’s no way you’re getting back to the lair on that. Something’s probably broken.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snorts. You jump to his aid, slipping your arm under his for support and help raise him off the ground.

“You’ll probably need to stay here for the night, until Donnie can check you out.“

The thought of having a sleepover with the guy you just sucked face with for 20 minutes is so exciting.

“Are ya sure?” Raph sounds unsure while you guide him down onto the couch.

“You can sleep here. I’ll text Don to come over in the morning.”

He lays back onto the cushions and lets you grab him a blanket and pillow from your room, tucking him in and placing a light kiss on his red-banded forehead. You slide down onto the carpet to be eye level where Raphael’s head is snuggled into the pillow.

Vannie meows, the first you’ve heard from her since she came in through the window. Her tiny head peeks over the back of the couch. You both watch with soft smiles as she curls up, purring, on Raph’s chest.

He flinches a little when your hand slips into his larger one and gives it a squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The next morning, Donnie has successfully picked the lock to your front door, heeding to your late night text. He does a double take, and then snorts with an incredulous smile, seeing you passed out on the floor, his older brother on the couch and Vannie still sleeping soundly on top of him while he snores.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

BAM, YOU GET A BIG OL' KISS

HERE'S PART 5 EVERYONE!!! I SINCERELY APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT AND PATIENCE ON THIS PART, I REALLY STRUGGLED WRITING IT LMAO 🩷💓💕

Also, I came back to this page with 260 followers and I opened it this morning to 410??

I really do not deserve such incredible support from all of you wonderful folks 😭🙏🩷💓

I'm not sure if I'll add another part, which will most likely be a little epilogue, but PLEASE LET ME KNOWWW !!!!

Don't forget to REBLOG and let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist so you don't miss out on any of my TMNT works!!!

LOVE YA BABES 🩷💓💕🫧🧼🌸

taglist - [ @ladyofparchments @well-its-not-human-anymore @raphaelsrightarm @chiliiscereal @milkytheholy1 @moxfirefly @raphsgrl @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @imthegreenfairy86 @aurora-the-kunoichi @angelhazeisaweirdo @raisin-shell @fyreball66 @redsrooftopprincess @milykins @ahhhhhhhhhfuck @quitecontrary-to-mary @the-cauldron-witch @brins-rogers @yelocaltrashcan @pheradream-15 @asillysimp @miranexx @cinnamonskiss @le0n-ardo @silveritydreams @goldenflowerdragon @loveshrubs @glitterystarfishfestival @supersleepyslowpoke @floflodoesart ]

[dumpster-fire3131]

Hello Hello (Bayverse! Leo x Reader)

this story has been running rampant in my mind for weeks now. finally decided to do something about it, here you go lovelies <333

[the reader spots a shadow moving across the New York rooftops one night~]

The clouds are whisking away, and wet streets glint softly in the moon that sets itself comfortably above New Yorks' towering structures.

A simple apartment window reflects it's welcoming light, it opens, and you step out onto the slick iron balcony to breathe. You tug a jacket tighter against your body, spring chill trying to pry through it's tapered fabric, but you resist.

And that's when you notice it. The shadow flickers away just as fast as it had come, zooming across the moonlight above and for a moment, you don't believe it's real.

Feet pad across the pavement, cars roll by, splashing puddles of a fresh rain that just hit the city. You squint, shaking your head at the sudden vision, and keep curious eyes directed at the brick building adjacent to your complex, a few alleys across.

Low and behold, the shadow has a shape. Tall, dark, but still so far away that you can't give it a distinct configuration. It stands stoically and then moves faster than light on feet that carry it without sound across the silhouettes of rooftops.

Curious eyes stay glued in astonishment to this structured outline that practically floats across alleys, moving across your field of vision. It grows closer. Large, mysterious.

You duck into your window, hoping you wouldn't catch the stranger's eye. Now, straight across the alleyway and up three levels from yours, this alluring foreigner takes pause directly in the path of the moon, a stunning masterpiece that heaves for breath. The worn tails of a bandana flutter in the night breeze.

You find yourself a loss of breath, a loss of thought, fingertips gripping tightly against the window sill at the sight.

The shadow backs away and then rears itself forwards with a powerful leap straight across to the roof of your building. Feet make impact with a grunt. You waste no time in clambering back out, still cautious not to scare this beautiful beast away.

The ladder is slick with raindrops, and you take care to firmly press your shoes against it's grooves so that you don't slip. Up you go, each level, quiet as can be, stuttering breaths, racing heart, fluttering anxiety.

You peek above the cement ledge.

The shadow is facing opposite of your direction, kneeling, and it's shell -shell - glowing dully in city lights.

You focus on the last few rungs to get a closer glimpse, one, getting closer, two, your shoe squeaks quietly against the slick metal, three - you slip, waist just surpassing the roof's ledge.

Your stomach drops, reaching for something to grab onto, leaning painfully slowly back and back; and a strong arm latches purposefully right above your hips, paired with a large hand, steadying your upper back.

Hello Hello

Eyes, large, strikingly blue hold onto yours just as tightly as the grip on your waist. It's the stranger, your savior, holding you taught against his front side - a well built, scarred plastron like battle armor.

You heave a breath, in, out. Trying to focus, to regain a steady pattern of air, all the while struggling in clawing out of the pool, the deepness of his eyes. They match the color of his mask, shrouding deep verdant scales, a rounded snout

He speaks, pulling you with terrifying ease fully onto the roof out of the way of your imminent demise.

His voice is low, delicate, smooth, asking if you're alright. He pulls his three-fingered hands away from your body with urgency, though there's a collectedness, a control that he's seemed to practice. He puffs his chest out just slightly.

You have no room to speak, too awestruck with this remarkable creature that towers at least a good foot above your head.

You nod once. Once is all he needs. The stranger turns to run away, but he's seized in surprise with your eagerness, calling after him.

His full shoulders drop. The shadow knows what's coming. He thinks he knows what's coming.

But when you thank him with a gentle stutter and ask for his name, a flash of awe strikes his strangely handsome features. He gives it to you, hesitantly. And you give him yours.

He holds onto it, like a slip of paper, a sweet serenade to keep in his mind forever. And you Leo promises he'll see you again.

With that, he parts with a gentle smile, a hesitant brush of fingers, and disappears in the night, a shadow, a stranger, once again.

[Don't really know where I was going with the ending! I feel like it was cut a bit short 😅💙 Should I do a part 2?? 👀]

tagging my Leo lovers 🥰💙

[@turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @the-ninja-in-blue @thelaundrybitch @ladyofparchments ]

[dumpster-fire3131]

Hello love! I hope I’m one of your first asks!!! 😍

Can I order up a new love/confessing feelings with a side of fluff, a la Bayverse Donatello please?! 💜

Sure thing lovely!! Hope you enjoy!!

Truck Repairs (Bayverse! Donatello x Fem! Reader)

"Torque wrench please."

"Got it."

The slap of cool metal against scales resounded from underneath the Turtle Truck (a name Y/N commonly used, much to her companion's distaste), as Donnie was handed yet another tool from the plastic box next to his feet.

"Thank you." He huffed out. The cranking of gears, clinking of iron echoed out from the truck.

"Sure thing, Don," The girl said, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the turtle's legs, "How much longer do you think this should take?" Her eyes stole an extensive glance at those toned, long, delicious-looking limbs. Wait. What? That didn't come from her mind again, did it?

Of course, it did. When did it not? Donatello sighed, voice floating out from below the massive machine, and then the wheels of his skateboard rolled against the cement as he uses his feet to pull his body from underneath.

"Uh, I'm not sure. The damage inflicted on the lower regions of the compression body is pretty tremendous. It could take up a few days, weeks even, if not strategically maneuvered-" he pushed the goggles from his eyes to settle comfortably on the top of his head, revealing the glittering hue of those beautiful amber eyes, "But it seems to be going well at the moment."

His mouth cutely curled up into a smile, one that never failed to release a cocoon of uncaged butterflies in Y/N's stomach.

She grinned back, and then shyly turned to study the soles of her shoes, evidently more interesting than looking at his uncannily handsome face.

"That's good to hear. Maybe we should take a break soon. You've been working like crazy since you got back from patrol."

His smile very subtly faded at this suggestion, though he made sure that his friend didn't catch it. Donnie enjoyed this company that she provided working with him on the truck's repairs, much more than he was willing to admit. Though, yes, he could use a nice break, maybe grab a snack or glass of water, the mutant knew surely that nothing fueled his cravings like her sweet presence (incomparably rich to the taste of his beloved pop tarts).

