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Ghosts, Goblins, and Good-for-Nothings

i was intending to keep my tumblr for requests alone but please enjoy this halloween drabble in the spirit of spooky season! 🎃🖤

Notes: fem reader, 2nd person pov, language, mentions of street harassment

Halloween is on a Monday this year. It’s not great for trick-or-treaters—never is on a school night—but for every other enthused fan of the holiday? This means three days of non-stop festivities.

Saturday in its entirety is booked to the brim with plans for pumpkin carving, hayrides, costume contests and, later in the night, throwing back October 31st-themed shots 'til you puke orange and purple sparkles.

Sunday morning is for recovery and what Leo dubbed Boo-zy Brunch in the group chat. Pumpkin Pancakes, Candy Corn Crêpes, Witch’s Brew (re: coffee), AHH-vocado Ghost, and Devilled Eggs are all on the revamped menu at Pepe’s for the season—and how could you possibly do without a few Bloody Marys? (The words come from Mikey because you can fair just fine without that tomato juice concoction monstrosity. And, come to think of it, you’ll probably be so hungover the mere smell of alcohol will be enough to deter you regardless of the potion it comes mixed in.)

Sunday afternoon is reserved for horror movie marathoning and engorging on the candy meant for some infant-sized ghosts, goblins, and ghouls ringing your doorbell the following evening, which is a dangerous game because they promise tricks without the tempting of treats.

These plans had been months in the making and you couldn’t have been looking forward to it more. Still, this left you with a vacant slot on Friday night. The spot blinked at you on your calendar mockingly, like a neon sign on its last leg. How could you not have plans with anyone else?

In hindsight, you probably should have begun asking around a little earlier than the day of. You love the Mad Dogs—obviously—but two back-to-back days are probably about all the celebrations you can manage.

You send out a few texts after class and plan to try some more on your commute home.

Nothing of the sort transpires.

You end up walking through your front door sort of dazed and out of it, lost somewhere inside yourself.

You’re not sure how much time passes where you sit motionless on your couch, feeling just as trapped as you did on the subway fifteen minutes ago. Eventually, you get up to change clothes. You fish out your favourite seasonal crewneck from a bottom drawer. It’s soft and comforting and it has the words Halloweentown University plastered across it with an outline of the famed pumpkin at the centre. It’s your best attempt at saving face, if only for yourself.

You peel out of stiff jeans next and replace them with plaid sleep shorts. It’s not the most cohesive outfit—especially not with a full face of makeup and all your jewelry still on from the day—but it makes you feel better than you did before so you leave it on.

Your feet shuffle slowly, numbly, one foot in front of the other until you reach your living room couch again and smooth your fingers over your phone screen absently. It’s already dark out with only one sliver of teal haloing the horizon. You mull over sending out another text.

If you’re being honest with yourself, there’s only one person you really want to see. It’s becoming more and more of a regular occurrence and you try not to beat yourself up over it too much. He’s good at making people laugh and you like to laugh.

The odds of him being free this short notice are slim but you shoot him a message anyway and stare off into space until his response comes.

Miraculously, he thinks an early movie marathon at your place is an awesome idea and asks if you’ve already eaten. You lie and he tells you great, he’ll just bring snacks then.

Somehow, that little text bubble makes it easier to breathe (and think and move) and you get up to toss a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You wonder if he’ll beat the timer.

Leo, never one to lose a challenge, indeed proves successful. His circle of cerulean light appears just six seconds before your microwave bellows at you.

You're pouring the bag out into a large bowl as you greet him in the most uplifting manner you can muster. You fall into light, engaged conversation—mostly about the snacks he opted to bring—and, before long, the two of you end up buried alive in wrappers, Cheeto dust, and popcorn kernels.

You try to keep concentration on the TV screen, you do. Leo's laughing and making comments that you would find downright hysterical—possibly some of his best material yet—if you had it in you to listen, but your mind continues to derail, veer off course, sink into terribly murky waters below.

You’re drowning by the time he pulls you up to surface.

The screen is paused and you have to focus on it for a few seconds to remember you’re supposed to be enthralled in the campy 80s thriller he picked out. Leo’s eyes are trailed on you, like he’s gathering all the info he can just by sizing you up.

“Sorry, what?” you have to ask.

Leo’s brows knit further. “I asked what was wrong. You seem… I dunno, distracted.”

He’s right. You hadn’t even noticed him grab the remote to pause the film, forget trying to recount any of the plot.

He’s been observing you for the last little while—the way you seem so far away.

Hollow stares don’t suit you.

You shrink a little. “No. Sorry. I’m good. Just, uh… It was a long day, you know?”

He throws an arm around the back of the couch and angles his body more openly toward you. A silent invite.

You sit there in the dark for a long moment. The silver glow reflecting off the colour of his skin makes for something supernaturally beautiful but this observation is merely a form of stalling.

A small, defeated breath wilts your posture. “Some guy kept taking pictures of me on the subway today and, honestly, I’ve just been kind of mentally fucked by it. It’s so stupid but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“He did what?”

You have to fixate your gaze on one of the empty bowls on your coffee table to keep your face from twisting, but the tears are already forming and they don’t yield for anyone.

