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afreakingdork · 4 months

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Weak Spot - Chapter 50

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Do not be afraid! You're alright unlike Don in this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis: A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Waking had been more of a nightmare than you initially imagined. From the crust of dried fluids to the film in your mouth, extracting yourself from bed was a process of scraping the rust off old machinery. The parts needed a firm scrub with a wire brush and until you could garner that facsimile, you were grinding ancient gears. It was a stumbling affair to the bathroom, where you locked yourself in unintentionally.

Priorities askew, you randomly selected what seemed pressing from the pile and brushed your teeth. Going long over to devastate slept in plaque, you then ambled to the shower to sit under a hot stream. Head to the wall as you had seen in some movies, reenactment was the furthest of your thoughts. Your life was a satisfying one with nothing to mourn and your head was mostly empty until you got a hold of a loofa. Clearing the debris brought clarity and by the time you remembered to wash your hair, you could form thoughts for the day.

Thankful it was officially the weekend, there was late breakfast to attend to and then presumably cleaning. There had been a mishap with the souffles which had dried into the floor even if you had eaten the leftovers in a stupor. Shaking off having eaten a long cold egg dessert, your stomach hadn’t seemed to notice and you finished up. Donned in more than one fluffy towel for the sake of leisure, you came out in what you imagined was a puff of steamy smoke to find your partner still asleep.

Dropping the charade, you crept quietly and got dressed in something comfortable before going to inspect the damage. The desserts had splattered a lengthy stripe that reminded you of the sauce Donnie had once smeared on fancy dinner plates. Giving a moment of silence to fallen comrades, you wondered about the dishes until you turned to find an enormous leaking bundle in the kitchen. Remembering how Donnie had flung the candlelit dinner contents, you glowered at the package.

Without a way to move it without waking your partner, you awkwardly worked around it to grab yourself some breakfast. Emergency rations from the freezer, you gnawed on something meant for busy ease and thought over how to clean. The food smears would need minor soaking and the mess of broken dishes was best stuffed out the window if only there were a dumpster underneath.

Not so lucky on the latter’s front, you sprayed the smears of lost souffle before addressing the bundle. Sat in its sad puddle, you picked lightly at the knot Donnie had made. One of a twist like a balloon, you wiggled it a bit until it started to unravel. Thankful for cotton’s resistance to stay tied, you were slow to release the binds. With only the light clicking of broken dishware, you waited and listened to see if that was enough to wake your partner.

Finding little sound and imagining he’d groan upon waking, you were methodical in gathering up the shards. Nothing had survived the onslaught, so you doubled up on bags to trash the pieces. You then disposed of the entire bundle since it had already done your sweeping for you before returning to now softened souffle residue. Wiping it and the kitchen puddle up, you dusted your hands of the matter and went to rest.

Just as you had found a comfortable position on the couch, you heard an annoyed grunt from across the apartment. Rolling your eyes, you decided to let him have a similar morning to you. As you scrolled, Donnie made a variety of exhausted noises as the land of the conscious was thrust upon him. Repulsion came with a near gag at the state of his body and his footsteps were hurried as he disappeared into the bathroom with a similar locked latch as your own.

His shower started sooner than yours and you almost wondered if he’d brush his teeth amongst the stream. Not something you particularly cared to find out, you ended up closing your eyes and getting close to a doze by the time he emerged. Humidity changing and a clean scent announcing his reentry into the bedroom, you languished in his soap’s smell until he padded into view.

On a mission in the kitchen, he downed an entire pitcher of water before his nose tested the air. Presumably picking up on all the cleaning you’d done, he turned an exhausted, but thankful look on you. Enough to get you on your feet, you moved to greet him properly. He opened himself up as an indication that he would receive you and you buried into the faint dampness that clung to his scales.

Nuzzling into his plastron, a vibration echoed above your head and you blinked wide at the feeling.

Donnie gave a single sharp inhale.

It did nothing to stop the roiling hot tub noise.

The jets continued to rumble.

Feeling your partner’s muscles tense, he tried giving a snort to stop the onslaught. One not the trick, he gave several in quick succession that amounted to only a few hiccups amongst an ongoing churr.

You looked up at him curiously and, in doing so, the noise amplified.

In a swift move, he caught your shoulders and pushed until you were at an arm’s length.

The sound stopped.

