(hereâs all the new stuff, so you can easily find it)
â” THE ONE WHERE SHE HATES HIM â”
Word Count: â1.87k
Notes: Iâm very happy to be back at writing and you have no idea of how much stuff
â” OLD MASTER-LIST â”
â¶ JUST THE TWO â¶
THE ONE WHERE THEYâRE BEAUTIFUL Rocket had developed a habit to point out things that remind him of you.
THE ONE WHERE THEY EAT CEREAL Rocket felt lonely and woke you up to have a midnight snack.
THE ONE WHERE SHE HELPS Definitely not a qualified nurse, but love can heal, too.
THE ONES THAT ARE SILENT 1 & 2 Sometimes words arenât necessary.
THE ONE WHERE SHE DANCES Got some units to spare?
THE ONE WHERE SHE KEEPS A DIARY
Thereâs an unexpected package at your door.
THE ONE WHERE SHE GETS OLDER Honestly, I just hate my birthday.
THE ONE WHERE SHE FALLS IN LOVE Sometimes you can just pinpoint the right moment.
THE ONE WHERE HEâS BABY I mean, that was literally the only option.
THE ONLY ONE WHERE HEâS TALL Please, I donât know exactly what this is but I was force fed Tall Girl and thought this was a good idea⊠Also, kinda naughty.
THE ONE WHERE THEY CUDDLE Sometimes all you need is the right person to bring out the best in you.
THE ONE WHERE THEY GET ENGAGED Honestly, the plan wasnât bad, but you had to have sausage fingers, didnât you?
THE ONE WHERE THEY RUN AWAY Based off of a weird dream I had, gotta love a Runaway Bride momentâŠ
THE ONE WHERE HE COMES BACK Slightly angst, I guess. But always with a sweet ending.
THE ONE WHERE THEY SHARE A BED Obviously a mandatory fic, and also a self explanatory one.
THE ONE WHERE HE TELLS HER Alcohol makes you say things you donât wanna say, and do things you donât wanna do. Like betting with Ravagers!
THE ONE WHERE HE LOSES
Gotta keep your eyes on the prize.
THE ONE WHERE HEâS COLD I know that global warming is fucked up, but how cold can it be during summer?
THE ONE WHERE THEY MEET Needed to write something that took place during those five years. Those were lonely times, we could all use a drinking buddyâŠ
THE ONE AT THE MARRIAGE Admit it, weâre all suckers for the âIâm going to my best friendâs wedding to watch him marry somebody else while being hopelessly in love with himâ trope. And come on, who doesnât love a wedding?
THE ONE WHERE HE KNOCKS Post GOTG3. had many complaints about crying. But happy tears only!
THE ONE WHERE HE SAVES HER
Julia Roberts would be so jealousâŠ
THE ONE AFTER THE NIGHTMARE
After youâve died, any moment is good.
THE ONE WHERE THEY DANCE
What song are you?
â¶ WITH THE GUARDIANS â¶
THE ONE WHERE HE BETS Peter bet he could get a secret out of you, and heâs very bad at keeping secrets.
THE ONE WHERE THEYâRE USELESS Just a little everyday struggle when your friends arenât that good with feelings.
THE ONE WHERE THEY COMMUNICATE Maybe next time try to be a little bit more literalâŠ
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Synopsis: When Donnie accidentally consumes an unidentified substance at a New Yearâs Party and becomes inexplicably inebriated, he gains a boost of confidence. A bit too much, perhaps.
Tags: fem! reader, suggestive, mutual pining, angst/good ending, nerdy desperate and a very inebriated donatello, mating season mention, jealousy between both parties, vern is annoying and mischaracterized for plot
Warnings: angst, cursing, alcohol, suggestive towards the end, 18+.
word count: ~18.1k
â°ââź
New Yearâs Eve, New York City. 9:00 P.M.
The clock was 3 hours away from striking twelve. While many New Yorkers had chosen to corral around Times Square for the annual ball drop, there were a certain few who had been chosen to attend the expensive and neighboring party of someone particularly familiar. Maybe around 100 people, per seâ but the venue could hold a much larger capacity than that.Â
Vern had rented out one hell of a mansion after he had become a âhit,â as he would so generously call it. His initial intentions were to keep it small. Maybe invite some close friends, some family, some plus onesâ which didn't end up as planned. Now, those margins of people had thus been expanded to: very select members of the NYPD, deceitful yet wealthy politicians, locally residing high-profile celebrities, and then, close friends, family members, and their plus ones. It was quite evident who Vern cared about more.Â
And of course, following the actions of most recent events, who could forget the turtles?Â
Thankfully, his invitations were denied by a large majority of the supposed recipients. It really was a nice party, the bulk of the larger figures having not showed up. It was much easier to find friends and acquaintances in this ostentatious mess.
The celebration was held at night, a large portion of Vernâs venue held outside in the cool air. He had heaters strategically placed, not visible, but blasted to a high enough temperature to where they were easily noticeable against the freezing cold.Â
Most people gathered near the fountain. It was a massive limestone structure, easily nine feet tall, with water spilling down its three tiers. The sound of it filled the space, quiet; but loud enough to enjoy as simple background noise. Conversation and clinking glasses would soon easily add to this ambience. Soft lights glowed from inside the waterfall, turning the water a warm gold and casting the same iridescent lighting over anyone standing nearby.Â
Strings of tiny bulb lights were strung across the open sky overheadâeverywhere you looked, looping from beam to beam until the stars were merely just distractions. Were there even stars up there anymore? Railings and trellises were adorned with fairy lights, which replaced any need for normal fixtures. Tables with rich linen cloth circled the lobby area, individually. The walls were covered in vertical gardens, flowers spilling downward in neat rows. In a few places, marble panels had been carved out to make room for thin waterfalls, water sliding down polished stone purely for the sake of atmosphere and photo opportunities.Â
There were also many expensive vendors present! Each had their own designated spot within the venue: steak chefs, seafood boilers, and even a chocolate fountain. The bartenders were what Vern seemed proudest of. Each specialist was dressed sharply and stocked with an overwhelming selection of bottles and concoctions that have yet to be revealed to the public. The man heard luxury; the man automatically clicked buy.
A mansion-like building towered above the venue, just distant enough to make it feel separate, yet close enough for New York to feel very much nearby. From the terrace, you could see the skyline stretching out below, golden fireworks already popping in the distance as people gathered for the countdown. The city glowed in the majestic way it always did.Â
New York was loud; New York was alive.Â
New York had three hours until the four turtles had officially been inducted into society as formally recognized âheroes.âÂ
êêêê
Upon their arrival, Leonardo handled their entrance the best.
He stayed near the edge of the terrace. Posture straight as always, arms folded loosely across his chest. His eyes never stopped moving. Splinter had taught him that. He kept track of exits, counted security guards, noted the way the crowd would whisper and sneer every time someone important arrived. Still, there was something softer about him this particular evening; despite his straight posture, his shoulders werenât as tense. When someone approached to thank himâquietly, genuinelyâhe nodded and listened instead of brushing them off. Leo was making an attempt to enjoy himself, but he hadnât really decided whether he liked all of this yet. Vernâs extravagant parties. Maybe just Vern in general. He has yet to think about that oneâŠ
Raphael hovered closer to the building itself, half inside and half out, not really committing to either room, moreover just looking for people to chat with. He didnât like just standing around doing nothing. Talking with people was weird, yeah, but heâd get over it... eventually! He wasnât a fan of the higher powers that actually did end up making an appearance; he could tell only one sentence in when someone was a rich snob. It wasnât that hard. He just spent time munching on free food and indulging in the occasional game of pool.Â
Michelangelo bounced between every group he could find. While he, alongside Raph, was not a fan of the celebrities that showed up, he did try to snap a picture with each of them, that fanboy at heart, he was. By the end of the night, the food vendors would have been absolutely ravished of their stock. Not his problem! If wasting Vernâs money like this would be an annual thing, hell, heâd be here every time. He soaked this up. It was exactly the kind of night heâd been waiting for.
Donatello, meanwhile⊠seemed to regret showing up at all.Â
He lingered near Mikey at first, mostly because it gave his twitchy hands a break from the total freak-out he felt the second they walked in. That didnât go on for too long, as Mikey had spontaneously spotted April at the bar; he had something âsooo privateâ he had to ask her, and Donnie was not allowed to follow. He was left alone. Consequently, the slider was rather observant tonightâ dare I say, more observant than Leo.
Were he and his brothers supposed to have dressed up? He was just wearing his typical cargo pants, thick-framed glasses, and tech gear, just like any other night. Everyone else looked so much better. Shit. They should have tried.Â
The other peopleâ humans, Donnie would thinkâ looked so much better. Hair so perfectly slicked back, posture defined; these people clearly work out. (He corrected himself on that thought, thoughâ he found it silly to be critiquing himself for that.) At least the wide majority didnât act like rich snobs. Well, maybe they were snobs, they just pretended not to be? Yeah. Thatâs likely.Â
 It was just⊠the effort people had put into their outfits was so so painstakingly, disgustingly obvious! The purple turtle and his brothers couldnât exactly participate in all of these formal incapabilities. He sighed. Loudly enough that maybe someone would hear it, Donnie had hoped.
Quit diverting your focus, heâd think. What if something happened nearby? They needed to be ready. Being useful and practical was way more important than being socially acceptable.
Stop it. That was dumb. Youâre perfectly fine⊠yeah, you look fine. Just wander around until someone you know pops up. Â
Meandering some more, Donnie found his hands fidgeting. Picking at some dead, shedding skin, adjusting the strap on his bo staff, literally anything that would ground him in this huge and unfamiliar place. He kept watching the crowd, desperate to find some form of a half-stable structure in the mess.
His eyes, finally, wandered upon you.Â
Oh, he knew you.Â
He knew you well.Â
You two went waaaayyyy back.
But he couldnât exactly talk to you before he got caught up in some other fuckass issue he really didnât want to deal with.
âHeyâuh, youâre Donatello, right?â
The woman had appeared at his side without warning. NYPD dress uniform, jacket folded neatly over one arm, badge still clipped to her waistband like sheâd forgotten to take it off. Maybe she was showing it off? Hmm. She smiled in a way that suggested sheâd practiced this in a mirror. Donnie was startled upon her pop-up, nearly smacking her with the end of his bo staff as he turned!
âOhâyes. Hi. Thatâsâuh. Thatâs me,â he said quickly, already stiffening.
âOh, wow,â she said, âyouâre taller than I expected.â
Donnie blinked. âOh. Uhâthank you?â
She laughed, eyeing him up and down. He couldnât pinpoint the reason. âRelax. I mean it as a compliment. Iâve seen you guys on the news, but youâre⊠different in person.â
He nodded, unsure what the correct response was supposed to be here, exactly?
âWell, that would make sense, the cameras April and her team use donât really account for ourââ
âMust be weird,â she continued, voice lowering, âbeing everyoneâs hero all of a sudden.â She stepped closerânot enough to be obvious, just enough to shrink the space between them. But Donnie noticed.Â
âI donâtâ we donât really think of it like that, itâs more of a⊠general thing weâve done since we were kids,â he rambled.
Iffy. Uncomfortable. Thatâs how this conversation made him feel.Â
âMmh.â Her eyes lingered on his glasses.âYouâre the smart one, right? The brains.â
âI⊠suppose.â The turtle shifted his weight.
âI like that,â she said easily. âSmart men donât usually get enough appreciation.â
Oh, hell no. Back off!
She reached out, fingers brushing his arm as if by accident. âDo you ever get time to yourself? Off patrol, I mean.â
Yeah, that was it. That was when his discomfort had officially spiked.Â
âIâ No thank you, Iâm usually pretty busy,â he replied, a little too fast.
She smiled again, slower this time. âThatâs a shame. I was thinking maybe you and I could grab a drink later. Somewhere quieter?âÂ
Her thumb traced the seam of some holster-like piece of gear he had on his arm. She held it out for a minute, ignoring the uncomfortable look upon Donnieâs face. âIâd love to hear more about what you do.â
Well, then. Watch the news, he thought.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. His eyes flicked past her shoulder.
That was when you waved.
âIâno, I meanânot no, justâuhââ Donnie gently but firmly eased her hand away, an awkward smile stretched tight across his face. âIâm actuallyâexpected elsewhere. Right now. Immediately. Very immediately.â
Mercifully, you caught his eye again from across the terrace. A slight chuckle on your lips. You couldnât hear exactly what was going on, but you could assume.Â
You raised your brows, then tilted your head toward the fountain, making an exaggerated come here motion with two fingers. You did this in hopes he would take it; it was an easy out for him in this little interruption. When that didnât work fast enough, you added a dramatic little wave, enthusiastically mouthing something that looked suspiciously like a get over here!
Donnie nearly fell over with relief.
âHey, waitâwhere are you headed? Can I grab your contact info before you go?â The woman proceeded, following him. She stayed right with him, matching his pace, shoulder brushing his now and again. Every time he glanced toward the direction he was pointing, she adjusted, keeping herself in his line of sight. This officer was not taking no for an answer!
âOh! Yesâthat,â he blurted, pointing at you far too obviously. âThatâsâsheâsâ that girl over there, see her?âimportant. Very important. I have to go. Please go.âÂ
You held your hands behind your back politely as he shuffled over, the officer watching the exchange with mild and visible frustration with the turtle before letting it go. Donnie didnât look back. He didnât stop moving until he was standing in front of you, breath uneven, shoulders tight. Even when he was heaving and slouched over, he still stood at a colossal height. You held back your laugh until heâd completely blocked your view of the officer.