And if the same wasn't in her book about him, then by gods...

I mean sure, he's a mutant. Gross right?

Wrong. So, so very wrong.

"Y-yeah I guess we could take a little break." He responded, then let out a sort of struggled grunt as his body lifted to sit upwards and rest his shell on the side of the garbage truck.

Y/N's eyes wandered once more at the marvelous rolling and extending of his muscles as he did so, draping a single sturdy arm across one knee and using the other to adjust his glasses. She gulped. Her gaze shamelessly traveled to the seemingly endless length of his legs, until she caught the quick movement of his head in her peripheral.

She immediately averted her stare, back down to the laces of her converse, trying to subside the heat crawling quickly over her neck.

"T-tell you what, why don't I go grab you a snack, and you stay here and see if there's anything else we can do." Y/N pushed herself up from the ground and before Donnie could respond, she had already scampered out of the workshop to avoid any further humiliation.

"O-okay!" He called after her, though the likeliness of hearing him was probably far gone since she was already in the kitchen by then.

Y/N grasped the bridge of her nose between her for dinner and thumb, letting out an exasperated sigh as the tap water still poured, pattering against the metal sink.

'He totally caught me staring,' she thought. Though her self-control was usually tempered, easily under restraint, it melted into a helpless puddle when Donatello's presence was made known around her. Hell, even passing up the open doorway of his lab as he worked was a strain, and Y/N found herself peeking in curiously as his eyes fixated carefully, passionately over a project as he worked.

It took every willful ounce in her body not to just snatch the tails of his violet bandana and yank him in for a savory kiss every time he was a few feet away from her.

Her brain, exhausted from such thoughts, tried to focus on her footfalls, the wrinkle of pop-tart wrappers, the clinking of ice against glass cups, a cool contrast against Y/N's warm arms.

She halted directly outside of the workshop, inhaled, exhaled, and then rounded the corner to see-

Nobody? Weird. Perhaps Donnie had gone to his lab to grab more tools or just put them away since the aforementioned bucket of appliances had gone missing right along with their possessor.

"Huh. Weird." Y/N thought aloud, and then after looking over her shoulder and out of the doorway, she decided that she might check out the inside of the truck. After all, it had been some time since she'd seen it and was rarely able to because of the lack of missions she joined in on.

She set the two cups of water and foil packages gently on a nearby bench, before making her way towards the rear entrance. Y/N's hands settled on the large iron handle wrapping their small extent around it and then pulled down with all of her strength.

Man, the brothers made it look so easy, and by the time the lever reached its lowest point with a loud click, she had managed to work up a bit of a sweat.

The door, a huge garage-like lift system on the back end of the truck, began to lift, creaking and groaning as it did so. Y/N smiled, eyes glancing down carefully as her feet made contact with each rising step into the truck.

However, her plan had been spoiled, if you could even call it that. Because, just as she was entering the vehicle, it seemed Donatello would be exciting. As Y/N looked up from the final footstep, and Donnie from his tech pad, their noses and mouths bumped, and all was still. Both of their bright eyes were wide with shock and unbearable mortification at the sensation of petal-soft skin against cool scales, lips awkwardly resting upon one another.

They both pulled away as fast as they had come together, though Y/N had been so caught up in her humiliation, that she forgot about the staircase behind her and lost footing. An abrupt shout escaped her lips, helplessly flailing her arms in the air to grab onto something and a strong pair of arms had quickly caught her.

When the girl hesitantly opened an eye to analyze her seemingly unfortunate position, all she was met with, was the shine of Donnie's lustrous eyes, glinting in the bright lights of the workshop. Both were heaving breaths, adrenaline rushing from the swiftness of this occurrence.

"Thanks..." Y/N managed to squeak, trying to calm the furious blush and racing tempo of her heart at the touch of Donatello's strong arms still wrapped around her, "I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes..."

At her remark, Donnie's expression seemed to relax, and he let out a little giggle of amusement. Y/N smiled softly, and then placed the tip of her finger on the bridge of his snout, accompanied with a small 'boop!' That made him laugh even more and then a snort, something he didn't seem to proud of.

"Have I ever told you how cute you are?" She asked, rather abruptly, and the blunt question caught the turtle off guard. She wanted to smack herself across the face at the spilling of her internal conflicts but figured that doing so would cause her further embarrassment. Instead, Y/N was stuck trying to interpret Donatello's dumbstruck expression.

"E-erm, uh no. No, I don't think you've told me that..." Stupid, stupid stupid! What a response! Donnie's mind quipped, Could have at least said thank you... "Y/N..."

"Yeah, Don?"

His answer was completely wordless, just boring endlessly into her sparkling eyes. Though his next move seemed to be a more suited response.

Before he could stop himself, Donnie closed the short distance between and capturing her mouth in a short kiss, tightening the strong grasp of his forearms around her waist and back.

Y/N blinked once. Twice. And nothing shifted, though seemed completely unreal, like one of the hallucinations that she'd conjured in her mind before.

But this was just so... Real. He pulled away before Y/N could fully process what was going on, leaving her mouth to chase after his momentarily.

"You're really... U-um, Y/N I think you're beautiful. And I have this strangely romantic fascination with you..." Donnie trailed off, realizing how utterly stupid he must sound, however, the girl held tightly in his arms found it extraordinarily romantic.

Her fingers danced around the back of his neck snatched the tails of his silk bandana, and then pulled him in again, this time for a lingering address on the lips, tilting her head just slightly to deepen it. Donnie let out a short squeak of surprise, that faded into a satisfied chirp, bellowing from his throat.

They broke away, heaving puffs of air, and idiot-like grins spread across their faces.

"I really like you too Donnie."

"I'm glad," he breathed, just inches away from her face, "cause now we can work together and you don't have to hide staring at my legs."

Y/N flushed immensely before swatting his chest repeatedly, trying to hide her smile at his amused laughter.

"Donatello I will take away your pop tart privileges!"

fin💜

[dumpster-fire3131]

The Kitchen Window (pt. 4)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (everything finally clicks into place when you're invited over to Vern's place. some new friends mean new experiences)

warnings - swearing

word count - 4.7k (I told y'allll)

READ PREVIOUS PARTS HERE - one - two - three

You’ve been brooding the past couple of days. Life has been sucker punching you in the gut, one insane, unthinkable blow at a time.

Work hours are getting ridiculously longer, April O’Neil hasn’t texted you back since the night you spilled all of your secrets. And you haven’t seen or heard Raphael around. Not that important, but it still contributes to the pile of miserable shit you’re handling. Thankfully, Vannie seems to be filling that lonely space in your flat. She’s a sweet relief to see at the end of each night when you get back from work, purring and content. You hadn’t realized how nice it was to come home to someone that’s so pleased to see you. She’s helping you cope, even if just a little. A cat tree now sits in the far corner of your living room so she’s not climbing all over the counters and scratching at your sofa. Though simple, it adds a new, homey addition to the space.

This night off is uneventful. Vannie sits in your lap, fast sleep, while you mindlessly scroll on your phone and sip on a glass of fruit juice that’s been sitting in your fridge for just a little too long. Hometown highschool friends with their engagement rings and college graduation posts. Not something that you particularly yearned for, but it still hurt a little. It was probably time to pick up a damn hobby. Vern texts you. What a surprise.

[Hey kiddo]

He hasn’t called you that in a long time. It makes your throat tighten up.

[what up big man]

It takes him a second to type out another text.

[I know we haven’t seen each other much. Figured you might wanna come see my apartment? it’s nice]

An invite to your older brother’s fancy new place is the last thing you’d expected in the form of a late night message.

[tonight?]

[tommorow]

[hell yeah]

Finally, a small start to getting better. Vannie stretches in your lap and you stroke her fur.

The subway ride uptown is weird. You forget that there’s literal trains running underground, after walking to and from work for so long. It would be more exciting, if not for being sandwiched between two total strangers and the silence of people kind of just looking around. The screech of wheels on the tracks breaks it every once in a while. You’re also not a fan of the shoving and pushing of total strangers through the way-too-small sliding doors when you reach your destination, almost tripping at least twice. Rude.

At the very least, Vern’s apartment complex was just two blocks away from the subway exit. You knew the upper parts of the city were nicer, but it doesn’t really hit until you’re walking on the wide sidewalks and passing restaurants and window shops that put your cafe to shame. Even the early afternoon atmosphere just seems less heavy. There’s more light. You catch just a few more passing smiles than you usually would, up the steps into the main building, where you have to press a button and announce you’re a visitor to your older brother.