Watching him, he studied you with a furrowed brow until he began to reel you back in.

As soon as you got into what you considered his personal space, the churr started right back up.

A tittering excitement ran through you and he shoved you back to the safe distance.

“No, no, no…” His pupils wobbled at the forefront of a spiral.

“It’s cute.” You reached up and cuffed the wrist holding you at bay.

As if tapping into the source, you felt the vibration of his churrs increase through the connection.

You giggled.

The completely wrong sound, he vanished.

“Donnie!” You called out after him and slowly tracked his disappearance.

You found him at the foot of the bed, standing with a pin pricked gaze that swam in sclera whites.

“It's okay…” You ushered, trying to break through his bothered exterior.

“I’ve lost control.” He spoke with a weighty horror.

“Slow down, it’s only been a few minutes.” You held back from getting close as you approached. “Are you up to talking about it?”

A fearful flick from him came with an unsteady in and out of breath. “What to say…?”

“Maybe… explain what a churr is exactly? I’m not sure…”

It took a moment for the information to penetrate, but when it did, he moved to look at you. “It’s a…” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “A contented… sound as I label it.”

You tried not to let your surprise show.

You didn’t want him to read it wrong.

It wasn't the meaning.

You could surmise as much.

It was the connotation.

Your mind was unusually faster to connect the dots.

If he knew what the sound was then he’d felt it before.

It went against what you knew of his past and you weren't sure what to make of that.

“There’s a worrying amount of extrapolation. Depends on the species. Depends on the sound. Some are too low a frequency to be heard by humans. Some deny its existence. Others tout fiction.” He grit his teeth and rounded the bed for a little more distance.

Now worried you’d jumped to conclusions, you went to clear up confusion. “Have you made it before or is this from research?”

The question wounded him and he had to sit down.

You ached as you waited at the foot of the bed.

“Yes to both…”

“Donnie, I don’t want to judge, but this reaction seems…” You headed toward the window and tried not to see how he’d react. “… a little dramatic?”

“Repercussions!” A snarl escaped him before he slapped a hand over his mouth.

You twisted a hand into the curtain where you’d caught it out of nerves. “Um…”

“This!” With another snap of his teeth, he leapt backwards out of the bed and crossed the room. “Control! These emotions are connected! A precarious balancing act has been disrupted! A leak of contaminants!”

Leaning into the sheers, you pulled the fabric close as you thought. “How you were still holding back.”

“Yes.” He spat.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.” He clicked angrily before giving a bitter sigh.

Quiet, you pinched some gauze. “What did you do before?”

“When?” He inspected a dresser.

“The last time you churred.” You felt guilty having been envious of an imagined age old Donnie finding minor comfort in a blanket or something of the sort.

“A few days ago?” He retorted with a daggered edge.

You were taken aback.

His features scrunched up with his own bafflement.

You stood in a confused stand off before you both went to dispel it.

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N please, it’s been happening for months.”

“Months?!”

“You’ve noticed!” He refused to take a step, but addressed you with the whole of his irritation.

“Noticed what!? You purring like a cat?! I think I’d remember something like that!”

“You didn’t-a cat?!” He hissed against his point. “You’ve said many an inane thing, but that-!”

“It literally shares the same word ending!”

“Turtles don’t have vocal cords! It’s a completely different sound!”

“I don’t know! You talk!”

“I’m a mutant!!!” He roared, throwing his hands up. “I can’t…” He shriveled around his rage. “I can’t do this…” Dropping with abject terror, he bolted for the partition between the bedroom and living.

“Donnie, wait-!” You made it a few steps before the wrap of the curtain held you back. “Damnit!”

A green hand appeared and helped uncoil you.

“Donnie!” You turned on him, but he stumbled away before falling over.

“Stop!” He held his hands up as if you were attacking him.

“It’s okay…” You dropped down to your knees and methodically placed your hand to the ground in a non-threatening way. “It’s okay. I'm not chasing. I'm not going to do anything. I just…”

His eyes flew around your figure and he had one fist raised nervously to his chest.

“You can go. If that’s what you need to do, that’s fine.”

“But…?!” He flared at your silence.

“That’s it.”

“That can’t be it! This is the part where… where…” His mind stumbled over his thoughts and he was left swinging his gaze back and forth as if reading the broken repeating letter on a typewriter.