April is tougher and more resilient than you—you know this—but you kind of take pride in coming in a close second. You’re loud about injustice and rant and rave about pet peeves all the time. Mostly for comedic purposes, sure, but you like to think you’ve got a backbone built from the same stuff as hers. A similar brand of gall that has the two of you teaming up to fight… whatever it is that needs to be fought, really. Suddenly, you wonder, not without a payload of shame, if maybe April’s been doing most of the heavy lifting this whole time.

“I should’ve put my hand around his neck and told him to delete them but I just sat there like an idiot until it was time for me to get off."

You can feel the mascara and eyeliner getting into your eyes and it makes all of this a lot more uncomfortable. Though, still not quite as uncomfortable as you felt today so you decide this is fine.

Your fingers reach high to tug at the elastic holding your half-up bun in place, if only to give yourself something to do.

You don’t get to fuss a ton before Leo’s wrapping you up in a hug. “Don’t call yourself that."

You blink slowly and heave a shattered sigh into his shoulder.

“That’s messed up,” he continues. “And if you can paint me a portrait, I’ll hunt that creepo down and kick his ass.”

“I wish I’d done something,” you mumble.

He pulls back and doesn’t say anything for a long moment, sort of like he’s weighing the words in his mind. “That’s not... your responsibility. You don’t have to manage the shitty things people do to you.”

You're not anticipating that out of him but, weirdly, it's what you need to hear. You nod, unexpectedly entranced by all this.

“Don’t worry about him, okay? Donnie’s insane with this kind of stuff. He’s got facial recognition tech better than the CIA's and he can tap into any electronic device in the state, probably the country. He'll track the phone and wipe it clean in under an hour without even moving from that stupid-comfortable gaming chair he never lets any of us sit in.” His voice goes sort of bitter at the tail end there and it makes you giggle.

Leo smiles at you.

“C’mere.” And then he’s hauling you in close, incentivizing you to lie down with him, willing some of that tension out of your shivering frame. (You hadn't realized you were shaking so badly until his palms came up to rub warmth up and down the length of your arms.)

You stay there for a little while as Leo starts the movie back up. Neither of you is really watching but that’s okay. You feel better knowing justice is afoot, even if that makes you some vindictive low-road traveller.

“I wish I could go everywhere with you. Be your little bodyguard.”

You snicker. “You just want to wear aviators and an earpiece.”

“Come on…!” Leo whines. “I’d look so cool! And you’d get 24/7 personalized security. All I’m seein’ are wins here.”

You hum. “I’m inclined to agree, Nardo.” There’s a space of silence where you have to keep from replaying the incident in your mind per Leo’s request. (He told you not to worry and you intend to follow through on that.) He must sense your labours, though, because he goes on with his scenario.

“Eh, scuze me, Mr. Sleazy Scumbag, sir, no flash photography,” he proclaims, voice getting somehow more nasally than usual. “I know it’s hard to resist capturing such model-like energy but I’ll have to ask you to exercise some self-restraint.”

You put on your best manly impression, voice descending somewhere that is comically deep and husky. “Uh, I’m trying to exercise my personal liberties, here, my dude. It’s my constitutional right—nay, my duty—on this earth to harass women and be a colossal piece of shit.”

“Sir, I won’t ask you again.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, tough guy?”

You’re not sure what kind of response you’re expecting but it is nowhere near one that includes being tackled to the floor and pinned down in an ambush taking the form of hellish tickles. You laugh and squirm, only marginally resentful over how easily this boy manages to lift your spirits.

He shows you mercy quickly enough, declaring, “See, I don’t even have to use violence to take down my opponents. God, I’m good.” And then he’s leaning down, whispering secretively to you: “But I wouldn’t be nearly as friendly with that clown. Trust me.”

“I do,” you tell him, and Leo has to hide the surprised elation that glosses over his face.

You grin and grab for his cheeks with your palms. “You’re so important to me.”

For someone who talks all the time, it's unbelievable that he can’t find the right words to reply. In lieu of anything verbal, a chaste peck finds its way to your forehead. (Well, it’s not like that isn’t a welcome response.)

“I should go wash my face,” you shrug sheepishly from under him. “Bet I look like a raccoon right now.” (You might have to play the lottery if it turns out your undoubtedly smudged makeup has somehow slid itself back into place.)

“Prettiest raccoon I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re sweet.”

Leo pauses the TV once again as he waits for you and the screen goes into sleep mode, transposing stock images of landscapes he’s finding it difficult to trust are real places that exist.

In this lapse, he takes the opportunity to look around. Tiny pumpkin fairy lights are strung up along the cupboards in your kitchen. Next to him, the napkins are patterned with ghosts and bats. Your bowls are colour-coordinated. The one harbouring the Doritos he brought is forest green, sporting the cartoony face of Frankenstein’s monster. There’s another with Dracula and a third violet one that doesn’t at all fit in with the others. There's just some random, unknown witch on it. Leo’s bottom lip juts out disappointedly.