âThank you,â he muttered under his breath, pushing his glasses up his nose. âThat was⊠actual hell. Never again.â
And then he finally got a chance to look at you properly.
YouâŠ. your outfit.
The dress you wore collided with your skin tone in such a gentle, beautiful manner. The sparkling grape-purple material flowed delicately down the sides of your hips, highlighting your features in a way everyone could notice and admire. The straps of the dress were designed to look almost strapless, the sleeves loosely draping to the sides of your shouldersâlikely the way it was made, intended to be worn. A clear, almost iridescent, invisibly lavender-toned set of heels, which only heightened you by a few inches, throned your feet.Â
It didnât give you much more length. Yet you looked so different from usual. In a good way. Godâsuch a good way. He wasnât complaining!
In contrast to his own everyday ensemble, yes. He was astronomically underdressed. Did you care? No. There was absolutely nothing in this world that could make you care.Â
êêêê
The two of you had met through some really, really unexpected circumstances. It was an accidentâ though, a lovely accident that you would never regret.Â
Youâd been in Aprilâs apartment, checking in on a new cat sheâd adopted over the summer. She was gone for about a week, and you had taken the liberty of feeding⊠âMr. Purrito.â You had some critiques for that catâs name, but he was a cutie. It didnât matter.
Regardless, you had been in the wrong place at the wrong timeâ Donnie had also dropped in to help fix some technological issue that she was having ever since she had moved into her own place. April had called him earlier about her Wi-Fi acting up again. And she just happened to forget to mention that a specific someone else would be there.
He was clearly just as startled as you were, if not⊠more. His hands were fumbling as he tripped over his words, hands finally raising quickly in panic that you would panic. You did. For a second. It took a few minutes to settle in what the hell was going on, but it was him who talked you through the whole situation! Not really calming you down, necessarily, but providing an explanation as to what you were seeing.Â
Mr. Purrito, entirely unbothered by the presence of a giant mutant turtle, immediately took a liking to this familiar face, circling his legs and demanding attention. You watched Donnie lean down for a quick second to scratch the cat behind its ears.Â
As you listened to his rambling, you kept your distance. Donnie didnât push for you to interact with him any more than you already had. He stayed where he was, talking too much in his verbose, overly detailed way that drew you in; you found yourself shocked that you hadnât run away in absolute terror. You didnât want to. He was too⊠nice. Approachable, you would describe itâ if he was someone you would actually see out in the streets of New York, everyday. But he wasnât. He explained why he was there once more, then apologizedâthe last time, nowâfor startling you.Â
And from there on out, he had somehow managed to make himself a part of your daily life.Â
The turtle didnât integrate himself on purpose. It just kept happening. Meeting himâ running into him, in lieu of April. She had demanded that they needed to meet and trust new people; hell, youâd already met him, why not?Â
On a few rare occasions, you had a gut feeling it wasnât really the purple brother you were seeing hopping buildings atop of alleyways; likely, he had told one of his brothers about a human encounter he had experienced⊠it was probably Leo or Raph debating on whether or not to come and threaten you the same way they did April. She had told them to back off; Donnie advising the same, too.
The two of you had gotten along like it was a match made in heaven. The majority of your interactions were at Aprilâs apartment, the three of you becoming something of a trioâ but in the same way that he and April hung out, and she and you hung out, Donnie and you had a connection outside of April, too.Â
Your most common meeting place was the alley behind a coffee shop. Youâd swipe some coffeeâor tea, in your caseâand heâd grab his preferred caffeine, along with a little radio heâd built himself, and youâd wander up to the hill by the old drive-in. Watching from afar was nice. Beautiful, this way; watching as the sunset would fade behind buildings. Youâd talk about anything. Science, music, movies, the dumbest little things⊠heâd nerd out about silly topics and youâd find yourself smiling at any word that had been uttered from his lips. Youâd throw in the occasional bad joke, punch each other lightly, laugh quietly so no one else would hear. If anyone happened to look over at you and Donnie, one of you would quickly cover the other's mouth, followed by a snicker from the one whose mouth was now covered. And sometimes, when one was zoned out and attentive to the movie, the other would shy their eyes and stare longingly at their company for the night.
Most of the time, neither of you were caught. Most of the time.
That continued for months. Months would spiral into years. All of this was nearing half a decade ago, now.
When Donnie was alone, tampering aimlessly with some piece of tech, heâd think about you.Â
When you were alone, staring at the ceiling as you ached for sleep, youâd think about him.Â
None of you said a word about this⊠not a single, uttered word.Â
The both of you just let it linger and allowed it to hurt. Hope was truly your only way of coping in this situation.
êêêê
âDonnie?â You interrupted. He seemed to be in a daze.
He nodded, eyes drifting briefly back to the crowd before returning to you. The turtle resumed his speaking. âHey, do youâum. Want to walk around? This place is huge. It might be more productive than standing still.â He spun a little in place, the pieces of gear he'd brought with him tonight bobbing on his back as he did so.
âIâd like that,â you said easily.
You fell into step beside him, moving through the venue like you always didâside by side, talking about nothing and everything. The lights reflected off the fountain as you passed, music swelling and fading as you crossed different spaces. You people-watched for a bit, noticing how everyone was really in their own zone, here. Donnie found himself relaxing without realizing it, his thoughts quieter when he focused on you instead.Â
âHere, give me your arm,â you said, your heels thankfully giving you enough height to reach your own up to his, looping your wrist under his elbow. Your eyes darted around the premise quickly, a tiny part inside of you hoping that the officer had seen. Maybe you just wanted her to feel some pang of jealousy that you had known him first. Maybe you were just being an ass.Â
Donnie froze for half a second when you took his arm. He was used to you touching him, gentle touches, casual things. Passing him cards from a game, handing him a screwdriver, the basics.
He wanted to take some superglue and permanently stick your much smaller hands to his much much bigger arm. While it took him a minute to adjust to this warm feeling, he relished it; didnât want you to let go. He encased your arm a little tighter.Â
The two of you kept walking, your pace unhurried, weaving through clusters of guests. Donnie angled his body slightly without thinking, guiding you around tighter spaces, away from a server carrying a tray of champagne, around a group of laughing strangers who had already had far too much to drink.
Your eyes flicked toward the crowd again, and there she wasânear the bar, nursing a drink, gaze drifting just a little too invasively in your direction. You leaned in closer to Donnie, lowering your voice.
Glancing up at him, you gave a teasing murmur: "Hey, Dee⊠your girl's looking."
He resisted the urge to look immediately. Failed. His eyes darted over, caught her glance, and he winced. âOh. Great.â As his eyes started to wander throughout the venue, looking for something interesting, anything interesting to lay his eyes on that wasnât the officer; his eyes landed on you, instead. Only for a moment. You didnât lock eyes, but he did want to keep staring. Heâd stare as long as youâd like, if you allowed him to.Â
âSheâs still looking over here,â you murmured. âI donât know what sheâs thinking. Her facial expression is making it hard to tell. Itâs all over the place. I kinda feel bad,â you joke, your eyes, too, darting around; ending up watching the fountainâs coordinated performance with the music.Â
âAh. I wouldnât feel bad,â he said. âShe sort of chased me out here when I asked her to leave. It was more of a plea, though. She was a very determined individual.â
âOh. I didnât see that. Guess sheâs a persistent one, then.â A slight chuckle escaped his lips.Â
âYeah, clearly. Iâm trying my hardest not to look back. It feels weird with all of this attention, canât say Iâm particularly enjoying it.âÂ
âWell, youâre doing a bad job.â You teased him. Of course he wasnât, he was perfect at everything he did or even tried to do.Â
âShh. Iâm doing my best,â he nudges you playfully.Â
You tilted your head just enough to peek over your shoulder. The officer stood near the bar, posture relaxed, eyes decidedly not. Her gaze tracked the two of you as you moved.
âShe looks very⊠intrigued? Her eyes havenât left anywhere youâve been,â you added. Again, a pang of jealousy hit your heart. Were you supposed to feel like this anytime someone even made a mere mention of dating him?Â
Jesus, that felt so wrong to say. Possessive, almost. All four of the boys had just been resurfaced as heroes and the first thing that came to your mind when someone wanted to get closer to them was no. Well, just the one. Donnie. Heâs all that mattered to you right now.Â
Be more accepting! Let him branch out to other people, youâd think. But you didnât want to. God, if that thought could be banned from your head, youâd do it; but the only reason it was being let in was for Donnieâs benefit. Theyâd never had a chance to branch out in this way; much less, date people! Fuck. This felt wrong⊠limiting him with your thoughts.Â
Jealousy. Thatâs what this was. Plain and pure.Â
Donnie sighed. âI hate this.â
âHate what?â
âBeing stared at⊠and treated like Iâm some kind of object. That cop, mostly.â He hesitated. âPeople donât know when to back off. Especially when Iâm already here with someone.â
Your heart stuttered. Oh. âWith someone?â you echoed, then smiled, careful to keep it light. âDonnie, did you come with a date?â
He blinked. âI meanâ with you. Not likeââ He stopped, cheeks warming. âSorry. That came out wrong.âÂ
You laughed, soft and quiet, and gently slipped your arm from his, giving him space instead of tension. âYou didnât sneak anyone in, did you?â The edge of your elbow nudges him softly.
âTrust me⊠youâd be the first to know.â He leans over and murmurs to you.
âŠYou would be the first to know, Donnie thought. Youâd certainly be the only one to know, considering if heâd actually gone through with his previous plans and asked you hereâunlike the spineless coward he had been lately. Yes. Yes, youâd be the first to know that he was bringing someone along with him tonight. That person could have been you. Should have been you.Â
âAre you hungry? Iâm hungry. Letâs go eat, maybe Mikey hasnât completely cleared out the vendors of their stock yet,â Trying to change the subject, Donnie gently took your hand, which youâd just undone from his arm, and led you toward the food tables.
As the turtle dragged you along the line of food vendors, you quickly stepped in your heels to keep up with him; almost tripping over yourself. You didnât care. Nothing really mattered when you were with him. So many food variants caught your eye. Steak, sushi, calamari, some fifty dollar ice cream stand that wasnât included in the venue, the self-serve chocolate fountain youâd seen earlierâ
âStop. Donnie, stop!â Immediately upon request, the turtle stopped in his tracks, leaving a little dirt on his feet from the quick halt in the grass. âWhat? Are you okay, whatâs wrong?â
âSorry. Iâm fine, but, look at that chocolate fountain,â you said, eyes lighting up. âWe have to try it. I think thatâs like⊠a rich people thing. Please?â A breath from Donnie. He thought you were in trouble, despite being in his hands this whole time.
"I'm down for sugar any day of the week, just sound less in danger next time, (y/n)." He chuckled as the two of you swiftly made your way to the short line of people waiting for the fountain. Upon arrival, the delicate brown tray below the fountain was layered with an assortment of dippables: graham crackers, marshmallows, strawberries, and cherriesâyour typical variety.
You took a stick from the table the fountain rested on, handing one to Donnie. Taking a strawberry and skewering it onto your stick, you immersed the fruit under the chocolate fountain; allowing the liquid to completely drown the berry. Donnie, with a different approach, took two graham crackers, laid them on a plate, and then doused a marshmallow in a thorough chocolate coat from his stick.
âOoooh, that was smart.â You mumbled, eyeing his makeshift smore as you shoved the now chocolate covered strawberry into your full mouth. You looked almost like a squirrel in the springtime, hastily shoving acorns into its mouth for a later harvest. That made him grin, quietly, a little fondly. The turtle looked away.Â
He took a careful bite of his sâmore, then tilted his head toward you. âYeah⊠youâre missing out. I could make another if you want?â
Happily, you would have accepted the items to make your own s'more; the idea of it was intriguing after a sweeter berry! You hesitated for a moment, then smiled. âIf you want to surrender yourself to that labor, sure. Iâll take it.â
Donnie's eyes flicked to the table. âOhâGod, damnit! I ate the last of the graham crackers.â
You shrugged. âIâll survive.â
Instead, he gave you the one he had already eaten; still over half of the sâmore left, as if he knew you would have wanted to try some of his food. âYou want the rest of this? I think I can bear to part with it.â
âWhy would I want your half-eaten sâmore, Donnie?â
âBecause you said it was good. And thereâs no graham crackers left. Simple deduction skills, really. Itâs not that hard.â He teased, pulling out a chair for you at a nearby table; leaning over to grab a few more fruits from the fountain. Cherries, bananas, and some more strawberries for the two of you to munch on. He grabbed a few of the bigger marshmallows, too.Â
You slid into the chair, careful not to spill any chocolate on your dress, while Donnie dropped into the one across from you. The small table was private, tucked slightly behind the fountain, giving the two of you some more space out and away from the loud and atmospheric party. He carefully arranged the fruit on a small plate between you, handing you a strawberry first.
âHere, you can take the bigger one. It looks good,â he said, voice soft, tone light and gentle; the way he'd always spoken with you. The way he's spoken with you since forever ago. You took it, handing him the smaller cherry in return.Â
You watchedâ when you should have looked awayâ as he took his teeth, dragging the fruit off of its stem, taking a few moments to tie a knot with said stem, and then placing it back on the plate.