“I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through. Even with everything I’ve seen; I don’t know anything. Nothing at all. I don’t know what you mean by months. I don’t. I wasn’t trying to stop you. I just.. Didn't want you to leave like that. Not running away. I wanted you to know that I’m here for when you're ready and it's okay if you need time.”

“You’re…” He hinged and threw his palms up to press into his eyes. Grunting, he smacked his head a ruthless few times and you helplessly reached you. You couldn't stop the strikes and he slowed only to give a heaved breath. “I need to move.”

“Go. It’s okay. I promise.”

“I’m coming back.”

“I know.”

“Y/N.” He inched back a bit before righting himself.

“Yes?”

“I’m coming back.”

“Donnie, I know. I’m not worried.”

Raised to his knees, he stared and you gave him an encouraging nod.

He took it as strength which he transferred to his legs. Standing a little off balance, he stumbled one step before you watched his legs tensed to leave. Lowering your gaze in case that was keeping him in place, you moved to stand yourself. Coming up found a green foot and a prosthetic still standing across from you and you kept your eyes glued to the floor as you retreated further into the bedroom.

You made it one step before he was around you in a bracing hug from behind.

Only touching a hand to his forearms in return, you felt him give over to a full body churr.

He let it linger until he had to growl himself out of it and in a whoosh of air he was gone.

Waiting a few stale minutes just in case he changed his mind, you trailed to the kitchen to shut the window he’d run from. Leaving it unlocked, you surveyed the kitchen and how it was still clean. He hadn’t gotten to eat and you hoped he’d grab something while out. Knowing that unlikely due to him having disappeared in sweatpants, you sighed and trailed the empty apartment.

Feeling the yearn of movement yourself, there wasn’t anything to do. Having already cleaned and you listlessly walked the apartment without an outlet. Hopeless with a lack thereof, you ended up sitting on your side of the bed. Across from you stood the dresser that Donnie momentarily ran to and you watched a phantom memory of him flinch away from his own anger.

He’d compared his emotions to a leaking package. It didn’t sit right with you, but it felt like a moot point. You thought otherwise. You thought he was making progress. He’d seemed like he was on a steady incline to happiness. Each day he opened up for what you considered his true purpose.

He’d also mentioned otherwise more than once.

He considered you the anomaly and this trend of happiness to not be the true him.

You could have sworn the opposite was revealed, but right now you weren’t sure. You almost felt a form of shock. His set back had occurred without warning. You knew progress wasn’t linear. You knew that there was no inevitability to healing. You knew that each day was simply to be taken in whatever form it could, but that was all knowledge and not done in practice.

When the time came, you’d belittled his meltdown.

Head sinking, the moment of you calling his feelings silly replayed like a haunt.

You deserved the torment of it and swore to yourself that’d be your first apology.

Had you even tried to get through to him?

He’d lashed out, but he’d also be undeniably scared.

You’d registered those emotions and then swiftly undermined them.

Swirling in that distress, you got to your feet.

You needed something in your hands.

Something tangible to manipulate.

You opened a dresser drawer.

In it, you’d never actually put everything back to the way it had been prior to Donnie mixing it up. The system didn't really matter, but for the sake of it, you moved to reorganize. It meant methodically emptying each cabinet and repiecing the collection, but it was better than sitting around berating yourself.

In the grand scheme, it was another known fact that was easy to say and harder to exercise.

Things got messy.

You both were bound to make mistakes.

Neither of you were perfect.

Your underwear had been split between three drawers as of current and you filed them into a tidy row to all go into one.

What mattered was how you handled it.

Things could get heated, but it was how you moved forward that mattered.

As Mikey had said, you could only try to be better.

Scooping up a heavy load of winter clothes that should have been more readily accessible considering the month, you set down the stack only to graze something square. Any oddity in what should have only been cloth, you dismantled the stack to find a rectangular bulge folded up in a holiday sweater. Something ugly once purchased for a party, you unfurled the garment to find a pristine looking white apparel box.

Something you imagined was for fancy dress shirts, you slid your fingers along the edge to find it wasn’t taped shut. Deciding it wasn’t a gift and since it was amongst your clothes, you lifted the lid to find finely folded tissue paper. Another marker of a high price tag, you took care in peeling back the billowy edges. Undressing the wrapping in what felt like a literal sense, you revealed a large swatch of what looked like purple satin. Running a finger over the item found it to be much smoother than you anticipated.