The elevator takes you to the 11th floor of the nicest complex you’ve ever been in (not that you’d been in many anyhow).

The whole way here, you've been excited to see Vern, practically bouncing with every step all the way up to his door. But now your fist freezes right above the place where you’re about to knock. Something was so off about this. You rap your knuckles on the wood anyway.

Someone opens the door, after a few shuffling footsteps, and it’s not Vern. Your heart drops.

“April?” A voice crack slips its way through your dry throat.

Oh my god. She’s told him everything.

She told your older brother all of your insane ramblings, and now she’s greeting you with a friendly smile like it’s nothing. So this is what the invitation was all about. The both of them were probably waiting inside with a psychologist or a one way ticket to a padded room. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Oh hey!” April is warm with her greeting, but it does nothing to shake the spirit of your utter confusion. To add to it all, Vern’s head peeks over hers with a weak wave of his hand and a sheepish expression.

“Hey kiddo.”

You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between them. The reporter still holds that confident, close-mouthed smile, while your older brother is struggling to keep it together.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” it’s more of a question than a statement, “Are we having a little get together or something?”

Vern tries to speak, but April cuts him off.

“Yeah we figured it’d be good to talk here!”

You can’t protest when she grabs your arm and all but drags you through the doorway and slams it shut, leaving you in the entryway of a lavish, modern, way-too-white apartment. It’s hard to process anything going on. The scenery, Vern’s guilt ridden eyes and the millions of thoughts firing in your brain are all increasingly overwhelming. You're starting to get a headache.

“L-Look, April, about the other night-“

“You don’t have to explain anything.” She pulls you again, this time in the middle of taking your shoes off and past the coat rack. You catch your brother's eye and he looks nearly as lost as you feel. April continues.

“It’s about time we talked about this anyway.”

That makes you nervous. You’re being led into a nice kitchen, Vern at your heels and watching helplessly.

“We don‘t have to!” You exclaim and yank your wrist from her determined hold, “I was just-just tired! I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep, I know I sounded like a total maniac-“

She is completely uninterested in hearing your case, instead rolling her eyes and taking hold of your arm once again.

“We can just forget this whole thing! The loneliness has been getting to me, it’s really…not…”

When you step past the wall of the kitchen you trail off, dumbfounded to silence. All and any rational thought has fled.

Raphael, your savior, the giant fucking turtle, is standing, cross-armed, and a little nervous looking, next to three others that look eerily similar in their stature and green scales, though they all wear vastly different expressions that give away their thoughts. They’re all decked in various scraps of gear and oversized clothing, and like the one in red, have different colored bandanas over their eyes.

You look and feel like a total moron. Just standing there, mouth agape, only wearing one shoe and eyes flicking between the quartet of reptiles and your brother, who’s pinching his temple between two fingers in distress. The shortest of the four offers an over exaggerated smile and wave, before being kicked in the back of the leg, by another in a blue mask. He looks immensely annoyed. You have no idea what to say and when you open your mouth to speak, a flustered gasp squeezes its way from the back of your throat.

“I told you guys this was a shit idea,” Vern says. The tallest turtle shifts his weight from one large foot to another. It’s so quiet, so awkward, and yet you’re so discombobulated, your head starts to spin and you lean against the wall for support. You knew there was more than one night assailant. But four? And all nearly the same size and appearance? This was beyond absurd.

“Okay,” your voice is quiet, but it immediately captures the attention of everyone that’s standing in the room, “Can someone, genuinely, please tell me what the fuck is happening right now.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you right away.” April speaks up from behind you. You turn to see her apologetic eyes. Your silence prompts her to continue an explanation.

“These are my friends.” She sounds like trying to tame some wild animal, and her arm sweeps out to gesture towards the four, “I just wanted to see, you know… if it was really just ‘some guy’ that stopped whoever was grabbing you.”

Guess she was right. You rotate once again at Vern who is trying to avoid eye contact.

“You knew?!”

Everyone jumps at the sudden escalation in your shocked question.

“I didn’t know how to tell you!”

You scoff.

“What, am I supposed to just tell you I’m acquainted with four, crime fighting, ninja turtles?! I’d sound batshit crazy!”

It was only fair that he thought that way. Suddenly, your distant, uninvolved brother was in your exact shoes, and your shoulders slump downwards in exasperation.

“So would I, Vern! I knew- I knew-, I wasn’t insane, but this whole situation has been eating at me for fucking weeks!”

If not for the absolute shock running through you, you would have laughed at the way April and the vigilantes just stand there and watch your argument like it’s reality TV, turning their heads each time one of you speaks up.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? You should be glad we're telling you now!”

You throw your hands in the air and roll your eyes, once again rendered speechless.

A different voice pulls you from the confrontation. It’s the one in blue, now standing a little nearer to you. He’s massive, just like the others, even more now up close. You’re still not used to them talking in perfect, clear English. Or, really, at all.

“Sorry we had to meet this way.” His voice is deep, mature, and assertive. Surely the head honcho of the group. He’s smiling like it’s a peace offering, lopsided and gentle.

“I-I don’t-“ You search for the right response, but he does the talking for you and offers a calloused, three fingered hand.

“Leonardo.”

A long pause. Then an overtaxed sigh. You accept his introduction and awkwardly take it. You’re literally shaking a talking turtle's hand.

“I guess you already know my name.”

“We sure do, angel!” Leonardo is being shoved suddenly, quickly replaced with the energetic, shortest of the party. His bandanna is orange, and he’s puffing out his chest with confidence that out’s Vern’s ego to sorry shame. It immediately puts a curious smile on your face.

“I’m Michealangelo, but all the ladies call me Mikey.”

He grabs your hand delicately and places a cool kiss to the back of it while he bows toward the floor. You can’t do anything but awkwardly chuckle and watch as the others groan and cover their faces in embarrassment. This guy was pretty funny.

“Save some for the rest of us, Mike.”

You look to the tallest, who’s pushing the thick-lensed, tortoise print glasses up his nose. He opts to wave his hand from where he’s standing, seeming to sense the already overwhelming lack of personal space you have.

“Donatello.” It’s the voice you overheard on the radio last week, that accidentally gave away Raphael’s name.

Oh. OH. It finally clicks in your brain. Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello. Raphael.

“Renaissance artists, huh?”

April meets your face with a kind of look that reads, ‘now you get it’.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Mikey kisses his flexed bicep, “Works of art.”

You laugh.

“I named my cat after Van Gogh.”

Raphael, still standing back from the group, lifts his head and meets your eyes at the mention of her. He looks away again, but a little smirk breaks as he rolls a toothpick off his tongue and in between his teeth.

The sort of shared interest seems to break a little bit of the tension, and the other three smile.

”Damn, Raph,” Mikey grins over at the ray of sunshine, “Not even gonna come say hi to your girlfriend?”

Your face flushes lightly. It’s clearly just a little jab to get under his skin, but you’re caught slightly off guard. Thankfully nobody seems to notice.

The smile’s gone, replaced with a huff of his nostril and a flick to Mikey’s head when Raphael walks over to finally introduce himself.

“Hey.”

You realize, this is the first time you’re standing in front of him without a window in the way. He’s still impossibly large. But you’re just so close. It feels almost foreign, witnessing the broad shoulders and tough plastron that pairs with those intense, forest colored eyes.

“Nice to meet you. Again.” Is all you can say, through a warm smile.

He snuffs, a sort of amused laugh, that makes you smile widely.

“Yeah. Sorry this got turned into such a big ordeal.”

“I don’t mind. I’m glad I got to put a name to the face.”

You two kind of just stare at each other in silence. Mikey doesn’t let it draw on for long.

“You need to let me see this cat!”

“Oh, of course!” You don’t realize how warm your face is until you’re grabbing your phone from your pocket.

April and Vern are standing near each other again, now a little more relaxed seeing you warm up and pull up a photo of Vannie from your camera roll while the four look over your shoulder. Mikey coos at a video of her playing with the strings of your hoodie.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

So maybe it wasn’t ideal, the execution of their plan. Maybe you felt a little betrayed by your brother and his friend.

But.

You’ve made four new friends. And, as odd as they come (and intimidating as they look), they seem to like the way you welcome into your life.

The weeks flying by after you meet the four brothers have gone so much better than before. You’re getting sleep, still working your job up at the cafe, you’ve got Vannie. And that late-night sound of the manhole sliding against asphalt in the back alleyway begins once again. Now when you awake early in the morning to its noise, you just smile and snuggle further into your covers, with the reassurance that there are no scary monsters or felons that stalk in the night. Just four city-protecting vigilantes doing what they do best.