You lean back in your chair, letting your gaze linger on him longer than you probably should. The way his fingers twist that miniscule cherry stemâslow, precise, god, this feels like teasing? It feels impossibly intimate, and you canât stop the warm little butterflies that soar deep within your stomach. Why am I thinking about this? You chastise yourself. Itâs just a cherry stem. Just a stupid cherry stem. But the way he so easily handles itâŠ? Shit. This is the stupidest thing to be attracted to.
You can tell Donnie catches you watching, but he doesn't seem bothered.
If anything, he looks curious. Intrigued. How long can he keep you staring for? You don't want to pull away, either, but the longer you watch, the more your thoughts wander. What else can those dexterous hands do? What would it feel like, having those fingers run over your skinâ
Stop.
You swallow. Shake your head a little. He's your best friend.Â
Cut. It. Out.
After a few minutes of genuine conversing, and an eventual brief silence, Donnie speaks up again. âSooo,â he says, crossing his legs, accidentally bumping the table, and your own feet; âyou glad you came?â
âYeah. I think so.â
âThink so?â he repeats, just testing how much you meant it.
âMm, Iâm iffy about big gatherings like these.â You tilt your head. âWhat about you?â
He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh. âIâm not a party guy. You know that.â
âI know, I know. You only came because your brothers did.âÂ
Only partially, he would think. Primarily because of you.Â
The party was also socially required, at this point. If he didnât come⊠heâd likely still be considered an outcast.
He doesnât correct you. Doesnât agree, either. Just reaches for another marshmallow, getting his hands dirty as he douses it in more chocolate and tosses it into his mouth. You mimic his actions, grabbing a smaller marshmallow and doing the same.Â
âYeah,â he says finally. âThatâs⊠part of it.â
You hum, unconvinced but letting it go. The music swells somewhere closer now, laughter spilling across the lawn in sporadic fits. From here, tucked behind the fountain, it all feels distantâlike youâre watching the party instead of being in it. Alone was nice. But, alone with Donnie was better.
You saw Leo drinking something in a corner, eyeing Raph and Mikey throwing darts; they were kicking some other manâs ass at it, the same way they were likely doing in their previous game of pool. April hung around Casey, talking to some of his NYPD friends; but Vern was nowhere to be seen. Donnieâs eyes followed to where yours were settled.Â
Even when his entire group had been corralled together, he still chose to be with you.
âIâm kind of surprised you havenât bailed.â You say softly. âI wouldnât blame you if you did. People are far too busy with their formal nonsense to notice⊠hiding out seems fairly appealing right now, actually.â
Donnie snorts. âWhat, and miss this?â He gestures vaguely between the two of you, the half-empty plate, the faint smear of chocolate on his knuckle. âYeah. Tragic loss.â
âTruly sweeping me off my feet here, Don.â You tease.Â
âThey would notice. Vern made a big deal about this party being some commencement for me and my brothers officially entering the new year as heroes or some bullshit. Whatever his tagline was.â Donnie leans down a little bit to slouch in his chair, rubbing the sides of his head in the midst of the action. He really was done and tired of this party; wanting to leave, but given so many undesirable reasons to resist doing so. âAlsoâminor detailâIâm huge. Me leaving would be exceedingly noticeable. No Irish-goodbye for me.â He groans quietly. âAnd Leo already said this was mandatory, so if I bail, Iâm dead.â
âI think Leo needs to get over himself, then.â You chuckle. âHow tall are you? Seven feet?â
â6â8. But Iâll let seven slide.â He smiles at you.
A waiter passes your table, pausing briefly to offer champagne. You wave him off politely. Donnie declines.
The two of you share another round of dessert, taking turns with the remaining pieces of fruit and the marshmallows, eating in a comfortable quiet. The sounds of the party were muted enough for you to pretend like it was just the two of you.Â
The sky had grown darker. The city, still loud and bright, was a constant buzz around the terrace. Fireworks were still being lit, popping every minute or so, filling the air with a stark feeling of anticipation. The party was winding down. It wouldn't be long before the guests were crowding the lawn, ready to count the seconds until the ball drop.
A beat of silence.Â
"You wanna ditch?" you ask, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.Â
"God, yes. Let's go." The two of you rise simultaneously.
You follow Donnie as he leads you out of the crowd, moving in the opposite direction of the main gate. When the music fades behind you, he glances over his shoulder, eyes flashing with a hint of mischief. He slows just enough for you to catch up, his arm brushing yours, and when he reaches the edge of the terrace, he stops. An annoyingly average-sized figure stood in his way.Â
âOh. Hey there, Vern.â Donnie stutters, pausing and faltering in his tracks. âWhatâs, uh, whatâs going on?â
âTrying to get out of here already? Come on, man. Only an hour til the ball drops! Whereâs the fun in that, huh?â Vern raises his half-empty glass of whiskey towards the crowd, all gathered near the floral-adorned garden. Though it overlooked the rest of Times Square, the view was hard to appreciate with so many people crowding the space for photos.
Vernâs eyes slide past Donnie for a split second, landing squarely on you. His smirk tightens, like heâs already won a victory of some sort.
âAh, there you are!â He says, voice smooth, a touch condescending. He slips past Donnie for a second, his arm caressing around your shoulderâ bringing you closer to him as if he wanted to pull you away to chat. âI was beginning to wonder if Iâd have to send someone to find you.â
You blink, caught off guard. Donnie stiffens beside you, albeit slightly, he still stays near as Vern tries to pull you away.
Don reached over and gently grabbed your wrist. You had a feeling it wasn't to bring you closer; he was likely debating on whether or not to tug you back, but ultimately decided against doing so. He just held it. The wind blew on his face for a brief moment as he decided to slowly interlace his three fingers in your the best he could, which you allowed. You were used to it. In bigger crowds, he did this sometimes, clinging in small, quiet ways whenever he could. It was most likely an anxiety response. Â
Vern, however, had caught the motion. He glanced down at your hand, then to Donnie, then back to you.
A very slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"Don't tell me that you two areâ"
"No!" The turtle exclaimed. "No, we're not. I promise, it's nothing, she's justâ"
"Just a friend." You finish, slipping your wrist out of Donnie's grasp. "But thank you for your concern," he added, continuing the thought.
Vern gave a dismissive scoff. âYeah, whatever, Iâm not gonna open that can of worms tonight. Anyways, (y/n)! I promised you five months ago Iâd get you in touch with the manager of that company you were interested in,â He hunched down a little bit, like he was ecstatic to tell you something like a little child would be. âHeâs here tonight. I told him youâd meet with him.â
Fuck.Â
About five months ago, you'd talked with Vern. You'd somehow been cornered into a conversation about careers, which was absurd coming from himâa man famous but hardly knowledgeable in any field! He used to be a reporter alongside April, but that was long gone. To escape, you'd made up an excuse, mentioning a desire to work for a more "prestigious" company. Vern, annoyingly, claimed he knew just the person. You needed to get out of that interaction. His severe lack of connection to reality was starting to piss you off. Desperate to end that whole conversation, you'd impulsively asked him to make the connection, so you could leave.
Now, karma was a real bitch. You actually had a decent job nowâ an even better one, at that. But he just wouldnât let it go.
âThatâs sweet, Vern, but I have a better job now. I donât really need to talk to anybody at the moment.â You shrug him off, trying to move closer to Donnie.
He moves closer, too, blocking you. His arm stays wrapped around your shoulders.
"Hey. It's a quick meeting. He's waiting on the terrace by the fountain." Vern says.
You glance toward the terrace, spotting a man in a navy-blue suit. He holds a flute of champagne, and his eyes scan the crowd, looking for someone. You. You swallow.
"No. Thank you. I appreciate it, though," you say firmly, shaking your head.
His smile slips. "It'll take two minutes. Just go and talk to him. I've got a lot of pull in this town, (y/n). Do yourself a favor and get on his good side."
His voice is casual. Pleasant, even. But his fingers dig into your shoulder a little, just enough for you to get pissed off enough to leave.
Donnie notices, too.
"Two minutes. Go on," he repeats.Â
âFine. I donât want to hear about any more connections, then, Vern. I came to have fun, not for business antics.â You groaned, disappointed that you had to let go of the turtle next to you. Oh, how you were going to verbally beat his ass once he was finished hosting this stupid party.Â
Donnie shifts closer to you, his tall form towering yours as he leans in. His voice drops.
âYou donât have to go and do this,â he says quietly. He wasnât pleading, not as much as he wanted to be. âIf you donât want to go, you donât go. He doesnât get to decide that.â You glance up at him, catching the seriousness in his eyes. It makes your chest tighten in a way you donât have time to unpack. You wanted to look at him more like this, you thought.Â
âI know,â you murmur. âBut if I donât, heâs gonna keep circling me all night. Tomorrow. Next week. Forever.â You sigh. âThis is easier. Heâs an ass. Itâll be two minutes and then Iâm done. We can leave.â
His grip around your wrist remained. He didnât want you to go, not when the look on your face was clearly one of resignation, not excitement. You wanted to give in to Vern, but he didnât want to let you. He wanted to keep you with him. He didnât want you to leave. Not when he finally had the one person he actually likes in this place right in his three-fingered grasp.Â
Donnieâs gaze shifted to Vern, the polite, reserved posture he usually maintained cracking just slightly around the edges. The whole coercion issue was ticking him off, but he was fighting the urge to let it show. An outburst here wouldn't help him. It certainly wouldn't help his standing with Vern, which, while already low, was still a necessary evil for the sake of his family's reputation.Â
It had gotten progressively worse these past few months. So, so much worse. Vern may have admitted to not being the sole hero of New York City against both the Kraang and Shredder, but heâs done worse things amidst these problems! He was starting to gain some sort of an attitude with the group of people that had actually saved the city. He was starting rumors about Casey, getting into an extra risky argument surrounding morality with Leo, and finally ended up getting some sense knocked into him after he said the wrong thing at the wrong time around Raph. That was after he had mumbled something extremely disrespectful about Splinter, though. Thatâs when the turtle's opinion on the guy began to change.Â
Vern had seemed to misinterpret Donnie's silence as grudging acceptance. Perhaps heâd seen it simply as a continuation of the general apathy Donnie usually displayed in social situations. The smug look on the hostâs face deepened, a clear sign that he felt his little power play had worked perfectly. Heâd gotten his way, and that was all that mattered to him.
You shouldâve said something, you idiot. Now sheâs gone. Great going.Â
"See? Just two minutes, big guy," Vern chirped, patting his other shoulder with an overly familiar hand, a gesture that made Donnieâs jaw clench. He watched as you walked off, searching for the man in the blue coat.
The casual, proprietary way Vern was acting around you grated on every one of Donnie's nerves. It was the same way he treated everything he considered an asset or a trophyâsomething to be shown off and leveraged. Vern was leveraging you, and the thought made a low, unfamiliar hum of protectiveness resonate in the turtle's chest. He knew Vern didn't care about your career. He only cared about proving his own influence.
"I'm just doing her a favor, Donatello! Donnie. D-dog. Networking. It's how the world works. Can't stick around eating chocolate-covered junk all night, right?" Vern's eyes, momentarily, met Donnie's, and in that fleeting second, he was just pissed. Straight-up pissed.
âWere you watching?â His voice went flat. âSerious question, Vern. Do you not have anything better to do? Nothing better than to sit around and watch two people live their life while your pathetic, self-engrossed mind enjoys it?â Donnie finally spoke, his voice dangerously low, stripped of its usual verbose flair. The intensity in his tone was enough to make Vern pause, the host's casual demeanor faltering for a beat. "You could have asked. She said she was happy with her job. You know what? You didn't even ask her, you told her. That's not a favor, Vern. Youâre not helping her. That's practically manipulation. Motherfuââ He cut himself off, jaw tight, trying not to keep going. Donnie's hand came up to clasp against his mouth, resulting in a following muffle sound. "âŠWhy did we even come to this stupid party?â
And Vern didn't hesitate. "Hey, hey, hey, what's with the sudden attitude, man? I'm helping her! Giving her a chance to move up. And I'm hosting this thing, which means I get to talk to her. It's not a crime."
"You didn't host shit, and no, that doesnât give you a right to speak to her like that." Donnie shot back, his frustration rising. "This whole thing was planned and organized by a dozen people before you had even heard the name. You didn't plan a damn thing. All you did was pick a date and pay for the food thatâs half-decent. For fuckâs sake, Vern, you couldnât even manage to keep your eyes off of us for two seconds!â
âThis is the best venue in the city. I had to make sacrifices. Iâve got other work to get to, anyway. You really expect me to do everything by myself?â Vern rolled his eyes, dismissive. He wasnât paying attention to the conversation. He never would.
âSheâll thank me later, once she lands a job that actually requires a nice dress. I mean, listen to her talkâshe can barely form a full sentence when youâre not around. No way sheâs getting a job that pays even half-decently with how quiet she is.â
That was it. That was the line.
Donnie stared, jaw slack, before his face hardened into a permanent scowl. The low growl that escaped his throat was unlike any sound Vern had ever heard from the usually composed turtle. He didnât even want to think about where that came from.
"You know what, Vern?" Donnieâs voice was dangerously quiet again, laced with pure, unfiltered rage. "Go fuck yourself. Seriously. Have fun with your âbest venue in the city.â Iâm out."
He didn't wait for a response. He didn't spare Vern another glance. He turned sharply and stalked away from the host, moving toward the edge of the venue, but not toward the exit. He needed to be alone. He needed to scream into a pillow. He needed to bash his bo staff into the nearest criminal, which, in his head, was Vern.