Digit halting, it almost seemed like it was silk and your hand lifted at the possibility. Not knowing how to check, you looked the box over to find it offered no indication of its contents. That meant you’d have to pick whatever this was up and the thought that you could be intruding on something else of Donnie’s reared your head. His gifts weren’t ever something you’d stumbled upon before and it seemed unlike him to have hidden a gift amongst your possessions, let alone ones you would need considering the weather.

Caught though you were vaguely aware you were talking yourself into it, you ghosted over the fabric until you found the top edge. Something that felt like a hem, you pinched at it and finally lifted the object to find out what it was. Having revealed a row of clasps, you turned the garment around to find a sort of skimpy corset. Not traditional of anything you’d seen before, it was the shape of it that caused your head to jar.

With a faint curve to its top edge, it was clear this wasn’t meant to accentuate the chest. It would probably skim across your collar and seemed more for creating a sharp waistline. As it went down, it curved further inward until it tapered into two half moons before finishing up with a squared bottom. The whole created a nearly identical shape to Donnie’s plastron.

Much shorter and something that would absolutely not even reach your mons, you held the garment further away as a blush took your face. It was such an oddly specific creation that it seemed made for you. Eyes flicking down to the box, you saw more traditional lingerie of silk and accompanying lace. An entire set, you traded to the corset for lacy strips and found them to be crotchless underwear. Layer after embarrassing layer, you then found nylon which you identified as thigh highs hooked to what had to be a garter belt. Reaching the end of the ensemble, you revealed a folded slip of paper.

Nabbing it with an anxious ferocity, you flipped the card open.

Might as well lean into the interspecies freak -Coral

Slamming the lid back on the box, a memory sucker punched you.

Two housewarming presents. You gotta find ‘em but when you do you’ll know.

You’d completely forgotten.

You'd found the astronaut, but forgot there was another.

Dropping to squat on the floor, you were torn between rage and mortification.

It had been months.

Did Coral even remember?

Knowing her, she surely did.

You probably hadn't put it together as she hoped, but you’d also found it at the worst possible time.

Rising up in a flurry that stung your knees, you made quick work of burying the set back into its box. Clear and hopefully having not messed it up, you messily folded it back into the ugly sweater before shoving it back into its stack. Toppling all the folded clothes in the process, you groaned loudly as you were forced to slow down. Humiliation setting in, you took your time in the second go around and properly snuck the gift where it had once been. From the outside its placement was unrecognizable and you wondered if Donnie had found it in his clothing shuffle.

Remembering your boyfriend, you stopped short of the wardrobe laid out on your bed.

Was it okay to forget that you wronged him?

Stewing didn’t feel good, but moving on from the subject entirely didn’t feel like the correct route either.

Keeping him in mind like a screensaver, you returned to your original task. With everything laid out, it took less time to put it back where it belonged. The physicality of the space in order, it did little for your mental state. Not something you expected to have been fixed by this anyway, there was a faint sense of accomplishment that you allowed yourself.

Carrying it along, you moved to the living room and threw something familiar on the TV. Animated for your comfort, you watched it for a tepid relief and found it a sort of balm. For turning the unnecessary off, it helped. By the time the credits rolled, you felt little pangs of hunger and remembered you’d eaten the definition of a breakfast on the go. Not balanced and of a low calorie count, you approached a cabinet with the intent to prepare something.

Thinking Donnie could have some when he got back, you pulled out a slow cooker as nothing seemed pressing. Readying ingredients in a lull of silence, you listened to how the knife sliced. A different sound and sensation for whatever ingredient, you threw things into the pot and then added various liquid and spices. Already smelling like a meal, you turned the dial on, placed a lid overtop, and left it to properly simmer. Approaching the late afternoon light streaming through the window, you cracked it and had a final thought that maybe the smell would welcome him back.

Scrolling turned into an impromptu nap and you awoke to the faintest creak of a jamb. Blinking in registration that someone had entered your apartment, you found Donnie’s back to you as he slid the window closed. Framed by darkness, he lingered there and you let the scents of the crock pot wash over you. Sitting up, you rubbed an eye and wondered if you should welcome him back.

He turned and his movement hitched as he saw you.

You rose your hand in a sort of wave.

His gaze dropped along with your heart.

Did he hold it against you?