On the weekends, you stay up late to their frequent visits to your kitchen window. They usually swing by for a quick chat or check in on you. Most of the time it’s Mikey or Raphael. Or both. Sometimes the younger will tag along just to pay Vannie a visit while you and Raphael make playful small talk. Donnie will come through your area every once in a while, and though he doesn’t talk as much as his other brothers, it’s a refreshment to just listen to him talk about the state of the city and whatever new nerdy experiment he’s got going on. Leo rarely visits, unless you happen to catch them all leaving the sewer exit and he sticks around to hear you tell a crazy story about a rude customer or stupid order you’ve had to deal with during the week.

It’s so refreshing to have friends to talk to, even if it’s not every day.

Along with these pop ins, Raph’s been leaving things in your window on some of the nights you’re sleeping or coming home extra late from long shifts. Sometimes it’s a cool rock he found (who knows where), other times, an old abandoned action figure, or more recycled toys for Vannie. Your collection had accumulated on the dresser in your bedroom. It’s sweet.

Sometimes, you return the favor and leave him a cold drink you made at work by the open window before you flop into bed, exhausted. Summer’s rolling around the corner and even the nights get hot, especially considering moving around the city with all of his (badass) parkour. On occasion, you’ll make some for his siblings too, but the weird looks from your coworkers, leaving the shift with a cup holder full of unpaid drinks, limits this to every once in a while.

You don’t know it, but Raph feels so spoiled by your gifts to him.

Life is going so great, and you can feel the stone wall of his gruff exterior start to break when he chuckles at one of your jokes. Your heart warms when you think about him at work. As much as you enjoy seeing all of the brothers, it’s the red-banded one you’re drawn closest to. He makes you feel kind of giddy. It’s hard to put a label on it, but you’d love to call him your best friend, if not, one of your only.

It’s sticky and humid outside, on a late Saturday night in June. You’ve been watching a movie in your bedroom, with Vannie nestled beside you, sleeping, a bowl of microwave popcorn in your lap. The tv’s loud enough to almost drown out a little noise that comes from the kitchen. You barely hear it, but it catches your attention and you quickly snatch the remote to pause the movie.

Tap, tap, tap.

You smile. The shifting of the bed wakes up your cat, and she watches as you throw off the duvet and walk from the bedroom into the hall, bowl of popcorn in hand. When you pass the hall door, Raphael is grinning at you through the window and you fast-walk over to unlock the latch and slide it open. Humid air immediately flows in with his smug smile. Now you remember why the window was closed.

“Hey stranger.”

He snorts, and leans to rest his forearms on the sill.

“Whaddup, short stack?”

You shrug, and then offer out the bowl for him to take from. Raph grabs a handful and stuffs it in his mouth.

“What brings you to this part of town at…” you look at the stove clock, “3 in the morning.”

Raph talks while he’s chewing. A usually crude performance that you find kind of endearing.

“Slow night,” He swallows, and there’s a crumb on the corner of his lip, “Not a lot goin on for us out here.”

You nod, trying not to laugh at the leftovers that he clearly doesn’t notice. He quirks a brow.

“What?”

You reach out to try and swipe at it with your thumb but Raph flinches backwards.

“Come here!” Your laugh is soft, “You got something.”

He brings his face a little close and you wipe it away. It’s the first time you’ve touched his face, you realize. It’s cool, but there’s softer skin on his snout compared to the rest of his leathery scales. You try not to linger on it too much. He sees it on your thumb and playfully rolls his eyes. You can’t tell for sure, but there seems to be a little warmth creeping on his face. There’s tension.

“Yeah, I was savin’ that for later.”

Raph swats your hand away and you laugh.

“That hungry, huh?”

He nods.

“Actually yeah. We got leftover pizza at the lair, but I’m not supposed to be goin back for a while.”

“Want me to make you something real quick?”

He seems a little surprised at your offer (not like he’s gonna turn it down). You hear his stomach grumble.

“Can’t say no to that. How long you think it’ll take ya?”

“Probably a little bit. Do you wanna come inside?”

The invitation leaves your lips before you can think. None of the brothers had actually come inside your apartment before. It takes everything in you not to cringe and brace for the impact of his rejection while Raph looks at you with a perplexed glint in his eyes.

“Sure,” his answer sounds nonchalant, but his grin tells you a whole different story, “Dunno how you expect me to squeeze through this teeny little window though.”

You ponder for a second.

“You think you can sneak up to my front door?”

Raph shrugs.

“I can try. If I die, tell everyone it was your fault.”

You laugh.

“‘Vigilante turtle is found dead trying to get some of the worlds best chicken and rice.’ I can read the headlines now.”

He just shakes his head with a smirk, and then jumps off the fire escape.

“See you in a few.”

You shut the window, and in 45 seconds, there’s a knock at the door, and you rush over to open it and quickly let him in. Raph has to duck just a little to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe.

“Welcome to my crib.” It’s cringe, the way you lightly punch his shoulder.

“God, you sound like Mikey.”

“That was the goal.”

The turtle rolls his eyes, and then looks around the living room with a little smile.

“Gotta get you some decorations in here.”

You sigh.

“I know. I’m not here all the time. Plus I think Vannie would just knock shit over.”

Meow

“Speaking of.”

She’s already making her way over to him from your room, and rubs herself against his muscular calf.

“Hey kitty.”

Raph bends to give her head a little scritch, not following you over to the kitchenette where you’re pulling thawed chicken from the refrigerator.

“I think she missed you.”

He doesn’t respond, just looks up at your turned body, as you fill a small pot with water from the kitchen tap.

“You said chicken and rice, huh?”

You nod, looking back at him. He’s walking over to you, sandaled feet scuffing on the carpet.

“Small-apartment-owner staple. Plus it’s easy.”

He’s standing behind you now, arms crossed, and curiously watching as you turn on two of the stove burners.

“Probably not for me. I burn just about everythin I touch.”

You think quietly to yourself, the irony of such a hothead setting a bowl of cereal up in flames.

“This is super simple. I’ll teach you if you want.”

“Oh so you’re a barista and a culinary teacher

“This is one of the only things I can cook. You wanna cut up some of that for me?”

Raph sees you gesture to the unopened package of chicken, while you’re pouring a cup of white rice into the pot of slowly boiling water. Cutting, he could do.

The two of you work silently in the small space, ducking over and under each other to grab utensils and spices. You instruct him here and there, but still leave room for the comfortable quiet that’s settled in the air.

After about 15 minutes, you pour a bowl for each of you (his is filled just a little bit more than yours) and invite him to sit on the couch to eat together. The first bite he takes has his eyes rolling in the back of his head with a guttural groan. You flush from behind your fork.

“Good?”

“Fuckin good.”

Your giddy smile says it all. It’s flattering the way he eats without saying a word. You’re so at ease, sitting criss-cross on the couch next to this beast of a guy, both enjoying the comforts of a meal your mom had taught you how to make long before you had left for New-York. This felt so domestic. When he's done, Raph wipes his mouth and sets the bowl down on your coffee table, fork clattering against the ceramic, and leans back on the couch with a stretch. You’re only halfway through your dinner.

“That’s some Gordon Ramsey shit.”

You scoff.

“Hardly. But thank you.”

“Nah, thank you. I’m gettin tired of all that takeout Mike brings home.”

His eyes are closed, hands resting on his plastron, and feet kicked up onto the coffee table. Beautiful, you think, and you’re surprising yourself again with the thought. You take advantage of his relaxed eyes, eyes trailing up the long, muscular extent of his body. A weird, warm sensation trills its way up your body, when his broad chest moves with a heavy breath, stopping it’s way at your lungs to give them gentle squeeze. It slows your chewing. When Raph’s eyes open, you quickly focus your attention back down to the food that you’ve suddenly become full from. He says something that you have to ask him to repeat.

“Show me around?”

“O-oh. Yeah sure.” You stand fast, and clumsy, bowl taking its place next to his. You awkwardly adjust your shirt and wait for him to stand from the couch. He follows you down the short hallway.

“Here’s the bathroom,” you point to your right, and wait for him to kind of peek his head around for a moment, “And here’s my room.”

The movie on the tv is still paused, but it lights the room with a warm glow, along with the dim led lights strung up in the corners of the small space. A simple twin-sized bed in the middle, in between a matching bedside table and dresser. Raph steps into the room past you. It looks so cramped with his massive body in here. You can’t stop his eye catching the little collection of trinkets, lined up in a neat row, on top of the black dresser. His grin is small.