êêêê
Donnie had angrily strolled around that area for a solid two minutesâthe time youâd promised. He watched you from across the terrace, your conversation with the suited man seemingly cordial, though you kept glancing back toward the spot where he stood. He wasn't doing a very good job at blowing off steam⊠and this wasnât helping him much, either. The entire scene was like someone had taken a glue stick and permanently attached his gaze to your presence. He saw you offer a brief, firm handshake and then quickly turn away, heading back toward himâ but then you got caught in another crowd of rich, horrendously snobby businessmen.Â
From across the terrace, you caught his eye again. Your mouth formed a silent apology. Iâm sorry.
He shook his head once, sharp, and lifted a hand in a small, useless gesture. Smiling softly and covering his anger for you.Â
âTake your time,â he mouthed back. âItâs okay.â
Or maybe it wasnât. He wasnât sure anymore. The words came out a little stronger than he meant them to, pushed out with a breath. Mostly for you. A little for himself.
He needed space. The fury Vern had ignited was burning a hole in his stomach. It was fucking visceral; an unfamiliar feeling that demanded an outlet of some sort. He didn't head for the exit, the turtle knew that there would just be press waiting at that door with endless interview questions. Instead, he headed for a quiet corner, a place where he could perhaps breathe without the oppressive weight of anotherâs curiosity.Â
He found himself meandering toward the bar area.
It wasn't the main bar where April and Casey were, but a smaller caterer Vern had set up further out on the terraceâa gleaming, expensive vendorâs stand made of dark, polished wood and a sleek black metal. Maybe a strong, overly caffeinated concoction would reset his brain. It was fully stocked, though it was likely just another luxury designed to impress. Sleek bottles of liquor glowed under the soft lights, manned by sharply dressed mixologists who looked extremely bored serving champagne and cocktails.
Donnie would lean against the counter, back to the crowd, staring blankly at the impressive array of expensive, colorful bottles. Crowds all around him, and he still felt exposed, conspicuous, and alone. His internal monologue was a rapid-fire bullet of self-criticism: You should have been firmer with Vern. You should have just grabbed her hand and walked away. You're a coward. You let her walk into that.
âJust⊠strong, thanks,â he said quietly, giving the bartender just enough to go on.
He went with whatever the bartender suggestedâsome citrusy cocktail that tasted like nothing but enough to wipe his mind for a bit. The bartender had warned him about something, but the slider had shoved it offâ clearly too focused on something else. He didnât want to hear what the mixologist had to say about the mysterious drink.Â
He barely even heard the warning the guy muttered about the potencyâ how the drink was a special one made for tonight, a drink that was specifically concocted and adjusted to the levels of tolerance the turtles likely had. The other guests to the party tonight were not allowed to order this drinkâ the mixologist had said something about it being his âlucky day.â Donnie did not listen.Â
Heâd missed most of it, actually. By the time the bartender was finished talking, his cocktail was halfway down. After that, it was drink⊠after drink⊠after drinkâŠ
êêêê
Donnie had a complicated relationship with alcohol. While he rarely drank sociallyâdue to his social skills and the fact that most human recreational drugs or intoxicants didn't mix well with a 6â8" mutant turtle's physiologyâhe knew his body handled it surprisingly well. His much larger liver, combined with a metabolism that could burn through just about anything, meant that it took a significant volume of spirits to even register a buzz. More often than heâd like to admit, Donnie would occasionally take that to his advantage.Â
It had been about a year ago, when he figured this out. Heâd been having a night where he was pulling a 72-hour shift in his lab, fueled by cold pepperoni pizza and three types of caffeine. Espresso. Energy drinks. Melatonin. Heâd become immune to practically all of it. To make things worse, his main monitor had just flashed an irreparable system crash, wiping not oneâ not two, but three weeks of simulation data.Â
That night, pissed and willing to try anything, Donnie decided to drink. Something. Anything to get his mind off of this sinking feeling. He doesn't remember where he even found alcohol, but he does recall the outcome: eight solid hours of a knocked-out slumber on his cot. He recalled feeling slightly tipsy, but he was always mindful of his intakeâhe knew his limits, Donnie always knew his limits. He simply needed a bit of a reprieve that night. That's all.
êêêê
Donnie's gaze finally drifted from the spot where you had stood. Though the hope of your return still burned, he knew a long while would pass before it happened. He was standing near the bar when a warm, familiar presence settled beside him. Turning to face him would serve a useless point. He could sense those neon colors from miles away. Although, he usually heard him, first.
"Heyyy, bro. Uhh, rough night?"
That voice was soft. Something he, admittedly, needed. Donnie didnât need to turn to know it was Mikey. His youngest brother slid onto the stool next to him, a half-eaten plate of what looked like miniature sandwiches in his hand. His brother in orange was wearing a brightly colored, probably Hawaiian-themed shirt under his shell, a very⊠clear contrast to the formal wear of the other guests! He was the only one who seemed entirely unbothered by this unorthodox setting. Donnie had to give him points for that.Â
Donnie sighed, taking a long, bitter sip of his drink. "Define 'rough.' If 'rough' means being treated like a novelty, having a police officer try to proposition me in front of all these people, and then watching Vern bully the only genuinely good person here into a fake business meeting, then yes, Michael. Itâs been rough."
Mikey offered him a sandwich, which Donnie politely declined. "Oh, yeah, I saw the officer thing. That sucks, D. Also saw the Vern thing. Dudeâs a total a-hole." Mikey took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Did you tell him that you guys were together?"
Donnie nearly choked on his cocktail. "What? No! Why would Iâ"
"Dude, you were holding her hand like she was gonna float away. And you looked like you wanted to turn Vern into some, I donât know, dust, or something. Not that I blame you. But still, you like her, Donnie. Like, like-like. It's written all over your ugly green nerd face." Mikeyâs eyes were wide and innocent, yet his words still deduced that his advice most certainly was not applicable to Donnieâs situation.Â
âThank you. Thatâs so encouraging,â He scoffed. Donnie scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing his glasses up his nose in frustration. "Even if I had said something, It's not that simple, Mikey. We're mutant turtles. We are not like everyone else here. She's... normal. She deserves normal. She deserves someone who can take her out to dinner without the interruption of patrol. Or, better yet, someone who can actually intervene and stop her from doing things she doesnât want to do!" His fingers hook the rim of his glass, squeezing, releasing, squeezing again. The fidgeting ramps up. âAnd even if I had said somethingâif Iâd actually opened my mouthâIâd just screw it up. I always do. I'm a mess. I'm a socially inept, verbose, overthinking mess. She's too good for the kind of emotional wreckage I'd bring into her life. I couldnât say shit to Vern until she was gone, and now sheâs stuck blabbering to some rich-ass about a job offer she doesnât want."Â
Mikey slid off the stool and turned to face his brother, abandoning the sandwiches entirely. There was a stinging sensation on Donnieâs shoulders; Mikey had taken the liberty of squeezing them as hard as humanly possible.
"Donnie, dude, listen to yourself! You think she hangs out with you for half a decade because she's scared of 'emotional wreckage'? Huh?â The purple turtle stared blankly back at his brother. âOh my god. She's here, at Vern's gross party, right now, just because you are. She's been choosing you for years. Raph and I are literally betting on it. She likes you, dude. If she cared about the whole mutant deal, sheâd be gone by now. So many people have. She likes you. The real you, bro." He nudged Donnie's arm gently. "So stop over-thinking it."Â
Donnie hunched back in his chair. âMikey, what the fuck are you betting on? Me and her? Are you serious?â Another sip of the drink before he set it down.Â
He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "And you guys are not helping. Nottt, no. Not at all⊠This is my life, and this is her life. And Vern just made it ten times worse."
"I'm just saying! The point is that you gotta say something. Or do something! Not just let Vern walk all over her! If you donât, you might as well let that officer try to drag you off to a dark corner." Mikeyâs expression shifted, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by a more serious, earnest look. "Look, Dee. You're my brother. And I love you. But sometimes, lotsâof times, you're a coward. And this is one of those times. So! You can either be the turtle who mopes at the bar because some guy was a jerk to the girl he likes, or you can be the turtle who does something about it. Your call."
He took one of the sandwiches off his plate and held it up like a peace offering. "Also, you should probably eat this. That drink looks dangerous. And you're starting to slur your words."
Donnie blinked, a wave of delayed dizziness washing over him as he processed Mikeyâs claim. Had he been?Â
âI am⊠I am not slurring my words,â he insisted, though the sentence felt clumsy on his tongue. He took another swallow of the cocktail, the citrusy burn doing little to ground him. Mikey just raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of his sandwich. âYeah. Sure.â The orange slider would add.
âAlright, well, just listen to your heart, bro. I donât care about the bet that much. Just do what makes you happy. And donât get too tipsy, mâkay? Love ya. Donât add or subtract to the population. Also, donât die. Bye!âÂ
And with that, Mikey was gone, disappearing back into the crowd, leaving Donnie alone with his swirling thoughts and the rapidly diminishing cocktail. He stared into the glass, the colors blurring slightly at the edges. He had to give Mikey credit; he was right. He was a coward. Heâd spent years hiding behind some invisible barrier, too terrified to risk what he had with you for a chance at something more.
êêêê
Meanwhile, on the terrace near the fountain, your own situation was devolving into a corporate interrogation.
The managerâ Mr. Sterlingâwas not talking about a job. He was talking about his own company, his yacht, his divorce, and his vision for the future of New York, occasionally stopping to ask you questions that were less about your professional skills and more about testing your ability to politely nod. It was agonizingly slow. The promised two minutes had stretched into fifteen, then twenty. Now, Vern and two other associates had joined, turning the conversation into a suffocating, four-on-one pitch for an entry-level position you didn't want.
You sighed internally, pulling out your phone under the guise of checking the time.
You: hey are you okay?
You: that was a whole thing w vern
You: did he yell at you too lmao
It wasn't long before he began typing.
Donnie đđą: Yes. He is an illiterate cretin and I had words with him. Are YOU okay? The promised two minutes have elapsed 10x over. How's the job offer?
You: heâs trying to sell me on the company benefits. iâm dyinggg
Donnie đđą: Get out of there. Tell him your dog is on fire.
You: i donât have a dog
Donnie đđą: My point exactly. Theyâll never be able to verify the claim. Make a run for it, I'll cover your retreat lol
You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud. This was a nice distraction.
You: look up.
Donnieâs eyes flicked up instantly, scanning the area near the fountain. He spotted youâstanding tall despite the discomfort, the purple dress of yours catching the golden fountain light. But he also saw Vern, Mr. Sterling, and the two others surrounding you, their postures overly familiar, blocking you in. They were literally barricading you from leaving.
Donnie đđą: Oh. My. God.
Donnie đđą: They're treating you like a piece of collateral.
Donnie đđą: Do you want me to come over there? I have my bo staff, Iâm willing to use it, just as a heads up
You: tempting. but i think heâs almost done. he keeps repeating himself. hopefully heâll be done in a bit.
Donnie đđą: Okie dokie. I'll pass the time.
Thank God. Talking to you and not somebody else had reset his head; something much, much needed. Donnie took a deliberate sip of his cocktail. He thought he was handling it quite well, but his vision was beginning to blur. He paid no mind to the water glass next to him that the bartender had provided two drinks ago.Â
He brushed the blindness off. Maybe he just needed a new glasses prescriptionâŠyeah! He downed his fourth. It was just a way to kill time, a distraction while he waited for you.
He was just finally settling into the soft, internal hum of the alcohol when he saw it.
êêêê
You had typed back a quick 'okay' and slipped your phone back into your clutch. Taking a deep breath, you plastered on your most apologetic smile. âI am so, so sorry to cut this short, Mr. Sterling, gentlemen, Vern. Itâs been⊠enlightening. But I just received a rather urgent text, and I really must be going.â Eyeing Donnie, you smiled. Finally, time to get out of this shithole. You were looking forward to celebrating the New Yearâs countdown with him somewhere else⊠maybe at your spot on the drive-in hill. With the radio. Yeah!
Sterling smiled, a flash of too-white teeth that didn't reach his cold, assessing eyes. "Now, now, don't rush off. We have all the time in the world." His voice, smooth as aged whiskey, slid over you unpleasantly. "A woman as captivating as you shouldn't be leaving so soon. You've got a brilliant mindâI can tell." He stepped closer, his cologne absolutely violating your nostrils. "And the rest of you is... quite brilliant, as well."
His hand was on your arm. Oh. Oh, no. Ew. His fingers, heavy and laced with cold rings, curled around your forearm just above your elbow. It wasn't a friendly touch. This shit felt like some display of ownership. His thumb began to stroke back and forth, a disgusting and egregious movement that made your stomach turn.
Donnie felt the alcohol in his system suddenly turn cold.
No. Absolutely not. Heâs had it with other men bothering you.
He shouldnât care this much. Why did he care this much? He closed his eyes, focusing on the scent of the garden and the distant fireworks, trying to manage the sudden rush of his anger and frustration.
Sheâs an adult. She can handle herself. She told me she was almost done. Look away, look away, look awayâ
But the image of that hand on your back burned behind his eyelids. He wanted to be the one standing next to you. He wanted to be the one guiding you away from the crowd. He wanted to be the one who made you smile like you did when you shared his half-eaten sâmore. They didnât have that with you. Not even close.Â
Donnie opened his eyes, staring blankly at the bar. He had been drinking high-proof, expensive amalgamations of alcohol, but his mind felt amplified. Every feeling about you, every repressed thought about your relationship, was magnified and set into focus.