Stopping the trickle of nerves in your chest, you threw your legs off the side of the couch.

“Smells good.” Donnie spoke, soft and unsure.

“Wanted something easy.” You shrugged, not sure whether to commit.

You heard him give a little hum of agreement.

Did you let it be?

He’d needed time.

He wasn’t ready.

“Donnie-”

“Y/N-”

You both stared openly at one another before smiles grew on your faces. The commonality of you both breaking the ice at the same time had you moving and he went to meet you. Stopping short to prevent the dreaded churr, you gave him an obvious once over. Not necessarily dirty, he had a winter’s musk to him that said he’d been outside a majority of the day.

“Are you cold?” You asked first.

“I’d like to shower.” He seemed almost bashful. “I may have reconstructed a small city's worth of air conditioning units… “

You couldn't help but smile at the image. “Go ahead. Want me to get a bowl ready for you?”

“Please.” He gave a nod that was nearly a bow and excused himself.

Thinking your hunger was still faint, you set his bowl aside for closer to when he’d emerge and scooped yourself up some dinner. Eating it right there, standing in the kitchen, you listened to the faint sounds of water hitting his shell. A vision of him exhausted and letting the heat melt into his sore muscles.

Thinking of the labor he'd put himself through, you lounged in a pinup of him in messy coveralls until you heard the sound of water shift. Scooping out a steaming bowl and stirring the potted mixture to prevent further sticking, Donnie emerged in what you considered his comfort outfit. Not for eye candy, but a full body safety blanket of coverage with baggy sweats and a matching hoodie, he’d approached and you held out his bowl to him. He took it, a utensil, and almost seemed to not know what to do next until he decided to plop down on the couch. There he examined his fork, a tine at a time, before he worked on getting a bite with a little bit of everything.

A culmination, your lips parted in a miming as the meal entered his mouth. Closing around it and a subtraction of his utensil, he sat there with a heated mixture surely burning his tongue. He gave a chuff, remembered himself, and finally picked up eating at a ravenous pace. Consuming yours languidly and watching him from the kitchen, he cleaned his plate before getting up with obvious intent. Moving out of the way, he ladled himself another full portion and scarfed it down right in front of you.

“Careful.” You mused, trying to curtail your smile.

He gave a dismissive grunt as he filled his third bowl.

Finishing yours as he was losing steam, you let him be as you left the kitchen. Immediately faced with a choice of the living room or bedroom, you waffled. It was all pleasantries and as much as you disliked it, you wanted to give him the space he needed to process. Your regrets not nearly as important, you decided farthest was best and flittered toward the partition.

“Y/N.” Donnie addressed just as you were about to pass the threshold.

“Yes?” You slowed and gave a half turn.

“Would you-” He swallowed. “-Could we…?”

Making a full rotation, you faced him.

His gaze fell and he looked ashamed. “Were you… going to bed?”

“No.”

He squirmed in place. “Bathroom?”

“No.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Something… else?”

“Do you want me to?”

“To?” He shyly met your gaze.

“Be busy. You don’t have to force yourself.”

“That’s not…” He tapered off with a whiny noise in his throat.

“What do you need, Don? Please tell me.”

“Talk. We should… talk.” Flinging his head to the top right, a faint annoyance twitched his lips. “I haven’t prepared to but we should.”

“Donnie, you-”

“No.” His eyes closed. “No avoidant behavior. No indulging me further. I’m… a mess. I don’t… want you to see me like this.” He sneered.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” You took a tentative step forward.

“I’m worried about snapping at you, hurting you. My disposition. These… feelings that are still… vicious.” He made a swirling gesture. “I haven't recaptured them.”

“Container, capture, control, it reminds me of something cartoonish.”

He looked at you with tinged distress.

“Not you.” You clarified. “There’s this trope where someone has to rush to clean up a room so they shove everything into the closet. It looks clean, right? But everything is only shoved out of sight.”

Donnie didn’t react, but you could tell he tracked you as you inched forward.

“There’s always this inevitable moment where the closet opens and everything falls out. There was no way it could stay like that. Those things need to be dealt with.”

“They were.”

You perked up at his voice.

“It was fine… I was…” He looked at you, his lips moving to say something, but his expression broke. “It wasn’t, was it?”

You shook your head, feeling a weepiness seize your throat.