“Was wonderin if you kept all this shit,” He chuckles, picking up one of the little superhero action figures and admiring it. His whole hand engulfs the toy, which is covered in scuffs and scratch marks from years of play.

“Can’t see a reason why I wouldn’t.”

Raphael’s response is a relaxed smile when he looks over his shoulder at you. Your heart skips. He turns again and gently sets the figure in its place.

“This your family?”

He’s referring to the framed picture of you, Vern and your parents behind the line of his little gifts.

“Yeah. My mom and her husband.”

Raph lifts it and you walk over to look at it with him. It’s from a few years prior.

“Not your dad?”

You shake you head.

“Vern’s dad. But we’re close.”

The four of you are in mid laugh, in the selfie that you take with an outstretched arm. You remember taking it on a vacation in the mountains.

“Vern’s always got that stupid look on his face.”

You snicker, shaking your head.

“Yeah. Idiot.”

Once again, Raph places it in its exact spot. It makes your knees shake a little when he’s looking down at you, just centimeters away from your body. To ignore and prevent anymore weird and confusing tension to build, you flop backwards on your bed with a sigh.

“Whatcha bitchin about now?”

You smile up at the ceiling.

“Just don’t wanna go back to work.”

He sits on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah. Sounds boring.”

You nod, even though he’s not looking at you. You can feel the warmth of his leg bouncing next to yours.

“Whatcha thinking about, Red?”

“Nothin’ important.”

You tilt your head down just a little to see his massive shell facing you. He’s hunched over. You kick him lightly, and he knocks your leg away gently.

“Come onnn, talk to meeee.”

You go to kick him again, but Raph grabs your leg and tickles the back of it. You squeal.

“STOP,” the fight is useless, kicking and scrambling to get away, with an ornery grin on his face, “I’m gonna piss myself!”

With that he backs off, and you’re heaving through laughter.

“Mean.”

“Annoying.”

His smile is wiped away with another thought crossing.

“What time is it?” You both glance at the digital clock on the bedside table behind you.

“Shit. Almost five.”

“Yeah. I better get goin. Gettin’ late- or, I guess early.”

You follow him up to the front door, walking past Vannie who’s playing with that first cat toy he left on your window.

Raph reaches for the door handle, but stops.

“Thanks for lettin me in. And for the food.”

You smile softly.

“Anytime, Raph.”

You didn’t mean to stop so close to him, but here you are, smile slowly fading while you look up at his face. His eyes have got you in a strong hold, and he mirrors your expression, unintentionally. His nostrils flare with a breath outwards.

You want to kiss him, all of a sudden.

Kiss Raphael right on the mouth and not have a care about it.

But you don’t. He grins.

“Stay safe.”

“You too.”

The click of the closing door is your cue to slap your hands over your face in exasperation.

He’s left you with dirty dishes, an empty space, and flustered, red cheeks. You smile behind your hands hearing the scrape of Raphael heading back down into the sewers

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

YEAHHH, MY BABES EATIN GOOD TONIGHTTTT. THANK Y'ALL FOR READING AND DON'T FORGET TO REBLOG!!!

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[dumpster-fire3131]

Gravity (Part 3)

Last chapter? Idk. Taking suggestions on what to call this.

Asks are open, but I don't have a lot of free time and I'm new at this so be gentle. 😅

Okay, let's face it, you're not here for me. On with the show.

Warnings: alcohol, hypothermia

chai-tea level spice.

gn (w/ longish hair) reader x Raphael

Page 1 Page 2

You're anxious tonight. You aren't sure why. Maybe it's the weather. You hate when the boys are out on nights like this. Another rumble of thunder shakes the near empty glass of wine on the coffee table, and you glance at the window which offers nothing more than a void. Unhelpful.

You'd drifted through the week, distracted. That night, and his words, echoing your head. Even April had noticed. Eyeing you one morning while sipping her coffee.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Huh?" You looked up from the cereal you were supposed to be eating. By now, the marshmallows had half dissolved.

"I said... What's wrong with you?" April asked, sitting down at the table across from you and looking you up and down.

"Nothing," you reassured unconvincingly, your eyes darting back down to the generic cereal, which was pretty swiftly becoming a thick sugary soup. You poked at it a few times with your spoon.

She'd let it go, but you caught her watching you closely a few times. Screw her and her journalism instincts.

You and Raphael had always been close. He'd been standoffish at first, acting in his self-appointed role of family guardian, but it didn't take long before you were endeared to him, and not long after that you were spending nearly all your free time together.

More than a few times you've gotten sideways glances from his family. You're so in-sync that you almost seem like a couple at times. You laugh and cry together, and talk deep into the night about things you just can't tell anyone else. He's become your person, and you his.

The last few weeks have been hard on the both of you, and the last week has been the hardest. You dont want to push, especially not right now, nothing important should be discussed right now, but you don't know where his head is at and you're worried.

You frown at the television, readjusting your position on the couch and scrolling to find something to watch. You are attempting to settle in to some exceptionally stupid movie (this way, when April asks what you did tonight, you don't have to lie) when you hear something heavy hit the roof.

He didn't make a sound if he didn't want to. Usually he would land just hard enough that you would know he was there. They all did, out of courtesy. Like a knock at the door. But this was different. Clumsy.

You stare out into the pitch black, grabbing your phone and sending the call. It goes to voicemail.

Raph was always encouraging you to trust your instincts and right now, your instincts were screaming that something was very *very* wrong.

You toss your phone on the couch and are out the window and halfway up the fire escape without a second thought. You're soaked through in seconds and shivering, but you slow before you crest the roof. You shout into the squall.

"Listen Red, I know you don't want to see me right now, but you're not answering your phone and I need to know that you're okay. Okay?"

You wait for a response and there is none, which doesn't make you feel better. You finally reach the roof, and suddenly neither the cold, nor the rain matter.

Sheets of rain and sleet crash over his fallen form like waves, and you run to him. He's freezing cold. Damn it. He'd promised you he'd gotten that fixed. You don't bother checking for a pulse. Your hands are borderline numb, and you probably wouldn't be able to feel it, anyway.

You call his name and make a valiant attempt at shaking him awake.

Somewhere in the depths of unconsciousness he hears you, but he fights it. He wants to stay. He likes it here. It's soft and warm and safe. The world behind him is cold and hard, full of pain and longing. He wants this. He wants this peace.

Then he hears you call his name again, and there's no contest.

He stirs and it's raining so hard that the only way you can tell you're crying is the warmth on your cheeks. You hear him groan weakly. You need to get him inside.

You know you can't physically help him in any way, but you make the attempt. You know it's not going to work, but at least now you can say you tried. He could feel free to laugh at you later.

After very much not budging your beloved behemoth so much as an inch, you lean down next to him.

"I'm gonna need your help here, Bruiser, you know I can't carry you."

A Herculean feat, but he manages to pull himself to near standing. You help him as best you can down the fire escape. It's slow going and he nearly passes out twice, but eventually you make it inside.

He doesn't make it to the couch, but collapses in front of it, sitting on the floor and leaning back against it. His eyes are closed and his breathing slow, you snatch your phone from the cushion behind him and call Donnie.

He doesn't pick up.

You call again.

"Yes. What. Do you need something?" He snaps, exasperated, as if you interrupted a hyperfocus (which, let's face it, you probably did).

"Raph is soaked and freezing and in my apartment. Get the fuck over here and fix your damn tech." You end the call and toss the phone on the couch.

You could apologize later.

You sprint to the linen closet and grab a stack of towels, tossing them into the dryer and turning it on. You quickly change into something dry, before running back to the reptile. You thank whatever god of foresight made you force Raphael teach you how to remove his gear just in case, and get to work.

Your hands don't want to cooperate at first, but adrenaline is one hell of a drug, and you have his waterlogged equipment off in record time. You retrieve the now warmed towels from the dryer and return to him. You lay a couple over his carapace, and use the others to start drying him off.

By the time you finish toweling off his extremities, he is once again beginning to stir. You step over his legs, straddling him while standing to better reach behind his head, and as you lean against him your warmth radiates through his plastron like a sun.

Almost involuntarily, his hands raise to rest at your lower back, pressing you gently against his chest.

You gasp as his hands slide under the back of your shirt, searching for warmth. His hands are still freezing cold, but you're pretty sure the gooseflesh rippling over your skin is unrelated.