I like the way she looks at me. I like that she's quiet until I start talking about astrophysics and tech. I like how she rambles about the things that she likes. I wish she did it more often. I like that her hand felt so small on my arm. I hate that Iâm standing here while sheâs being harassed. I hate that Iâm too much of a coward to tell her how I feel, and I hate that some low-grade flirt is getting to touch her while I'm stuck here because of Vern's stupid ego.
Words, words, words.Â
He reached for his glass, intent on taking another sip, hoping to drown out the internal monologue, when yet another hand landed gently on his shoulder.
"Rough night, little brother?"
Donnie startled, spinning around. Leo was standing there, calm and composed, sipping a clear drinkâlikely something light, with a twist of lime. His posture was still straight, but his eyes were clear and almost dilated. He wasn't drunk, far from the levels of inebriation that Donnie possessed. But he was definitely relaxed.
"Leo. Yeah. Rough night because that is happening." Donnie gestured vaguely towards your direction with his chin, the anger still simmering just below the surface.
âAh. Yeah, I saw her little⊠friend, over there. Looks like a tough situation.â Leo sipped a bit of his drink, setting it down to speak to Donnie. âWhy havenât you gotten her out of it yet?â
His brother groaned. âVern. Vern is why. Heâs so⊠heâs so fucking adamant that he keeps her away for two minutes, which turned into twenty for a job offer she didnât even want! And now these men, disgusting, vile men, are caressing her like sheâs an object. Do you see this shit, Leo? Itâs disgusting!â
âSo go get her. Again, why havenât you? Youâre bigger. Be the bigger person.â He advised.Â
A sigh from the one in purple. âBecause she told me to stay put. And Iâm trying to respect that, as much as I wouldnât like to. Iâd like to go and individually dismantle each of hisââ
âOkay, okay, Don. I get it. You need to calm down. You look like you're about to fall off that stool," Leo said, his hand coming to rest on Donnie's shoulder. "Maybe slow down on whatever that is?" He gestured to the half-empty glass.
Donnie stared at his brother, the words taking a moment to register. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
Leo raised an eyebrow, his gaze dropping to the cocktail. "Sure you are." He reached for the bottle the bartender had left on the counter, turning it to read the label. "What's even in this stuff? Is this one of the-"
"Leave it," Donnie slurred, swatting weakly at his brother's hand. "It's just a drink. Should be light."
Leo pulled the bottle back easily, his eyes scanning the fine print. A slow, humorless smile spread across his face. "Yeah, that'll do it," he mumbled, mostly to himself. He set the bottle down with a soft click.
"What?" Donnie demanded, a surge of irritation rising past the alcohol. Leo picked up the bottle again, pointing to a small, nearly invisible label on the back. "You, of all people, shouldâve noticed this. Vern had these cocktails pre-mixed for us tonight. The bartender should have explained it to you before you ordered.â
Donnie blinked, the words slowly filtering through the alcoholic haze. "What are you talking about?"
âThey made these drinks specifically for us. The alcoholâs way beyond what a normal person can handle.â Donnie blinked. Confused. Leo groaned. ââŠVern figured the partyâd be more appealing if we could get drunk easier, genius.â
âHoly shit. That is so unethical.â
âHey, they warned you. Had a whole speech about it and everything before they could serve you.â Leo chuckled, his eyes scanning Donnie's flushed face and slightly unfocused gaze. "Look, you should get out of here. Go home and sleep it off. You're not thinking clearly. Iâll tell Dad to brew you some tea so you wonât feel so bad in the morning."Â
Donnie shook his head. âNo, no, donât bother him. I donât think itâs that bad⊠yet. Iâll be fine. Iâll alert you if something happens.âÂ
Leo watched him go, a faint, resigned sigh escaping him. Part of him didnât believe Donnieâ at least, not 100%. "Alright, then. Be safe, Iâll see you tonight. And sober up, Don. Don't go out like this, for God's sake." The purple brother groaned.
As if on cue, Donnieâs phone vibrated.Â
You: come get me?Â
You: or i come get you?Â
You: please
Typing that comment felt like a beg. A plea. You were asking him to come and get you, to save you from whoever this godawful person was who hadnât the slightest clue what personal space was.Â
Donnie receiving that comment felt like it was his birthdayâ thank god. You were finally asking him to come and rescue you from that horrendous sight heâs been told to sit back and watch you handle for the past half-hour. Â
In all honesty⊠itâs better it was just you. Standing next to Sterling, that man wouldâve committed crimes irreparable. Donnieâs fingers stumble over themselves as he texts something out.
Donnieđđą: iâm om my wpy
⊠You had struggled for a second, reading that text. It wasnât that hard to make out, reallyâ but texting mistakes? Donnie? That was something youâd never seen in the guy, no matter how long youâve known him. He was always perfect at grammar, spelling, punctuationâ perfect everything.Â
So how did he manage to misspell âwayâ with a letter thatâs completely across the keyboard? âOnâ being spelled incorrectly was a reach, even for him.Â
You just stare at the screen, thumb hovering uselessly over the keyboard. The typo shouldnât matter. Itâs nothing. One letter in two words. Heâs fine, you overthinkâ where is he? Is he okay?Â
Heâs all you can really think about while Mr. Sterling continues to wrap his arm around your waist. Your best friend wasnât even here right now, and you were still using him as a distraction. Why do you keep thinking about him in situations like this? You can handle yourself perfectly fine! Matter of fact, why is it now so habitual that weâre thinking about him like this? You shouldnât. You know better, you know damn well.
âOkay. Iâm sorry, Mr. Sterling, please get off. Iâm not very comfortable with you, uh, doing that.â You say, slightly nudging away from him. He doesnât move away.Â
âWell, why not? Itâs not like you came with anyone tonight,â he scoffs. âNone that Vern told me about, at least. I looked at the guest list. Guest list told me that you were free, sweetheart.â
You had to think of something. Quick.
Oh, god...
âIâm actually here with my boyfriend tonight. Heâs on his way. Now, please get your hands off of me.â
The lie slips out smoother than you expect. Like youâd practiced the damn thing in your head a million times.Â
Crazy, itâs almost as if you had, before! Huh! How coincidental!
You canât bear to even look at Sterling when you say itâ it feels too good to be true, and just too out of reach to feel false. You look past him instead, toward the edge of the terrace, like your boyfriend could materialize if you just believed hard enough.Â
âOh, how cute. Yeah, Iâm sure that heâsââ
"There you are," his voice comes, a little lower, a little slower than usual, but it calms you, as a relief does.
Wait, was he seriously here right now?
Doing this?!
He reaches you, his hand coming to rest gently on the small of your back, a deliberate, respectful touch that makes Sterlingâs grip feel even more grotesque in comparison. "Sorry I took so long. Got held up by... well, by everything."
Donnieâs gaze flicks to Sterling, then down to the hand still wrapped around your forearm. He doesn't glare. He doesn't threaten. He simply looks at it, then back at Sterlingâs face, with an expression that is both tired and utterly unreadable. "Is there a problem here?"
Sterlingâs smile is tight. "No problem at all. Just getting to know your... girlfriend." He says it like it was a challenge. Getting you to defend your statement. Your face turns so fucking red.
Oh. Oh.
 It clicked for the turtle.Â
âBoyfriend,â he repeats, curious with the word. âHi.â His thumb rubs a slow circle against your dress. Heâs standing completely behind you, his arms around your waist and his chin resting on your head.Â
Your stomach dwells deep; you canât look at anyone right now, holy fuck. What is he doing? Is he okay? Is he giving into this? Could he hear what youâd lied about, what youâd said? Was he going along with it?Â
âOkay, A: She has a name,â he says, his voice still calm, though you can hear the faintest slur in his words. âAnd B⊠she was just leaving." He turns his attention to you, his eyes softening. âAre you ready?âÂ
You stare at him for a couple of moments, blabbering over your own words. âHuhâ? Oh, uh, yeahâ I thinkâ yeah, letâs go,â you say, but it comes out more of a whisper than anything.Â
êêêê
He didnât stop walking until the cries of the party were entirely behind them. Donnie guided you quickly, ducking through a side door and up a narrow flight of stairs that was clearly meant for staff only. The hallway above was quiet, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of cleaning supplies and old wood. When he pushed open the glass door, you stepped out onto a small, empty balcony that overlooked the back of the venue.
Oh, wow... it was much more scenic here.
The balcony itself was a small hideout, almost, made of smooth, white marble. Shrubbery and vines curled along the edges of the railing, their leaves brushing lightly against his arm as he leaned against it. Tiny flowers peeked through here and there. Cute little daisies, maybe. Weeds? Probably weeds.
He let go of your hand, leaning heavily against the stone railing, his shoulders slumping in a sudden wave of exhaustion. He couldn't really even comprehend things at this rate... he hated himself like this. How could he have possibly become this intoxicated? In front of you? You didn't deserve this.
Still, he tried to push out some words. Donnie could still think. Feel his emotions.
"Oh, God. Thank you, itâs so crowded down there," he muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose, though they immediately slid back down his slightly sweaty skin. His eyes were unfocused, darting everywhere but at you.
You felt like you should have thanked him for saving you; but there was clearly another concern at bay that you wanted to address first.Â
You could see it, clear as day. The way his words occasionally slurred. The sweat. Him tripping over himself. The incorrect spelling in the texts.Â
You thought he couldnât get like this. His body and metabolism arenât exactly what typical drinks are designed to affect.
"Donnie, are you okay?" you asked, moving closer, your voice hushed. "You donât look so good."
He scoffed, a quick, humorless sound. "Iâm fine. Just a little inebriated. What I drank altered my system, unto my own expectations. Uh⊠highly, highly, highly⊠altered it."
"Youâre drunk," you stated softly. âJeez, how much did you consume to get like this..? I mean, Iâve seen worse, but this much, even for you?â God, he loved listening to your voice. So soft. So⊠something. He didnât know. Can you talk more? Heâd like to listen to you for a bit.Â
"Drunk is⊠such an understatement." Donnie waved his hand vaguely, correcting you. "But thatâs besides the point. You⊠youâre okay, yeah? That guyâSterlingâor whatever his face is? I dunno, I never wanna see him again, but, uh, he was touching you. I mean, obviously he was touching you, but not in a good way,â the reptile rambled. Slurring his words together yet again.
You hesitated, leaning against the railing next to him. "Iâm okay, Dee. Just grossed out. I should have been firmer with him, itâs my fault.â
âWhat? No," he snapped, turning his head sharply to meet your gaze. That was sudden. "No, donât you dare start. Donât apologize for him being an ass, and donât you dare apologize for me intervening! What he did was disgusting⊠God, I was going to lose it if he kept his hands on you."
âI know. I could see you from afar. I tried to get out of it⊠he wouldnât let me leave. Dude buys a yacht and thinks heâs a god.â You chuckleâ Donnie follows suit, grabbing onto the railing of the white staircase; allowing it to help him plop down onto the marbled balcony, curling his legs up to his plastron.Â
It was quiet, for a moment. Between the two of you. For a second, you passed time, just by watching. Watching the fireworks boom in the distance. Watching his brothers scatter across the lawn, sitting down with friends to admire the countdown ball, soon to drop. Watching Donnie, whoâs focused was zoned in on you, for the last time tonight.Â
âI need to talk to you,â he mumbled, voice muffled by his arm. He had set his staff down next to him, the device folded. You appreciated when he did that. It was a tiny gesture, but one that let you know he felt safe around you; vulnerable. You could smell the citrus and liquid burn in his breath.Â
âYou can. Always, Dee. Whatâs going on?â There was a bit of dirt on his arm from grabbing the rail, clearly lacking a good cleaning for a few months. You brushed it off, gently wiping the excess on your dress. He frowned at that. He liked that purpleâ it was his purple.Â
âThereâs nothing going on, I mean, there is, but itâs not what youâ Iâm not drinking to forget some shitty or traumatic situationâ well, kind of. Good lord, how do I even start this,â he whined, his higher-pitched voice cracking amidst his admittance. âI canât believe this is coming out like this.âÂ
You tilted your head, turning your gaze away from him. You didnât know if that helped, but sometimes, talking to nothing and rambling to the world is what he needed most. With you there, everything was okay. Donnie leans forward without thinking, resting his head gently against the top of yours. You barely come up to his shoulders. He leans in anyway.
âDonnieââ
"Iâm very drunk, (y/n)." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "And that is the only reason I can say this without my internal monologue absolutely gutting me from the inside." He took a slow, deep breath, and you felt his chest expand under his thick gear. You didnât see, but you felt.
âGod, I hate that he touched you,â Donnieâs voice dropped lower, his breath warm against your hair. âHate it. You know, when I saw his hand on you, all I could think was thatâthat should be my hand on your arm. I wanted it to be my hand. I tried to make myself feel better by coming behind you and touching you earlier when we tried to play that whole thing off, but that just made it worse. I feel addicted to it and I feel disgusting for saying that.â He mumbled, voice cracking a bit due to his higher pitch. Donnie scoffs. His head is still on your shoulders, but heâs mumbling into your skin.