“This is a dangerous change. I’ve explained.” He rounded the kitchen counter, but held onto it like a tether. “I’ve shown enough weakness, going out with you. Openly…” He hesitated before worry pinched his gaze. “Laughing, smiling, I’m sure channels have been alerted. You’re at risk. I’m…”

“When will you be allowed to be you?”

“I won’t.” He sighed as if those were the two words he’d been dreading all along. “I never will. I can get as close as I’m allowed, but there will never be true peace.”

“The churring-”

“Well broken. A final straw. You are incredible.” He was in motion towards you.

You wanted to catch him, but flexed your fists.

He looked over them fondly. “You make me…” A smile broke through his discomfort as he encircled one of your hands.

Near immediately, you heard a rumble waft off of him.

He brought your appendage up and pressed it near his larynx where it vibrated against your hand.

“You are my peace. You set me at ease. I can’t help it. Your being satiates mine.” Catching your other hand, he brought it up for a kiss.

“You said months?”

He smiled into your hand and rubbed it against his cheek. “The sound would start and I would cut it off.”

“I never noticed.”

“You’d look at me…” He studied you with a much more even gaze than the last time this was brought up. “There’d be twitches. You’d feel it.”

“I’m sorry, it must have been involuntary. I didn’t actually know…”

Taking your truth, he gave a saddened smile. “I’d been concerned.”

“About me noticing?”

“Its imminent arrival. It was getting harder to offset. You giving it voice was how I imagined it loosed.”

“’What’s that sound?’”

Closing his eyes, he buried into your hand for what you could feel was your scent. It turned up the volume of his ever-present churr.

“You’re getting better at talking around it.” You stepped a little closer and he accommodated.

“What choice do I have?” He gave a faint groan.

“Think this is like touch before?”

Languishing in your palm, he stubbornly fought to look at you.

“You’re holding back right. Could it be like when we first started touching? If you give into it maybe…?”

“That poses a dangerous precedent.”

“I’m not dismissing that I just-oh!” You pulled free of him only to grab his face. “Donnie, I’m so sorry!”

“W-why?” He stuttered around both his rumbling churr and his face being squished.

“I told you that you were being dramatic! You weren’t! I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t forget this relationship stuff is new to you and it's hard… You’re… You’re such a good partner.” You gave a teary chuckle. “I know, but because of that I sometimes forget.”

He forced his head through your hands so he could properly smile. “Thank you.”

You nodded.

Tucking his fingers into yours he languidly stroked your hold. “You were saying?”

“… That…?”

“Precedent.”

“You really can’t have both?”

“Both?”

“Being able to express yourself how you want without danger.”

“Both…”

“That’s two things.”

“Peace and freedom.” He specified.

“Yes.”

He gave what was almost a sigh and mulled it over. “A herculean effort with no true end. There is no fleeing the choices I’ve made.”

Your gaze dropped.

“They made me. For better or worse. No atonement.”

You gave a single nod.

“United, that falls onto you.”

Looking at him, you smoothed his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Marriage and what comes after. If our family increases. I will never be able to truly let my guard down.”

You stilled.

“Do you still choose me?”

Your lips parted with an instant confirmation, but his thumb pressed into the plump to silence you.

“Think. You’re overly familiar with the repercussions and I can assure you that you’ve only seen a small sampling. Worse may never come, but that doesn’t mean the possibility is nigh.”

His digit held.

“I know your immediate answer. I want you to consider it another way.”

You fluttered your lashes as a go ahead.

“I’m asking if you’ll accept this is what you’ll get of me. You have the whole of me, but you will never see it. You’ll come close and that is a finality.”

He released and you sat with parted lips as his words sank in.

With a little shimmy, he got out of your slack grasp and left you to think.

Hearing him clatter in the kitchen, you knew he was putting dinner away and you finally continued your trek into the bedroom. Sitting on your side of the bed, you looked out at the dresser, now rearranged. In its new old format, it felt a strange comparison to what you’d been told. An unplaced feeling, it was neither sad nor disappointing. A strange fact of life, it was almost something finally given definition that you’d been carrying all along. Settled with its now known knowledge, you felt there were too many running themes.

Donnie approached his side of the bed behind you and you turned.

“Will you stop churring?”

He gave it honest thought. “I will need to find a way to curtail it at every touch.” He rolled his eyes. “What special meaning does something constant have?”

“You're kidding?”

He watched you.