You finish toweling off just under his shell, behind his head, and pull back, bracing a hand on his shoulder. As you do, his hands move to your waist and you try to ignore how they nearly envelope you.

You look down at him as his eyes slowly open and smile softly. It's obvious he's still pretty out of it.

Wreathed in warm lamplight, you look ethereal, and when his eyes finally focus on you, he thinks he's either dreaming, or dead (with his luck, probably the latter). The moment you place a warm hand against his face he decides he doesn't care.

"Hey Bruiser," you say quietly, smiling softly as your thumb wipes a drop of water from his cheek, "you're safe, the boys are on their way." The sound of your voice pours into him like warm honey and he closes his eyes with a sigh.

Reaching up to the back of your head, he pulls you gently toward him to rest your forehead against his. It was something you started doing to him not long after you became close, whenever he would get really worked up. You weren't sure if it was the physical proximity or the emotional comfort, but it seemed to help ground him. In reality, it's the closest he would ever allow himself to kissing you, and that thought by itself was very, very grounding.

But he is still warming up, still half conscious. You are filling his senses and it's overwhelming. The curtain of your hair falls around his face, and he feels drunk on your scent. You're so soft beneath his hands and the one around your waist tightens gently.

There is only about two more weeks left in the season, but it's by no means over, and something old and primal stirs in his DNA. He presses your head more firmly against his as intelligence and instinct battle within him for control.

You are his *mate*. And it is *time*. And you are *right here*.

Besides, regardless of whether he's dreaming or dead, it doesn't ultimately matter. He can't hurt you if you aren't real.

He lifts his chin, brushing his lips softly against yours. When you don't pull away in disgust he grows a little more bold, and kisses you in earnest.

It would be a lie to say that you hadn't been thinking about it more-or-less from the beginning, how different it would feel than kissing a human. Admittedly, you'd been a little worried about the mechanics, but any concerns you had dissolve when his mouth fits so perfectly against yours.

His body still feels like lead, but his mind is growing sharper, and about the time you are kissing him back he realizes how very real this is. Unfortunately, his reptile brain realizes it first.

His hand grips your waist as his kiss deepens, and there is a deep rumble within his chest that you can feel inside your own. When his thumb brushes over your abdomen you can't help the involuntary sound that escapes you.

The sound is like a starting pistol and suddenly you're flush against him and his mouth is on your throat, pressing open mouthed kisses along your jawline, blood burning in his veins at the way your heartbeat quickens under his tongue.

You had to stop this. If this was going to happen it shouldn't be like this. Right now he's borderline drugged, and if you let this happen and he later thought you didn't actually want it? You can't imagine the fallout.

But you'd had a few glasses of wine this evening, and Gods, he felt *so* good.

When his teeth graze your pulse point your attempt at a deep breath becomes a gasp, and you close your eyes to steady yourself. You had to get his attention.

You attempt to say his name, but it tumbles out of your mouth as a sigh.

"... want you..." He murmurs into your shoulder. The way his breath scatters over your skin like a shower of sparks is doing nothing to help you regain control of yourself or the situation.

He begins kissing down to your clavicle, both hands now at your waist, and despite knowing what this is, where it's going, and why it needs to stop, you can't help placing a hand on the back of his head to pull him closer.

"Sweetheart, we should really talk about this first..." you attempt again, but the tremor in your voice is the only thing that seems to register.

He holds onto you like a lifeline, as if he was drowning and you were his only oxygen. When he grips you tighter and his thumb presses into the hollow of your hip, you almost buckle. A moan escapes, despite your best efforts, and your nails scrape against the back of his neck.

The rumble in his chest grows deeper and he shifts beneath you, movement becoming easier as his temperature rises.

The sound of three very heavy things landing very softly comes from overhead.

The two of you break apart, flushed and breathless, and look at each other in shock.

You glance at the fire escape when you hear the metal rattle outside, before looking back into bewildered amber eyes.

"We're gonna talk about this," you say. He looks at you as if he doesn't understand. "When this is all over, and your brain is no longer swimming in hormone soup... We're gonna talk about this..."

He blinks up at you, a hesitant hope blossoming behind his eyes as you smile down at him, "... because I'm tired of not talking about it."

(Fin)

[dumpster-fire3131]

She's a Little Runaway

Raph x Reader (just squint)

Summary: Your life goes to hell in a handbasket so you call your cousin in New York and ask for a place to lay low for a bit. And she says yes... but her new friends might be more than you can handle.

A/n: *emerges from the void* hi guys

Aggravated, I pulled up my phone. The call went through. 

“Hey, Y/n, everything okay?” April sounded concerned. 

“Yeah,” My voice was clipped. I took a breath. “No,” my confession was defeated. “Can I come visit? For a bit?” 

“Is everything okay?” She asked again. 

“No,” I answered wistfully. “I need a break…a vacay—you still in New York?” 

“Yeah,” I heard her smile. “Book a flight, I’ll be there,” 

“You’re a godsend cuz,” 

“Yeah yeah, see you soon cuz,”

The flight into JFK was six hours with a layover in Atlanta but soon I was there. Away from the hell the south had created for me. April found me outside amongst the other cars waiting for pickup. With a quick hug and throwing my stuff into the trunk we drove off. 

“Whose car?” I asked skeptically, knowing a BMW was in neither of our tax brackets. 

“Casey’s parents. They let me borrow it.” April explained. 

“That’s nice of them,” I said pointedly. April rolled her eyes. 

“Shut up,” she laughed. 

With the traffic it was half an hour to Aprils apartment. My eyes lingered on the city skyscrapers. They still had me in awe. Part of me believed New York didn’t exist. It was a fictional place like Asgard, Wakanda, or Mordor. But here it was. 

Here I was. 

The sun set on the warm summer day around 9pm—something so odd for me but brought a smile to my face. It was the same country but an entirely different world. 

April left to drop the car back off at Casey’s parents and it gave me a couple of hours to myself which was so needed. Her little apartment had a guest room/office where a daybed was made up for me. I sat on the bed and took a deep breath. 

I was safe. 

I was far away. 

I was free. 

I blocked a few numbers just to prove it to myself. 

I wandered to the living room and found a home on the window seat, watching the city light up the nigh. 

April came back into the apartment a pizza in her hands and a smile on her face. 

“Guess who brought the best pizza in the city?” She teased. 

Laughing at her antics and a bit skeptic, I stood, going over. 

But there was a loud thud on the fire escape outside her window. I whipped around at the sound and froze. In the cover of darkness were massive shadows that loomed menacingly. 

“Uh, April!?” My voice wavered. “April!” My eyes adjusted to make the outlines of four anthropomorphic turtles. 

“Oh, shit!” April dashed in front of me. “It’s okay, these are my… friends,” 

“Friends?” I rose my eyebrows, staring wide-eyed at the giant turtles standing on her fire escape. “What the hell?” 

She opened the window and gave me a hesitant smile. “Yeah, this is Donnie, Mikey, Leo, and Raph,” Each of them gave a small wave. 

“April, who is this?” Leo, the one with a blue mask, asked. 

“This is Y/n, my cousin. She’s visiting for a few weeks,” 

“Well, welcome to New York chickadee!” Mikey said. “You gotta try the pizza.” 

I just stared still, trying to input the information to my brain. 

“Y/n?” April came over to me. “Are you okay?” 

“I… uh, yeah,” I gasped out. “I just need a minute to process,” I scrubbed my face taking deep breaths. 

“We mean you no harm,” Donnie said, raising his hands. “We are friends of April’s,”

I nodded. “Sure, sure,” I sat down on her window seat. 

“Maybe we should split,” Leo said. 

“Y/n?” April left the choice to me. 

“I… I just need a minute,” I repeated again. My eyes darted up and met curious green eyes—one of the brothers, the turtles. He was the only one who wasn’t on edge. He didn’t have a care in the world. “Okay,” I took a deep breath. 

“Okay?” April approached me cautiously. 

I nodded and came a small smile, my gaze darting back to green ones. “Are you sure?”

“I’m okay April,” I assured. “I’m an adult. I can handle this,” 

“Okay, because most people freak out,” 

“Well I am, but it’s cool,” 

“April maybe it’s better if we go,” Donnie said softly. “Why don’t you watch her up?” 

“I don’t want to ruin your night,” I interjected. “Or plans…” 

“It’s nothing. I was usually hang with them on the roof.” April said. “But you’re here,” 

“Go,” i chuckled. “I can handle down here. Ive got pizza and Netflix.” 

“You’re sure?” April asked again. 

“April,” I nearly snapped. “Just go,” I pushed her shoulder softly. 