âItâs ridiculous, right? Pathetic. I spend years convincing myself I just value our friendship, that Iâm above these primitive impulses. They only come around this time of year. Itâs cold as hell outside, nearing end-of-winter, I know-- but anytime Iâm around you, it feels like spring. I don't know what's wrong with my body. I can't control it. I hate not being in control."Â
Donnie had made brief mention of what happens in Spring before, near you. He didnât dare go into deeper explanation of what he does to âfixâ it; but he always made sure to warn you to never visit him during that time. You havenât the slightest clue. You respected him too much to ask and find out, as much as you wanted to. Every brother was secretive about it.
âI donât know if itâs because of that, I really donât. I donât care either. I canât research why I feel the way I do when Iâm around you. I donât like how I felt earlier when that asshole touched you the way he did. And, donât tell me youâre sorry for having to save you earlier, either. I wouldâve done it anyway. Planned on it. I wanted to grab you, pull you behind me, andâ" A pause from his ramble. "I'm sorry, I canât finish that thought sober."
He pulled up a little bit; raising his head from his verbal rabbit hole to glance at you; listening to him like he was the last voice on Earth.
Sober Donnie would have hesitated spilling anything else. Inebriated Donnie did not.
âAnd if I didnât tell you earlier,â he muttered. âYou look really fucking good in that dress.â He plopped back down onto your shoulder.Â
âI apologize. You can tell me to go to hell now. Please, actually, tell me to go to hell now,â Donnie groaned, closing his eyes.Â
There was a lot of computation in your head, then. How should you respond? There was a lot going on here. His feelings. Your feelings. The fact that this giant turtle reciprocated? Oh, my.
"Dee. I'm not going to tell you to go to hell," you said softly. "Iâm not gonna say anything that that drunk brain of yours is probably telling you to believe, right now. Because thatâs not how I feel."
You took a shallow breath, your own admission just as exhilarating and relieving as his own. "When I told that guy my boyfriend was on his way... I didn't have to think very hard about who I wanted to show up. It was you. It was always you. I couldnât think of anyone else if I tried.â
â...did you want to?â
âWant what?â
âThink of anyone else. You said you tried to.âÂ
âIf I had tried. I didnât.âÂ
He lifted his head from your shoulder, pushing himself up to actually look at you, his eyes wide and slightly unfocused in the dim light. Donnieâs glasses reflected the anticipatory fireworks; yet, his pupils remained wide, despite the amount of light that was fleeting the night sky.Â
The distant sound of the crowd below started escalating. The countdown was beginning.Â
Ten seconds. Nine.
âPlease donât lie. I canât handle that shit right now if you are, (y/n).â
âWhen have I ever lied to you, Donatello?â You whispered, turning your face to gaze into his lens-covered eyes.Â
Eight seconds. Seven.
âI just needed to hear it,â he returned, matching your stare; eyes blinking slowly once every few moments.Â
Five.Â
He looked utterly lost for a moment, the emotional weight of the admission and the alcohol combining to overwhelm him. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.
"Can Iâ," he started, his voice barely audible, then swallowed hard, correcting himself with painstaking slowness. "May I kiss you? Right now?"
Four.
He wasnât demanding. He wasnât pushing you, nor was he begging you to get closer. To touch him. All this nervous, rambling dork wanted was your permission.
And by Godâ it took everything in you to say no.Â
Three.Â
Your heart ached, but you shook your head, gently. "Not like this, Dee. I want your first kiss to be one you remember. One where youâre completely, perfectly yourself."Â
Fuck. Did he screw up?Â
Two.
âRight. Of course. IââÂ
You leaned forward instead, bypassing his lips, and pressed a soft, warm kiss to the bridge of his thick-framed glasses, right between his eyes. The glass was cool against your mouth. It was sweet, an act of tenderness and denial that was somehow more potent than a kiss on the mouth would have been.
He flinched, a quiet, whimpered sound escaping him, before he melted into the touch, letting out a shaky breath.
One.
"I need you to remember this. Every single word," you tell him, your gaze searching his. "So, when you wake up tomorrow, and you're sober, we're going to have this conversation again. I want you to be honest. Iâll hold you to it, okay?"
The roar of the crowd exploded. Fireworks burst directly overhead, showering the sky in gold and purple, the sound momentarily deafening.
Happy New Years, the people would shout. Â
I promise, Donnie would whisper.Â
You smile. A genuine, warm smile. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him; absolutely nothing could have surpassed that level of greed. It was tortuous. Instead, his waist found its way under your arm, and you gently helped him up; careful to prevent the wobbly turtle from tripping over his own two feet. You start to guide him toward the door, taking slow, patient steps. He offers no resistance.
Only right before you came into the view of everyone else in the venue, Donnie pulled you a little bit closer to him. You werenât sure if it was for a hug, or warmth, or perhaps, just to be close.Â
âHey, (y/n)?â He mumbled into your hair, stumbling a little.Â
âHi, Donnie.â You responded, playing a little.Â
âI love you.âÂ
"I love you too, you big, genius dummy," you whisper. "But tell me tomorrow, when youâre sober. Okay?"
âMhm. Okie-dokie.â He groans, allowing you to help pull him along. Even now, you struggled to get all 6â8 of him to stand up straight.
êêêê
You woke slowly, the itchy fabric of your living room couch registering against your legs before anything else did. Damn. You hadnât even made it to your bed.
Youâd barely managed to change into pajamas. You remembered the dress being a nightmare to peel offâand with Donnie in the state heâd been in, he hadnât exactly been much help. Probably for the better. After getting home, after taking care of the giant turtle and whatever else needed doing, you mustâve pulled on a massive gray T-shirt that swallowed your figure and sunk onto the couch. Pants hadnât even crossed your mind. You had no idea where the piece of clothing came fromâperhaps a family member had left it behind?
A faint whine escaped your throat as you had sat up.Â
The scenery was always beautiful, this time of the morning.
It was silent⊠just about as silent as New York could get. The city that never sleeps. Of course, there was the hustle and bustle of the unfortunate ones who had to work New Yearâs Day; thankfully, that was not you. Or Donnie. Looking over at the snoring turtle, who was 99% of the sounds you had heard; he was clearly still nursing a mild hangover. He had rambled something last night about how he handled hangovers well; he may be in a more conscious state than the average person when heâs to wake.Â
Speak of the devilâŠ
You slowly twisted your neck, wincing at the stiffness. Curled into a somewhat fetal position on the floor, head pillowed on one of your softest throw blankets, was one hell of a previously intoxicated turtle; still, somehow, he looked comfortable. His large legs hung off of a mattress you had blown up.Â
Goddamn, how bad was it? Did you forget to even offer up your bed?Â
He was still in his cargo pants and gear, though his purple mask was loosened and draped half off his head, revealing the dark smudges under his eyes. His long legs were stretched out, one large, three-toed foot resting (probably uncomfortably) on the edge of the coffee table, the other tangled between your biggest blanket that was miniature compared to his size. His arms were wrapped around a pillow, and the soft, thankfully light whistle of his snores was the only thing audible in this quiet room.
You remembered the blur of getting him out of Vernâs party. How hard it was navigating the security-lined corridors, and somehow, somehow, getting him up the fire escape and into your apartment without Raph, Leo, or Mikeyâs help. Moments of your return came back, one by one.
You had offered him the couch or your bed, but abiding by his drunken logic, he had insisted that your floor provided "optimal structure realignment" for someone of his kind. No; he just wanted you to have it. You blew up a mattress for him, instead. He'd promptly face-planted onto the thing, and you hadn't the heart to move him. Nor did you possess the strength to do soâŠ
It was 11:30 A.M, according to your phone. January 1st. Happy New Year.
You gently slid out from under the blanket, wincing as the sudden creaking of your wooden floors had caused Donnie to grumble, tightening his grip on the pillow. He didnât wake, thankfully.
The kitchen wasnât exactly the cleanest thing ever, but it sufficed. The refrigerator had stains on it; previously being a polished white and transforming itself over the years into a faded and sandy brown. The fan that could be turned on was obnoxiously loud, so you refrained from that, for now. The outlets that your coffee maker was plugged into didnât send electricity through, half of the time. This wasnât one of those times.Â
You quietly measured out coffee grounds, setting up the machine as silently as possible. The low, gurgling sound of the water starting to heat felt like avoiding waking a sleeping giant; you winced, glancing back at the sleeping turtle. Still out. Good.
Opening your pantry, you adeptly seeked out a tiny bottle of emergency aspirin youâd gotten at a pharmacy a few weeks ago. Your head was still throbbing. God knows how much of a reprieve Donnie would need; you wondered if heâd need anything at all, actually. Will his body handle the after-effects better than a regular person? Worse, considering how much heâd consumed? Hmm. Briefly skimming the cabinet, there was a box of unopened herbal tea next to some strawberry Pop-Tarts. You pulled both from the shelf.
You started a pot of water on the old stove for the tea, keeping the flame at its lowest level. The apartment began to warm up slowly. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, the scent unmistakably drifting through the room, and leaned against the counter, just watching the muted light filter into the living room through your thin, cream-colored curtains.
Donnie stirred again. A soft sigh left his nose. He must have smelled the caffeine. It was hardly visible, but he had a tail; what was visible of the miniscule thing had been so lightly curled beside him, and it twitched once before settling. His eyes fluttered open slowly. Blinking at the ceiling, then squinting at the light, he brought a hand up to shield his face; looking extensively exhausted.
"Gooâ morninâ," he mumbled, his voice gravelly and slurred due to sleep. He paused, then corrected himself with a slight alteration. "Ah, well, good afternoon, I suppose."
"Morning, Dee," you whispered, taking a careful sip of your coffee. "Sleep okay?"
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, the blanket falling away. He looked around your living room, his gaze lingering on the empty pizza boxes, the scattered throw pillows, and finally, his gaze settled on you, leaning against the kitchen counter in the oversized t-shirt.
"Like a baby," he said, slowly sitting up. He blinked again, his eyes taking a moment to focus. "My head is a bit fuzzy. But nothing I canât handle. My liver, Iâm sure, is having a field day. Did we get back here safely?"
"We got here safely," you confirmed. "You insisted on sleeping on the floor. I was able to talk you into a mattress at least." You gestured to the deflated thing with your cup.
He looked at the air mattress, then back at you, a faint, embarrassed blush creeping up his neck. "Ah. Right. I apologize. I can get⊠quite illogical when my cognitive functions are compromised."
"Oh, really?," you softly teased, a small smile playing on your lips. "I made some tea. And I have aspirin if you need it."
"That would be appreciated," he said, pushing himself to a standing position, a bit stiffly. "Though, I should be fine. My metabolism is a wonder of bio-engineering. Still, the tea sounds good."
He shuffled over to the kitchen, kneading at the back of his shoulder as he did so. He looked at the box of Pop-Tarts on the counter, then at you. A sigh. Silence.
âHow bad was it?âÂ
You tilted your head, sitting yourself down on the edge of the couch as he stood in place.Â
He swallowed hard. You could see his throat working beneath the green skin, the way his breathing hitched. The morning light caught his face, revealing the dark circles under his eyes that had nothing to do with a hangover.
"I need to apologize," he said quietly, finally looking up at you. His eyes were doused in dark circles. "For putting you in that position. I shouldâve never gotten drunk at a stupid party, anyways, I donât even know how that happenedâ Iâve only ever gotten drunk by myself. In my lab, alone. Even then, it took a highly improbable amount of alcohol to get me that way, so, statisticallyâ"
âDonnie. Hey. Pause for a minute, okay?â He stopped, seemingly waiting for some sort of reprimand from you.
"Donât apologize for getting drunk. It happens. I wanted you to have a good time, and if thatâs how you do so, then by all meansââÂ
âIt wasnât supposed to happen. Our physiology is completely different from yours, (y/n) â I donât have the slightest clue what was in those drinks, I was supposed to keep control of myself. I wasnât supposed to spill shit out, get pissed at the other men and get all close to you the way I didââ
âYou were protecting me, Donnie. I needed you in that moment. And you were able to come get me. And you did it even though I told you to stay put, which, frankly, was dumb on my part. So thank you for that."
He just stared as you spoke⊠yet, his face was still filled with some sort of emotion you couldnât decipher. You patted the cushion beside you. "Sit. Please. You're looming."
âI should have stopped when Leo showed up,â he says, more to himself than to you. âI donât like being⊠in that state. Not in front of other people, absolutely not.â
âI know.â You whispered, laying against him; giving him a sense of weight as comfort. He appreciated that. You didnât hate him for it, at least.Â
"Now⊠as for the other things you said... last night," you continued, your voice soft but firm. You kept your eyes locked on his, ensuring he knew you were serious. "The things you said about why you were there, and what you wanted to do, and how you felt... those things. Do you remember them?"
Donnie took a breath. âOh, godâŠâ
No backing out now.
His eyes narrowed slightly, dread and acceptance in his expression. "I remember the gist. The unfortunate, verbose, highly explicit gist. Yes." Leaning down, Donnie grabbed a red, what used to be a fluffy sherpa blanket and held it up to his chin, hiding his face in a half-manner. The best he was going to get at burrowing, in this situation.
"Do you remember what I said?"
A moment of genuine confusion crossed his face. He hummed. "Little. You... you were very kind about it. You said you didn't want my first kiss to be ruined by alcohol. You said you'd hold me to having the conversation today."
"Good job. Do you remember anything before that?" you prompted, softly. "When I was with Mr. Sterling, I texted you, and you showed up. What did I tell him?"
The corners of his mouth twitched. "You said... you were here with your boyfriend. And that he was on his way."