“It’s my second favorite sound!”

“Oh?” He got a knee up on the bed.

“I don’t want to name the first. Someone told me that if I asked about certain noises then there'll be an escape.”

“Sounds like something a moron would tout.” He crawled over to you.

“Can I hug you?”

“Now I know that dummy has clarified this.”

“Part of me will always ask if I remember. To be sure you know it’s always a choice.”

He churred sweetly before reaching you and wrapped you up in his arms.

“It sounds different.” You nuzzled into him and he took you to the sheets.

“I have theories forming.”

“I’m all ears.”

“You’re all nonsense.” He squeezed and you squeaked with a giggle. “You might not have realized, understandably, but today’s noises have been different than yesterdays.”

“When we were having sex?”

He nodded into your hair.

“Does it mean something else?”

“Do you remember what I told you about turtle language?”

“It’s not specific.”

“It’s emotions.”

“You described it as contentment.”

“Imagine it as a word with different meanings based on connotation.”

You wiggled free enough to see his face and brought a hand to his throat. “What's this one say?”

“Content with the sprinkling of desire.”

“Last night?”

He clicked his tongue. “More intangible. There was a certain distracting fog, but devotion and lust.”

You stroke his Adam’s apple. “Clicking is angry. Chirps probably have the most meanings. There’s those squeaky sounds that are usually surprise, but sometimes fear.”

“Very good.” He brushed his lips to your temple.

“Teach me?”

“Am I not?”

“To do it. I want to be able to respond.”

His gaze widened. “Y/N…”

“I've done it before… I… It was something like…” It had been quite a while and done in a stupor, but you summoned your throat as best you could and gave the greeting trill.

The response popped out of him and both of you stared at one another, stupefied.

He rolled you over to crush and you laughed beneath him.

Plied with kisses, you got through a nightly routine glued to one another before resuming the same snuggle where Donnie ran you through chirp after chirp trying to capture some nuance that you weren’t sure your human vocal cords alone were capable of. Growing drowsy, but still giving faint squeaks, he hushed you with a soothing churr that went straight to your eyelids. Lulling them and coaxing you to sleep, you were just about to let go of consciousness when you heard human speech.

“I love you.”

Whispered near silent, he unwound to sleep of his own.

Still adrift, it meant your heart rate couldn’t spike and, though your whole body rallied against it, sleep had you in its hold. Wanting to savor his proclamation even a second more, you waged a mental battle that only allowed you a single prize before granting you a merciful end.

A clarity.

A now known unknown.

He’d been doing this every night in secret for what had to be as long as he’d been churring.

Going into the new year still thankful for my best betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

#weakspotfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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illarian-rambling · 2 months

Text

Character Introduction: Mashal, lucky number six

For a moment, Mashal wondered if a brief spring rain had passed overhead, turning the leaf litter glistening and wet. It wasn’t until the light from his eyes hit the shimmering ground that he realized all the moisture was red.

Strewn about in a fiendish halo were the remains of the two bandits. A hand here, a face there—less than mincemeat, really. He could see a leg crushed in the exact approximation of his jointed grip. Mashal felt as if vomit should have been flooding his mouth, but his only reaction was the faint whir of gears. Guts dripped from the trees…. Iron in his mouth….

“Mashal!”

The robot whirled toward the sound of Astra’s voice, heady and rich even when strained by terror. There was a prickling pressure around his eyes, though he didn’t know why.

“I–” He paused, trying to wipe the dirt from where it clogged his vocal output, but the joints of his hands were caked in a slurry of bone and gristle, trapping them in closed fists. That cold was back now, trapping him in its suffocating embrace. “I’m over here!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mashal regretted them. He was dangerous! He could still feel that icy voice slavering away in the back of his mind. Kill her, run, hide, anything, do whatever it takes!

Yet, words could not be unsaid. Faint it might have been, but Astra picked up on his voice and soon the witch pushed her way into the glade-turned-abattoir. Her piebald face was shadowed with fear and speckled with a bloody constellation of its own. It was her eyes though, that made Mashal take a step back, that made his excuse for a heart crumple in like tin foil. Because reflected in them was a shining devil, bathed in gore. Riveted and rusting, like some mechanical horror that had torn its way out of a man’s skin.