“You can join us!” Mikey said happily. 

“Mikey!” The other three scolded. 

“Thanks. I’m just gonna stay here,” I said, forcing steady breaths in and out. Green eyes still held mine. He tilted his head in curiosity. 

“Okay,” April eyed me warily. “If you need anything we’ll be on the roof,” 

“Cool,” I gave a tight smile. 

They all disappeared up the fire escape except for Raph—those green eyes that wouldn’t leave me alone. 

“You okay kid?” He asked, leaning against the window frame. Without the pressure of everyone staring at me, I shrugged. 

“This is beyond weird,” I admitted, rubbing my face. “So… so weird.” 

“Yeah we get that a lot,” a sad smile pulled at his lips. “You really freaking out? Cuz I can go,” 

“This is kinda helping,” my gaze met his. He leaned against the fire escape railing and I moved to the bench next to the window. We were closer now than ever. 

“You’re telling me you’ve never met a mutant before?” He seemed genuinely surprised. I shook my head. 

“No, I… well, where I’m from we don’t exactly go looking for things in the woods at night and I’ve never lived in a city so…” 

“Huh,” 

“Are there a lot of you?” I asked. 

“Well, there’s the four of us brothers, but yeah a lot of mutants have come along now and again. Most of them are actually dangerous so… maybe be careful,” his lips pursed into a tight smile. 

“Noted,” 

“You are safe Y/n, we look after the city, and April. And if you’re her family it means you too,” his voice was sincere. 

“You just met me,” 

“Family is family,” his tone was bolder. “Aprils like a sister to us. I know she won’t let just anyone stay with her. You’re family. We’ll keep you safe.”

“Thanks Red,” 

“It’s Raph,”

“I know,” I smiled, standing. A smile quirked at his lips. “Go on up. I think I’m gonna turn in for the night,” 

“You sure you don’t want to join us? My brothers aren’t that bad,” 

“Not tonight,” I set the boundary. “But maybe soon,” 

“Soon then,” and with one last smile and wave, he was gone. 

I stared out the window for a good solid five minutes trying to rationalize what the hell had just happened. I knew New York was a different world from my own but this was not what I had in mind. 

Mutant turtles. 

Brothers. 

Friends with my cousin?

I might have cursed a little bit. Or a lot. 

Rationalization was an art. 

When I calmed down enough I texted April that I was in fact better and no longer freaking out. I attempted eating a bit of the pizza and I had to admit it was really good—New York style pizza was always the best. My mom (April’s aunt) had raised me on it. 

April came back down an hour later and I was just getting out of the shower. 

“I think I owe you an explanation.” She said. 

“That would be very nice,” I agreed. 

We sat on her couch and she began to talk. The past few years unraveled in her tale. Meeting the brothers—the small family. Fighting the Shredder and the Foot Clan. The other mutants and mutagen lost by the Kraang. The more she spoke the more I realized maybe New York City did belong on that list of magical realms… except it was a bit more real than I’d ever thought. 

“They’re some of my best friends,” She insisted. “They are really cool and nice. Once you get past…”

“The giant turtle part?” I mused with a smile. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I know you came up here for a break and this is definitely not easy to cope with.”

“It’s not,” I admitted. “But it’s better than what I left so…” 

“What the hell did you leave?” April was curious. 

Now it was my turn. My story of the past few years and how it all went up in flames the past six months leaving me lost, confused, and without a home for the first time in my life. April sympathized with me but it was hard. It would always be hard because I had walked through the trail by fire alone and the pain my burned heart experienced could never be described. But, perhaps it was enough to have April on my side. 

“You stay as long as you need,” she said firmly. “And if you need to stay a little longer and we turn that guest room into yours…” she offered. 

“I’ll think about it,” I smiled. “Thank you.”

Moving to New York was not on my radar at all… but maybe it could work out. Maybe it would be good for me. Or maybe it would just be running away and I was a coward. 

Or maybe it was both. 

I tucked those thoughts away. 

April took me around the city the next day. We did every touristy thing either of us could think of and fit into the day.  It was great fun and New York was enchanting. 

That night the brothers were back and I was a bit more—okay, I was less baffled this time. Still freaked out but it was better. I actually made it to the roof to hang out, wrapped up in one of Aprils sweaters at the unseasonal chill. 

The turtles tried to make me feel welcome but my brain was fighting shutting down again so it didn’t go the best. The one I had talked to the first night—Raphael realized this and didn’t give me an onslaught of questions. He just leaned against the same outcrop as me. We existed.

Going to grab another drink I heard an unfamiliar voice behind me. 

“Hey Red,” the voice startled me so I turned and swung, punching the intruder square in the nose. He fell to the ground, shocked. 

“What the hell red!?” 

“Casey!?” April ran over. 

Raphael broke out into laughter and I turned pink offering my hand out. The guy was grumbling and holding his nose letting out a few curses. 

“Sorry?” 

“Casey this is Y/n, Y/n, Casey,” April introduced as I helped him up. “She’s my cousin,”

“Do you just randomly walk up on people or…” I mused. 

“I thought you were April. Damn you can throw one,” he touched his nose gingerly. “Geez,”

“Sorry,” I said again, hiding behind my hands. 

“You’re telling me you can’t handle a punch Jones?” Raph walked up, creating a barrier between me and Casey—I was grateful for it. “I know I’ve hit you harder,” 

“Pfft. Whatever man,” Casey stalked off with little dignity. 

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Raph said in a low voice. “He’s always pissy,”

“Is there something between him and April?” I asked watching the two of them together and thought back to the kindness his parents showed April. 

“He wishes,” Raphael snorted. “No they’re just friends.” 

I nodded. 

“You okay kid?” He kept asking me that question. I had the same response. A small shrug. 

“I feel bad. What if it had been a kid or something?” 

“I’m sure you’re too smart to deck some kid. An unfamiliar male voice coming from behind in New York?” His eyes met mine with a smirk. “You had the perfect reaction,”

A smile played at my lips and I felt better. “Thanks Red,” I nudged his shoulder. 

“Anytime kid,” his smile turned warm, real. “So I heard April took you around the city,” 

“Oh yeah!” My face lit up. “It was so cool. I—I love New York. I’ve always wanted to come, ever since I was little.”

“And now here you are,” he said. 

“Here I am,” I nodded. “Not what I thought it was gonna be,” my eyes scanned the three other brothers joking with Casey and April. 

“Yeah I bet we were a real curve ball.”

I nodded. “Not bad though. You guys are kinda cool and April just adores y’all.”

He gave me an amused you. “You’re totally still freaked out aren’t you?”

I laughed because he saw right through me. I didn’t admit it out loud but we both knew. 

“So, why’d you run away?” He asked, glancing at me. 

“What—how?” My eyes flashed to his. 

“Takes one to know one,” He smiled. “So?” 

“You a runaway?” 

He shrugged. “April lets me hide out too when I need some space.” 

“That’s nice of her,” I mused. “Guess she’s doin’ the same for me,” 

“So, why’d you run?” He asked again. My expression clouded. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said truthfully. “I—“

Raphael’s demeanor changed entirely. He wasn’t aloof and nonchalant; he was concerned and calm. “Hey don’t worry about it,” he smiled at me. “Enjoy your quiet then,” There was a loud crash and some yelling among the others—Mikey had spilled an entire two liter of soda and marinara sauce. “Well, as quiet as this can be,” He laughed. 

I offered a small smile and inhaled deeply, letting the ashes of my past be blown away with an exhale.

“Hey,” He called me from my sorrows. “If you ever want an escape and some quiet, no questions asked, you’ve got it,” Raphael said. “Just call. April’s got my number.” 

“No questions asked?” I mused. His lips quirked up as he nodded. “Thanks,” 

“Life is shitty sometimes, and an escape is nice,” 

“Yeah,” I agreed. 

My planned week visit turned into two weeks. Into three. Every time I thought about booking a flight back… I just didn’t. April was ready to give me her guest room, and to be honest I was ready to split the rent and call it. 

But could I do it? Could I leave everything behind because I was a coward? Because I couldn’t go back? Because losing this would hurt so much worse than losing what I had? 

I didn’t know and the thoughts were crippling. A thought came to me. I had gotten his number a week ago. And a promise the second night I was here. 

I picked up my phone and pressed call. 

“Y/n?” Raphael’s voice held worry. 

“I need an escape. No questions asked,” I breathed out. “Please,” 

“I’ll be there in five.” He said. 

I paced the floor, waiting for him to show up. His shadow overtook the window. I opened it. 