âMhm⊠and then you showed up, and you said you were my boyfriend.â He turned his face away rather than burying himself in deeper depths. âYou used my name and told Sterling off. Do you remember any of that?"
He nodded slowly, whining into the blanket in a very, very silent manner, so you wouldnât hear. He shifted beneath you, trying to get more comfortable in this confrontational debacle.
"Yes. I remember you saying that. I assumed... I assumed you were just using me as a shield. I know, I know assuming is bad. I couldnât help it. I played along because I was drunk and angry and very desperately wanted him to leave you alone. I thought it was just a lie to get him off your back. I remember saying 'boyfriend' because you did. Or whatâs-his-face did. SomeoneâŠ" He paused, chewing on his lower lip. "I am so, so inexplicably sorry, (y/n)."
You glanced up, shortening the gap between the two of you. "Donatello. I told you last night. I didn't have to think hard about who I wanted to show up. It was you. I told him I had a boyfriend because I wanted you to be my boyfriend. I wasnât just pissed that Vernâs friend had his hands all over me.â You chuckled, a soft reminiscent laugh escaping your lips. âAnd guess what?"
He turned his head back towards you after having been staring at the wall for the past two minutes. Is that really how you felt?
âWhatâs that?â
âYou played it off perfectly.âÂ
You reached out, gently taking one of his hands in both of yours. His skin was cool and calloused against your softer palms. "I want you to look me in the eyes when I say this. Weâre both sober. It's a new year. I'm holding you to your promise. You said a lot of things last night about how you felt, and I said a few things too. I am just as guilty as you are here. We are not friends right now, Donnie. Not the way we were yesterday.â You were shaking. Fuck, this was just as exhilarating as having alcohol flooding through your veins. âYou need to be honest with me, right now, about what you meant, and if you still mean it.â A gentle moment of eye contact. âIs that okay?âÂ
Donnie nodded.Â
You took a breath. A hopeful breath. Your tone, this time, was the shaky one. Anxious.Â
âDo you still mean it?â
He lifted his head, meeting your gaze.
"I don't know what the statistical likelihood is that I fall in love with a human, or what the social ramifications are for my brothers and me, or how I would even begin to integrate my life with yours, or what the logical solution for this situation is," he admitted. "But I know that there is absolutely zero possibility that I regret what I said last night. I meant it."
You smiled. The biggest, most ecstatic fucking smile. Donnie took a breathâ he wasnât done speaking.Â
âAnd⊠with me being sober this time around, I wanted to ask⊠the right way, this time.â HIs voice was shaky; but his overall appearance remained calm. His eyes darted between your own and your lips. Back and forth, back and forth again.Â
"I want to..." he began, his voice cracking slightly, the words catching in his throat. He swallowed hard, trying again, forcing the words past the lump of fear and anticipation. "May I... can I kiss you? Properly, this time?" His eyes were locked on yours, wide and vulnerable, waiting for the judgment he was sure was coming.
You didn't answer. Not with words.
Instead, you leaned in, closing the final, infinitesimal distance between you. The world narrowed to the space you now shared. Your hand came up to cup the side of his face, your fingers brushing against the rough, slightly scaly texture of his skin, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the fire blooming in your chest. You felt his sharp, sudden intake of air, the way his body tensed in surprise.
And then you kissed him.
His lips, softer than you had ever imagined, parted under yours with a startled gasp. He tasted faintly of coffee and the strawberry pastry heâd licked at, earlier. His hand, the one that had been grasping at your blanket, found your waist; his fingers digging into the fabric of your t-shirt, pulling you closer and eliminating any and all remaining space between you.
His other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his long fingers tangling in your hair, holding you to him with some sense and level of need that even Donnie couldnât comprehend. And, oh, how he loved thisâ the rational, scientific part of his brain, that stupid part that had him second-guessing himself this entire time, had finally, blissfully, gone silent. There was nothing.
That nothingness was pure instinct, pure need. Raw and straight necessity. The air in the room grew thick and heavy, and holy shit, you could feel your heart hammering beneath your ribs. You could hear it. You swore you heard him mumble something like a âcome here,â under his breath.Â
You shifted on the couch, swinging a leg over his to straddle his lap, never breaking the kiss. The new angle allowed you to press against him more fully, to feel the solid weight of his body beneath yours. Donnieâs larger hands found their way under your shirt; well, his.
âNice shirt. Iâve been looking for that one,â he chuckled, hands teasing with the hem of it.Â
âOh, shoot! Itâs yours? I just figured it was a family memberâs, it was in my closetâŠâ you murmured, looking down at it. Well, that made sense; the way it engulfed you like a tiny fish in the sea.Â
"Mustâve left it here a few weeks ago," he breathed, his eyes darkening as he traced the hem of the shirt with his fingers. "Forgot about it."
âIâll give it to you before you head out, then.âÂ
âMm, no. It smells like you now. You keep it.â He tugged you closer, his hands sliding further up under the fabric you'd unknowingly claimed. His skin was cool against yours, and you shivered as his thumbs brushed against your ribs. âWearing my shirt,â he murmured, nuzzling against your neck. âDidn't even realize.â
He was peppering you in soft, open-mouthed kisses now. Your jaw, your collarbone, your shoulderâany place he could reach. Donnie was worshipping you, like he'd been starved for this very thing for years. You arched into him, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear. This had to have been the best day you've had in your life.
"Donnie," you breathed, tangling your fingers in the fabric of his purple mask where it had shifted. "Higher."
He obeyed without hesitation, his lips trailing up your jawline until they met the corner of your mouth. You turned your head, capturing his lips fully again. The kiss deepened, growing more desperate as months of unspoken longing finally found release. His tongue slid against yours, exploring, claiming, tasting.
Your hands roamed across his shoulders, tracing the sharp angles of his carapace through his gear. You wanted moreâneeded more. You caught his wrist, guiding his hand from your waist to the curves leading up to your chest. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then his fingers curled around your side; thumb brushing over the line of skin that was covered by the thin fabric of yourâ no, hisâ shirt.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through your body. "Like this?" he murmured against your mouth.
"Exactly like that," you gasped as he repeated the motion, more confident this time. Your hips rolled against his instinctively, drawing a sharp intake of air from him.
Donnie's other hand slid down your back, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulled you flush against him. You could feel him stirring beneath you, thick and hard against your core. The realization sent a jolt of electricity straight through you.
Your own hands were not idle. One remained grasping his shoulder, while the other slipped between your bodies, slowly tracing his thigh around his cargo pants. He bucked into the feeling with a choked sound, his weight adjusting beneath you.
"Is this okay?" you whispered, your voice husky with desire.
He answered by covering your hand with his own, pressing it more firmly against him. "More than okay," he managed. "Don't stop."
And continued, you had. Complying with his request; a soft, content smile crossed your face. You fumbled with the gear that surrounded his thigh area, fingers trembling with anticipation. Why did he have these holster straps so tight, good lord?
Your hands worked at the fastenings of his gear, each buckle and strap a small barrier between you and what you truly wanted. Donnie watched your efforts, his breathing growing more ragged with each second.
"Here, let me help" he chuckled, his larger hands easily finding the releases you struggled with. With quick, repetitive movements, he unbuckled the leg holsters, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud.
Now there was only the barrier of his cargo pants between your touch and his skin. You felt the area around his thigh again, teasing, moreover. He made a strangled sound, fingers tightening on your hips.
"Okay, that's enough."
His hands slid down to grip your thighs, suddenly lifting you absolutely effortlessly as he stood. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively as he carried you across the living room, never breaking the kiss. Your back met the wall with a soft thud; his body pressing flush against yours, pinning you there.
âOh, come on. I was having funâŠâ Your fingers, which had been playfully trying to mess with the intricate shoulder gear on his skin, were suddenly intercepted. He took your hand in his, his grip gentle as ever, smoothly pulling it away from the straps that tightened on his green skin. Instead of letting go, he guided your arm, placing it back around the nape of his neck where you were previously holding on to when heâd swooped you up.
âEager, arenât we?â He murmured, smiling and eventually shutting himself up by smashing his mouth up against yours, once more.
His hands held you firmly by the thighs, his thumbs stroking circles on your skin that sent shivers up your spine. The position gave him a new angle to explore your mouth with his tongue, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss until you were breathless and dizzy. The wall behind you provided solid leverage as he continued to kiss and push against you-- the feeling alone was enough to release some heavy heaving through your lungs. Donnie swallowed your sounds, his own low groan vibrating through your chest.
Your fingers tangled in his purple mask, tugging him impossibly closer as his teeth nipped at your lower lip. The sensation sent sparks shooting straight through your entire body, your legs tightening around his waist involuntarily. He responded by pressing you more firmly against the wall, his hands sliding higher to grip the curve of your waist and thighs, kneading the soft flesh through his shirt that you wore.
"God, Donnie," you breathed between kisses, your head falling back against the wall as his mouth traveled along your jawline. His lips found that sensitive spot below your ear, making you shudder.
"Do you know how long Iâve wanted this?" he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough with desire. "Thought about this?"
Your response was lost as his mouth claimed yours again, hungrier this time, more demanding. One of his hands moved from your thigh to tilt your head for him; he wanted your neck open and clear, nothing in the way so he could make a mess of your (temporarily) clean skin. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping you.
And, of course.
Just as things were heating up, a familiar buzz cut through the haze that was your current makeout. Donnie's phone, still in his cargo pocket, vibrated insistently against your hip.
âIgnore it," he mumbled, not breaking the kiss.
The buzzing stopped, only to start again moments later, more persistent this time. Followed by another. And another. And another.Â
"Jesus," Donnie sighed, pulling back slightly. "What the fuck does he want?" It was Leoâs texting notification; he was spamming Donnie with something apparently imperative.
With one hand still supporting you, he fumbled for his phone, finally managing to retrieve it from his pocket. The screen lit up his face, revealing multiple missed calls and a string of increasingly frantic texts.
"Oh, shit," he muttered, reading them. "Heâs been trying to reach me for the past hour. Dad wants me home. Like, now. That asshole better not have told him I got drunk," Donnie groanedâ pissed.
You unwrapped your legs from around his waist, your feet touching the floor as he carefully set you down.
"Everything okay?" you asked, smoothing down the shirt that had ridden up during your encounter.
Donnie's eyes scanned the messages, a frown forming on his face. "No, no, itâs okayâ nothing bad. Dad just heard about last night and is getting antsy that he hasnât heard from me. Heâs not very⊠appreciative of us coming home in daylight, eitherâŠâ He rambled off. âMikey told Leo to cover for me. How many times have I told him not to do that? Leo canât lie for shit, heâs too honest for his own good when it comes to Dadââ He looked up at you, disappointment evident in his expression. "I'm so sorry, (y/n). I have to go."
You nodded, understanding of his circumstances. "It's okay. Family first. Always."
"I'll make this up to you," he promised, leaning in to press one last lingering kiss to your lips. He leaned his forehead against yours.
"Iâm sorry it took me getting absolutely hammered to do all that," he mumbled into your hair, a genuine, finally sober, apology.
You just chuckled, resting your hand against the thick shell on his back. "Iâm glad you got hammered, then. Happy New Year, Dee."
"Happy New Year, (y/n)," he whispered. A slight pauseâ him thinking. Cogwheels, turning in his brain; you observed him doing this quite often, when he didnât know you were watching.
 "Uhh, tonight? I'll come back tonight. Can I come back tonight?"
"Of course. I'll be waiting," you smiled, touching his cheek. You guided him towards the door, despite him having entered and exited your house countless times. Turned around to grab his things, there was a strange sense that felt familiar; an absence. You hummed.
âDonnie?" Nothing.
You leaned against the doorframe, listening to the distant sounds of the city. He was trained. Silent. You didnât hear the clang of him jumping from building to building as he left your fire escape.Â
The apartment felt impossibly empty now.Â
You walked over to the kitchen, poured yourself another cup of coffee, and sat down at the small table by the window. The day stretched ahead, long and empty without him.Â
But heâd be back. Even if it really was sooner, rather than later.
You glanced at every piece of gear heâd seemingly forgotten on the ground.Â
And heâs supposed to be the genius, you chuckled. Dork.
â°ââź
hope u enjoy :) scenes were a little rushed through, but i've had this prompt in my head for monthsss and was anxious to get this out. i'll get back to asks soon!
Being a fanfic author is about basing your entire premise around a single plot bunny and then having to bullshit your way through the rest of the story.
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Hello! I was wandering if youâd write part two to âThe one where she admits itâ I hope Iâm not bothering you I was just curious. Have a nice day!
Youâre absolutely not bothering me, babes! I did try to write it, but I admit that I donât know where to go with it. Nevertheless if you have an idea of what direction youâd like it to go, Iâm all ears and I will gladly take your suggestions đ€
I just want to say that I love your writing so much. The dialogues are always so good and in character and I love the way you set the scene and describe everything, it really makes me feel like Iâm living the moment with Rocket. I think you exploit his personality very well and always seem to bring out the best in him. He really is my comfort character. The way you write the reader makes me feel so feminine and beautiful and like a badass, and it really makes me feel so confident in myself.
I can tell you based the readerâs character off of yourself because of how authentic it feels, and I feel like I know you and like youâre almost a friend to me. I never ever comment or reblog or anything Iâm more like a a ghost hehe but I had to tell you these things because you seem to be such a sweet person from how you write yourself in the fics and how you reply to the comments.