The sensation crept back in—the ice, the pain. I shouldn’t be feeling pain. The acid-needle ache in his arms and legs, his everything. It wasn’t a malfunction. Nothing ever is, ever was. Mashal felt sick as he looked down at his trapped hand. Hands that couldn’t be his.

No, no, the sensation was worse, so much worse. It was a memory.

So, I'm going to do this introduction a little backwards. Mashal's backstory contains some pretty big spoilers for the whole of Mystery of the Mortal God. Feel free to keep reading if you don't mind things like that, but you've been warned. The backstory will be at the very end.

I'll start with his personality. Mashal has no memories beyond waking up in Astra's wagon, so many of his quirks and habits are a mystery to him. He's a kindly, honorable man, with a strong sense of what's right and wrong, and a desire to protect people. Yet, he's not brash in the slightest. He's soft-spoken and appreciates even the smallest beauties in life. Probably, this is connected to his stellar artistic abilities. He enjoys listening to stories, hoping to one day be able to tell stories of his own.

Darker things lurk in his mind as well. It frightens him, how paranoid he can sometimes be around magic and its practitioners. It can also be alarming how certain he is in his morality. Mashal makes decisions based on what he knows to be right, sometimes to the detriment of those around him, especially when he doesn't understand the whole situation.

As for what he looks like, Mashal is a human-shaped robot standing at a towering 6'10". His face has some basic mobility (he can move his eyebrows, eyelids, and the corners of his mouth) but nothing special. His plating is bronze with steel underneath, and his eyes glow white. He wears loose-fitting, highly concealing clothes and a bandana over his head. These are usually patched, because he tears clothes easily. He covers as much bronze as he can due to a strange sort of robotic body dysmorphia.

Fun facts now!:

He's great with animals, especially horses, though no horse could support his weight for riding.

Graphite is his preferred medium, and landscapes are his preferred subject for art.

Despite his anxiety around it, Mashal is actually getting pretty good at picking up runes and mechanics.

He speaks Skysheerian Elvish and has no idea why.

He hates the rain because he's scared of rust and frightened of the sea because he knows he'll sink to the bottom with no way to get back up.

He has a bit of a stutter when he's nervous and his voice tends to go a little static-filled.

He's very curious about Unitian-made robots who were raised around other robots.

His hypothetical favorite food is honey. He just likes the way it looks.

He once scratched the paint job on Astra's wagon, painted it back in the night, and never told her. This is the one time he's ever lied to her and he feels terrible about it.

He teaches Mercher's Day (a fat tortoiseshell cat) tricks when Astra is asleep.

Now's where we get into the meat of things. Spoilers will follow.

Sir Mashal Darezsho was born in the Sulu'Okan city of Bouerco as the second son of the noble Darezsho line. With his older brother taking care of the whole heir thing, young Sir Darezsho was allowed to do as he pleased. Most thought he would go the path of the scholar due to his modest sorcerous talent, however, the young man was enraptured by the sword from the moment he was allowed to hold one. When he was sixteen, he enrolled in officer training for the Sulu'Okan army, the fiercest fighting force within the Republic's grander military. When he was twenty, he was knighted by High Lady Zuli N'Jogu herself.

Sir Darezsho served his people by protecting the roads between Sulu'Oku and Skolan with both sword and sorcery. The borderlands is a crime-ridden area, so he had his work cut out for him between bandits and selkie raiders. Thanks to the efforts of him and his company of fellow knights though, the borderlands became a marginally safer place to travel through. He ensured that they all upheld the Sulu'Okan military code of honor to the utmost degree.

Things changed with Sir Darezsho when he accepted a small assignment in the border town of Bekridge. An alchemical distillery had been experiencing a string of thefts and wanted someone to investigate. Thinking the job would involve scaring off a petty thief at most, Sir Darezsho went to stake the place out alone. This mistake would cost him his life.

That night, a door appeared from thin air and a figure stepped out, a half-moon grin glowing from under a shadowed cowl. Sir Darezsho tried to fight, but he was no match for the powerful sorcerer. Vermir spirited him away into her demiplane. And there was where Sir Darezsho died.

Mashal wakes up some time after this. All he knows is his name and that he is lost. And that his metal body feels so terrible cold. He just wishes he knew why....

Hope you all enjoy my sweetheart robot! Lmk if you have any questions. Next up will be blueboy, Ivander Montane!

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks @bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast @goldxdarkness @the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #author

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