“Come on,” He grinned. “You ready?” 

“Where are we going?” I climbed out onto the fire escape. 

“No questions princess,” Raph smirked. 

“That’s not what that means,” I protested as we climbed to the roof. 

“Sure it is,” He grinned. “Come on,” 

________________________

Raphael got your phone call and nearly fell off the couch. When your strained voiced asked for an escape—what he had offered to you all those nights ago—he couldn’t say anything but yes. 

Here you were, on the roof with him, jittery, like you couldn’t sit still. He knew the rule was no questions asked, but he had so many. Instead, he led you through what he did when he needed an escape. He ran. 

“Keep up princess,” He threw over his shoulder. A predatory smile curled onto your lips and you took off after him. 

He kept pace so you could keep up with him but when he soared over an alley way you stopped, staring at him like he was crazy. 

“Raph there’s no way!” You shouted to him from across the way. “I can’t jump that!” 

“Yes you can! Trust yourself,” 

“Raphael,” You almost scolded. “If I die it’s on your hands,” 

“I can live with that,” He chuckled, fueling your fire. Shaking your head defiantly, you paced back before taking off and launching yourself off the roof, toward him. 

Raphael stood on the ledge and caught you, pulling you to safety. 

“Told ya,” He smirked, letting you go. 

You grinned up at him, panting heavily. There was s shine in your eyes and he loved it. You bounced back and forth on the roof in front of him, your hands coming up in a familiar position he knew well. 

“You ready to fight princess?” He mused, pulling his fists up. 

You shifted, settling into a fighting stance. “Bring it Red,” 

He laughed and the two of yo began to spar. He kept on defense, throwing a pulled punch now and again, letting you duck, dodge, and block. You two went back and forth, laughing and boxing—until he landed a hit and froze shocked. 

“Shit!” You laughed, dabbing your nose with the back of your hand. You didn’t stop though, instead you used his panic to deck him back, landing one on his jaw. 

“Time—time,” He called stepping back, not liking the blood dripping from your nose. You both relaxed. “Are you okay?”

“I can take a hit, Raph,” You said, smiling, cleaning the blood, tilting your head back for a minute until it stopped, completely unfazed. “Thought I definitely should have stretched before we started.” As if muscle memory, you began to stretch out your arms and shoulders. “Coulda let me know,” 

“How was I supposed to know you could fight?” He chuckled, trying to not watch you stretch, and failing now and again.

“I don’t very often,” You admitted. “But it’s a great stress reliever,” Raphael did a double take at your words. 

“Yeah—yeah it is,” He fumbled. 

“Normally I stick to working out,” You said finding a wall to stretch your shins on. “But this was fun,” You threw a smile over your shoulder. 

“You’re not scared?” Raph said, leaning against the wall. You shrugged and joined him. 

“I used to box with a linebacker, so, not really. He was a good friend,” Your eyes were lost in a memory. “I think you two’d get along,” 

Raph stared at you—you were oblivious, watching the city before you. Somehow, you showed up in his world, and you were everything he thought you weren’t. You weren’t soft and delicate—you had a sharp edge to you. You were a fighter—to blow off steam—to run and be free. You were like him.

He went and sat on the edge of the roof and you joined him, still panting softly. 

“It’s so big,” you murmured in awe. “I’ve always dreamed of coming here,” 

“I’m glad you came,” Raph smiled down at you. 

“Ya know. Despite all the shit that brought me here—I am too,” you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder. 

Raphael noticed you flexing your hands. They were raw from fighting. He called himself twenty types of stupid—his hands were always wrapped; he should have made sure yours were too before sparing. 

“You okay?” He nodded to your hands. 

“Didn’t break skin,” you assured. “Probably just bruised.”

“Don can fix you up in his lab,” Raphael said. 

“Oh yes,” a smile curled on your lips. “His lab in the completely not evil lair,” 

Raphael laughed. “It’s not that kinda lair—it’s home,” 

“Okay,” you shot him through the heart with your smile. 

“Okay?” He stammered. 

“Yeah,” you got up, stretching. “Why not?” 

As he came to the roof edge, going to cross you paused. 

“I can’t,” you said, stepping back. Raphael frowned and looked at you. You had done it before. “I’m too tired—my senses are off. Adrenaline is gone.” Admitting defeat sounded painful to you. 

“C’mere,”Raphael held his hand out. “I’ll carry you.”

You studied him, and he could see the energy leave your body. You took his hand, not having it in you to fight him. Raphael was grateful. He didn’t want you to purposefully fight him. 

He jumped from rooftop to rooftop with you in his arms, carrying you down to the lair. He set you on your feet and led you to Donnie’s lab. 

“Y/n! Oh my gosh,” Donnie nearly fell out of his chair and you managed a giggle. “Are you okay?” Judging the dried blood and bruised knuckles, Donnie didn’t miss a thing. 

“I’m okay,” your lips quirked up. “Just sparred with Raph, no big,” 

“Raph!” Donnie scolded. “Dude!”

“Oy!” You interjected. “It’s okay—I’m fine. It was…“ your eyes met his. “It was a lot of fun,” 

“Oh god, you’re just as crazy as he is,” Donnie muttered, examining your knuckles. “They’re just bruised, nothing broken. I can get you some advil and some ice,” 

“I’ll take the Advil—skip in the ice,” you said. “Thanks,” you took the meds and looked back at him. “I need a shower… take me home?” The way you asked him Mande Raphael lose his train of thought. He recovered, but not quick enough without your knowing look. 

“Uh. Yeah. Of course,” he fumbled. You said your goodbyes to his brothers and he led you back to the rooftops. You both walked this time. 

______________________

There was a nervous energy in my chest as we walked back to Aprils apartment. It was so easy to be with Raphael but right now it was so hard to form a coherent sentence. 

“You’re a good fighter,” he finally said breaking the silence. I exhaled and managed a smile. 

“Thanks. I… I don’t do it often—only when I’m really stressed.” I worried my lip, my mind wandering back to why I came to New York in the first place. “You’re fun to spar with,” I dared to look at him, begging to be brought back into reality. 

“You don’t think I’m too rough?” 

I shook my head. “You freaked out when you hit me. I think you know how to control your hits,” I chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “Or are you telling me you weren’t pulling your punches?” 

“I was,” he assured quickly. “I’d—I’d never—no,” He was very stressed about the idea of actually hurting me. I reached out and placed my hand on his arm in an effort to calm him. 

“I know Red, it’s okay,” 

His eyes met mine and he smiled. Raphael stopped and gestured to the nearest fire escape—I was home. I climbed down back to Aprils apartment and he followed me. 

“Thanks Red. For everything,” he was standing outside the window, so close but so far.  

“Anytime.” He promised. “Just call.” 

“I—yeah,” a smile touched my lips. “I’ll see you later Red,” 

“Later princess,” he saluted then took off into the night. I watched the window for a while before I meandered to take a shower. When I closed my eyes in bed that night I was still flying through the air with him over those rooftops. 

————————————

Raphael headed home, and Leo was waiting for him. Even his snotty brother couldn’t dampen his mood—Raphael was on cloud nine because of you—not only the time he spent with you but also all of the new things he learned about you were valuable. 

“What happened?” Leo asked, rather calmly. “You just took off and you bring her back here after fighting?” 

Raph paused. “I don’t know all of it. But she’s running from something and—I told her any time it was too much, we could escape, no questions asked.” 

“So you two just fought? That’s your idea of an escape?”

Raphael chuckled and shook his head. “It was hers. We were just running rooftops and all of a sudden she’s bouncing on her toes ready to fight—you should have seen her Leo, she’s incredible,” 

“You need to be more careful Raph!” Leo scolded. 

“She can handle herself Leo. And I’m not gonna hurt her. We were sparring—I pulled every punch,” Raph leaned against a wall. “You saw her put Casey on his ass on accident. She’s incredible Leo,” 

Leo was silent a moment but Raph didn’t care. He headed for the dojo—his adrenaline was long from being gone. 

“You like her,” Leo called after him. 

Raphael chuckled to himself, knowing his brother was right. 

.

.

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[dumpster-fire3131]

I think there are stages if you're a girl in the TMNT fandom.

1) Denying being attracted to them cuz they are turtles.

2) Finding them attractive.

3) Making them your bae.

4) Having dirty thoughts about them.

Am I right or is it just me? Cuz if it is I’ll just walk off that cliff over there.

[dumpster-fire3131]

nobody will ever understand the pain of being short chubby and big boobed.