You are a gift to this community and I hope you will never stop writing. I always look forward to seeing you pop on my feed and every single fic you write brings me joy. I wish we could be friends and we could share ideas.
I send you lots of love from America đ
Oh my god, I canât even begin to describe how this made me feel and I donât have the words to say how much this means to me. I am so grateful for your kind words & your support đ€ actually made me a little emotional.
I do try to write him as best as I can, and get inspiration from both the MCU and the comics (because theyâre different versions of Rocket, but theyâre both really fun to write). The most important thing to me when I write my fics, is that you get as much comfort as I do from them, and Iâm glad thatâs the case for you & that youâre finding joy in my writings. And wow, I canât believe I hold the power to make people feel that way. You have no idea how happy I am to know that reading me, makes you feel more like yourself. Iâm sure you are a gorgeous, smart, kindhearted, absolute bad bitch of a person âš
I do base the reader on myself and how I act/talk, because yes, I do want it to feel authentic & real. And yes, I guess you all do know me a little bit through my fics, I had never thought about it that way! Thank you again for telling me all this, it really has changed something in me.
Iâm very glad to be a part of this community & for having such loving ad kind people following me and appreciating what I do. I will never thank you enough for these words & I would love us to be friends and discuss ideas, so feel free to pm me!
groot leaving the pot was a very big day on the milano. they hastily put together a big party to celebrate, and everyone had their attention on groot for a while-especially rocket.
quill and rocket argue over small stuff all the time because they are Both so stubborn. both of them have be right even if itâs something totally subjective.
mantis scrapbooks, and taught nebula how to do crafts. now nebula is obsessed with making little bracelets but doesnât give them away because sheâs scared of being judged.
it took drax the longest to understand groot. the first thing he understood groot say was groot asking for a zargnut. (post celebration drax gave him half of one)
rocket built his own pair of headphones to listen to music while quill was sleeping and he was up building stuff.
rocket is a major insomniac, when he does sleep he has night terrors. (this was remedied post vol 3)
quill taught groot how to dance when he was a sapling.
gamora and drax are sparring buddies, they spar as much as possible to train. gamora wins most of the time.
all of the guardians have some level of ptsd. like theyâve been through so much they are all traumatized.
rocket, autistic. quill, autistic. nebula, also autistic.
quill loses shit all the time, so rocket makes installs trackers to put on all of his stuff.
rocket and tony had a joke rivalry when he was on earth, where tony and rocket constantly tried to see who could make the better tech.
gamoras fav genre is metal, drax prefers R&B, rocket loves dad rock (as said here by me) but listens to a lot of other stuff, groot listens to jazz, because thatâs what he grew up listening to, and quill genuinely listens to anything and everything
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âya know, thereâs a much faster way to do this with wayyy more dangerous stuff.â a raised eyebrow. ââcourse thereâs also a much faster way to do this with way less dangerous stuff, but whereâs the fun in that?â
Notes: Iâm very happy to be back at writing and you have no idea of how much stuff I have lined up to post! Iâm making some changes on how I post and how I write. I feel like I need to get out of my comfort zone and write more dialogue and less âinner thoughtsâ, though Iâll try to keep it balanced. Thank you all for your kind messages and as usual, a special thank you to my girly @tina-isleeping for always being there đ€ donât hesitate to leave a comment & give me all your criticism and suggestions!
Love you all x
.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.
My hands were still shaking as I marched toward the engine room. Part anger, part something I didnât even want to think about. I just hated how much he got under my skin, how easy it was for him to make me lose my cool and make me absolutely livid in only a second. He had done it again. Rocket always had to go rogue, always had to show off and prove himself better than the others, always had to ignore the plan and pull some insane stunt that, as if to make it even more infuriating, somehow always worked. And now that we had gotten back to the ship, everyone was acting like it was fine and like everything had just gone perfectly. No one seemed to bother to mention the fact that he could have gotten himself killed and, very clearly, it wasnât bothering him either. So there I was, angrily marching toward the engine room, preparing a whole speech in my head and muttering it to myself. Not that heâd ever take me seriously, but he was about to hear exactly how I felt. Whether he liked it or not.
âOh, so this is what youâre doing? Sitting here like nothing happened?â I stomped into the room with my arms crossed tightly over my chest to find him fixing some bits.
âWhatâre you yappinâ about now?â he didnât even bother to look up at me, which did nothing but throw gasoline into an already burning dumpster.
âOh, nothing. Just maybe the part where you decided to, oh, I donât know, completely ignore the plan and blow up the engine room of an entire space station without telling anyone?â I yelled as I sharply leaned towards him, my finger hovering just inches from his face, trembling with barely contained frustration âAnd wipe that stupid smirk off your face, Rocket! This isnât funny!â
âHey, it worked, didnât it?â he looked up at me as he removed his goggles, revealing traces of powder and dust streaked across his fur, tracing the curve of his cheek and the bridge of his nose, a messy reminder of the reckless stunt he had just pulled. He flashed a cocky grin âYouâre still standinâ here, screaminâ at me, ainât ya? I mustâve done something rightâ
âI canât stand you!â I dropped my arms limply to my sides, letting my head fall back in an exaggerated sigh of defeat âYouâre so-â I groaned, not knowing what to say next âRight, you know what? The others might be scared of saying what they really think, but Iâm not. So you wanna know what I think of you?â
âNot particularly, but I donât think Iâve got a choice hereâ he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, one foot propped up behind him like he couldnât care any less.
âSee? This is the problem! I hate that youâre always so smug, I hate that you donât listen, and I hate that scratchy, annoying voice of yours that always sounds like youâre halfway to laughing at meâ I started pacing around the room with exaggerated steps and sharp turns, the heels on my boots clicking against the metal floor and echoing with each stomp.
âThis is very productive, please continueâ one of his hands scratched idly at a smudge of powder on his cheek, boredom clear on his face. I spun on my heel, whipping my hair over my shoulder as I pivoted to face him again.
âYouâre so full yourself! You always think youâre the smartest person in the room, which you are, because youâre incredibly bright and it makes it all even more annoying! And your jokes? Well, guess what? Theyâre stupid! But then sometimes youâll randomly say something funny, and I hate that you make me laugh so oftenâ I threw my head back with a groan, dragging my hands down my face as though I were physically pained by what I had just said âAnd youâre so loud and so rude, and I hate how your stupid fur is so⊠fluffy and shiny and-â
âYouâve been checking me out, huh?â he shifted his weight, leaning cockily to one side with a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. My hands didnât know what to do as the heat began to spread from my cheeks down to my neck. First they clenched into fists at my sides, then flailed around, gesturing wildly, as if the air itself could have carried my embarrassment away. I ignored him.
âAnd I hate your dumb little hands that somehow still manage to fix everything and make me feel useless and canât help but admire it. And your ears? I mean, why do they twitch like that all the time? Itâs distracting and itâs annoying! And donât even get me started on how you scrunch up your nose when youâre annoyed, thatâs gotta be the dumbest thing you do! And those stupid big brown eyes of yours! Ugh- I mean, who even has eyes that expressive? That pretty? I hate them and I hate how youâre looking at me right nowâ I pointed another accusatory finger at him, nearly jabbing him, my whole body leaning into the motion for emphasis. But instead of backing up, he leaned forward just enough to meet me halfway, smirking all the while.
âGot anything else?â
âOh, Iâm just getting started!â as I raised my voice, I noticed how his ears twitched slightly, but he didnât react beyond an exaggerated yawn âI hate how youâre always acting tough, but then you go and do something sweet like fixing my stupid little pink blaster that you hate so much even though I didnât ask you to, because like, what am I supposed to do with that? And I hate when you check on me and when you walk by me so close that your fur tickles my skin, and I hate that youâre constantly in my head because the mere thought of you is insufferable, and-â
âAnd?â he raised an eyebrow, his tail flicking lazily behind him, as though he was daring me to keep going.
âAnd youâreâŠâ I exhaled loudly âYouâre brave. And youâre caring, even though you act like you arenât. And youâre clever, and youâre good at literally everything, which is just so irritatingâ I glanced at him briefly, panic flickering in my eyes as I slowly realised what I had said. Before I whirled away to carry on with my furious pacing, I noticed how he had tilted his head, eyes narrowing with a mischievous glint.
âYou sure this is a hate list? Sounds like somethinâ elseâ his smirk widened into something almost teasing, his sharp teeth just barely showing as he leaned forward again. His claws tapped lightly against his belt, and although it seemed casual, it was brimming with arrogance and amusement. I straightened my back and lifted my chin, trying to act like l was far too dignified to let him get to me.
âAnd when you smile itâs like, I donât know, the stars are jealous or somethingâ my gaze darted to him briefly, then to the ceiling, then to the floor, literally anywhere but his eyes, as I pretended not to see the smug grin that had spread through his face âAnd above all, I hate that I donât actually hate you at allâ
âOh, ya donât?â despite the sarcasm in his voice, his ears twitched forward and locked on me like he was hanging on every flustered word coming out of my mouth.
âNo, I donât hate you. In fact, I like you. I like your stupid fur and your dumb ears and your infuriating smirk and how literally every single thing about you drives me absolutely wildâ the corner of his mouth twitched once, deliberately, as if he was trying to hold back a grin but didnât really want to. His posture exuding that smug satisfaction he wore so well âDonât do that, Rocket! Donât act like you knew!â
âOh, I totally knew. But I gotta admit, itâs nice hearinâ you say it out loudâ as he spoke, his smirk softened into something quieter, the sharpness fading until it became a soft, subtle curve. And if I hadnât been so angry at him, I might have seen the affection beneath the teasing.
âYouâre unbearableâ with a quick, fluid motion, he hopped onto a nearby crate, his claws scraping faintly against the surface as he steadied himself.
âAnd yet,â he drawled, his voice dripping with smug amusement âYou canât stay awayâ my eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden shift in our dynamic. Having him so close was beyond disturbing, and the unexpected eye contact threw me off balance and made my breath hitch in my throat.
âSomeoneâs gotta keep you in lineâ I replied in the most nonchalant way that I could, before stepping closer and planting a hand on my hip. His nose twitched in response, and he let out the faintest hum of mock consideration, dragging out the silence before delivering the line.
âGood luck with thatâ he chuckled as he took a step towards me âAnd for what itâs worth, I like you too, always have. And I gotta say, I like it when you go on these little rants about me, makes me feel specialâ despite the terrible wink he gave me that almost made me cave in, I noticed how his claws drummed lightly against his arm, and how the uneven rhythm betrayed a hint of nervousness he would never admit to âSo⊠now that weâve got the whole you like me, I like you thing out of the way, whatâre you gonna do about it?â his gaze was steady and unrelenting, and the question hung in the air with an edge of teasing that didnât quite mask the sincerity underneath. How could I ever hate him?
âWhat Iâm gonna do is forget we ever said anythingâ I rolled my eyes, trying to deflect his question, but I couldnât deny the faint flush on my cheeks.
âYeah? Too bad you ainât that convincingâ his claws came up to scratch at his jaw, feigning distraction, but his gleaming eyes gave away just how much he was enjoying himself.
âOh, Iâm plenty convincingâ my finger jabbed towards him, stopping only when it reached his chest as I leaned in, eyes blazing with determination, and closing the already small gap between us.
âThen why are you standing so close, doll?â his voice dropped to a smooth, husky tone, and a sudden heat flushed through me. It was completely overwhelming and it was making it impossible for me to find something to say and reassert control.
âMaybe Iâm just waiting to see if youâll back off firstâ I finally said. There was a short pause before Rocket let out a low chuckle and took a deliberate step back.
âAinât gonna happenâ his voice sounded calm but unyielding, with a rasp of stubbornness and a flicker of playful challenge. I felt his hand brush my waist, so lightly that it was barely there, it was just enough so I could feel it. I watched him lean in, slowly and deliberately, like he was about to kiss me. Like he wanted to kiss me. My breath got caught in my throat and my heart stumbled for half a second in anticipation, but as I was about to close my eyes, he stopped. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and tried to act as if I wasnât getting hot all over from this. His mouth hovered so close to mine that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips and the heat of his body. Then he gave me his most handsome smirk and he pulled away. Before I could say anything else, he turned around in a smooth and unhurried motion, jumped off the crate he was standing on, and simply started walking away.
âYa know where to find me when youâre readyâ without looking back, he raised a hand in an almost casual wave, a silent, teasing farewell that dared me to follow.
âHas no one ever told you that you donât start something you donât plan on finishing, Rocket?â I yelled after him before lowering my voice. With a smirk, I waited until he was no longer in sight to take a step forward âAnd I always know where to find you, babyâ
it is I, I am back & Iâve got loads of stuff to post! I have a question though, since some of my fics are a bit long, Iâd like to know what youâd prefer:
đŠ
one long fic you can read all once
a two part fic
Voting ended onJan 31, 2025
to be honest, I donât really like two part fics: as a reader because I find it annoying to have to look for it & sometimes I donât even bother to⊠And as a writer, because it rarely ever gets as much attention as the first part and it can get very frustrating.
it is I, I am back & Iâve got loads of stuff to post! I have a question though, since some of my fics are a bit long, Iâd like to know what youâd prefer:
đŠ
one long fic you can read all once
a two part fic
Voting ended onJan 31, 2025
to be honest, I donât really like two part fics: as a reader because I find it annoying to have to look for it & sometimes I donât even bother to⊠And as a writer, because it rarely ever gets as much attention as the first part and it can get very frustrating.
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