A platter of chocolate-covered pretzels sits off to the side of your small table and Leo helps himself to one. And then another and a few more, until he ends up unveiling the eyeball motif on the ceramic. There are scarecrows on the matching one on the other side of the table, that one brandishing the fluffiest sugar cookies he’s ever tasted.

You’ve got werewolf coasters and pumpkin pillows and, upon further inspection, Leo finds that even your throw blanket is littered with dancing skeletons. He grins. It’s just so like you.

And then, while you’re still in the bathroom, he sends out a few texts.

***

You’re at the lair bright and early on Saturday morning and you come bearing orange-frosted cupcakes and pumpkin-spiced lattes. The turtles and April cheer in unison when they spot your goodies. It doesn't take very long at all before you're learning they’ve got surprises of their own.

The first is impossible to miss; the Hamato home is thoroughly decked out in Halloween memorabilia, including a few extravagant displays that look like they belong in the annual fun fair’s haunted house (an event that was, at the last minute, added to tomorrow’s evening agenda).

“Guys!” you squeal excitedly, taking it all in. “The lair looks incredible!”

You’re, like, fully hopping from one foot to the other, bouncing on the tips of your toes, and Leo could not find it more adorable.

Donnie outs his brother almost immediately. “It was Leo’s idea.”

Mikey’s parading around the kitchen with oven mitts on. “We’re baking pumpkin bread too!”

“Also Leo’s idea!” Donnie interjects, sliding his way over.

“And we managed to swap tickets for the forest hay ride,” April announces buoyantly from her seat, picking at the bowl of kettle corn in the centre of the table. You’d tried for those tickets initially but they’d been completely sold out so you’d had to settle for the farm route instead.

You’re about to ask how they managed to swing that when:

“Leo was on the phone with them for over an hour…” Donnie volunteers.

Raph, who’s sitting on the floor hunched over a pumpkin and getting a head start on carving offers yet another headline of terrific news: “Oh! And we’re VIP tonight. Drinks are free and we get to judge the costume contest.”

Leo’s hand wraps its way over Donnie’s mouth before the boy can so much as inhale. “I think she gets it,” he bites out through gritted teeth.

Even behind Leo’s hand-muzzle, Donnie looks entirely too smug.

Raph and April glance at you, grinning from ear to ear. Judging by this reaction, you’d say your expression has to be somewhere between awed and flabbergasted.

You don’t know what to say.

April helps you out. “Donnie’s being annoying about it but, yeah, Leo really does deserve all the credit for this.”

You watch Leo’s head turn mechanically in her direction, the stiffest grin etched into his face. It takes everything in you not to laugh. It’s strange, though. Leo’s the type to seek credit even where it’s not due so this feels suspiciously out of character.

“Oh, Leonardo…” you singsong jubilantly. “Might I have a word?”

His gaze whips up at you and he nods, shyer than you know him to be.

“Don’t take too long!” Mikey calls, removing the pan from the oven as you branch off to another room. “It’s better when it’s still warm!”

You end up in the projector room near the pile of pumpkins you’re set to carve today. Leo sucks in a pitted breath but you start before he can.

“I don’t even know how to thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”

Leo’s shoulders come up to his jaw and fall back down slowly. “I wanted to make up for what happened. And I know you love Halloween so…”

“That’s insanely thoughtful, Leo. Thank you.”

“Oh, and I made sure Donnie caught the guy. Saw the pictures with my own two eyeballers. They were gorgeous, by the way, as always, but they have been eradicated from that perv's cellular device along with his entire camera roll and every password, contact, song, and app." He gives you a little bow. Theatrics are always in full bloom with him. It makes you smile. "We also may have leaked his bank information online but that's because Donnie's cynical and I have no self-control.”

“How am I supposed to return this kind of favour, huh? I’m gonna be buying you pizza for the rest of my life.”

Leo waves you off before picking up a pumpkin. You do the same, mostly to give yourself something to fidget with.

“You could… uh, go on a date with me instead. Like a… yeah, a date.”

Your head tilts to the side. You’ve always felt there might be something more between the two of you but you weren’t confident either of you would ever act on it. It’s hard to tell if he’s being sincere now.

You venture an answer: “One measly date in exchange for a whole weekend of fun? You’re not making this a very tough decision.”

Leo smirks at you, lip caught by his teeth. “Then say yes.”

“Yes. On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“I get to plan it. You’ve done so much, let me take this one.”

Leo slumps in relief and nods at you, eyes filled with stars. You giggle and tap your pumpkin to his, an extra pep in your step as you start off on a walk back to the others.

The rest of the weekend might just be the greatest of, like, your whole freaking life. It’s impossibly fun and chaotic, and you go home each night with your cheeks hurting from smiling so wide and your throat raw from laughter.

Everything is wonderfully spooky and delightfully festive and, come Monday night, you and Leo spend a rooftop dinner on a decorative picnic blanket mottled with broomsticks and pointy hats. You laugh and chat and cling wine glasses together, watching the sun go down and the streets below fill with costumes. Later, you’ll hand out candy and watch family-friendly classics but, for now, you dither in the wind and kiss underneath the stars.

***

#rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt fanfiction #my writing tag #rise leo x reader

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spaziocomesichiama · 10 days

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30 dicembre 2022

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