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puppetmaster13u · 6 months

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Prompt 74

When a new black-haired blue-eyed person appeared in the manor, one could easily be forgiven for thinking that Bruce’s adoption problem had struck again. So color many a batkid surprised that no, this kid isn’t a new sibling, no he didn’t get grabbed from the street, and actually he’s here for Alfred. Apparently Alfred never found it important to mentioned that he has a husband- that the kid kind of implies isn’t human what with the casual way he says he himself is half human- and that this kid is apparently their child. For once it’s Bruce’s turn to come home to a surprise sibling.

Danny on the other hand just learned that his Clockpa has a semi-mortal partner who has offered to take him in, (in another dimension even! And there’s aliens!!) while the ancient takes care of some stuff at home. And yeah it’s in a rich-manor but Sam has proved that not all rich people are evil, and based off of Mr Pennyworth’s stories the Waynes weren’t bad either. Though based off of the others’ reactions perhaps he should wait to mention that there wasn’t one new family member but three…

#dcxdp #dpxdc #prompts #clockworth #Clockwork is taking care of the GIW #they crossed the line when they took his kids #fuck the observants telling him not interfere- he's going to channel some Kronos and eat some people #hey if they want a mindless and dangerous ghost they can deal with the one behind tales of a world serpent #Alfred is honestly pleased to hear from his partner and to meet their children #Reminds him of when he first met Clockwork and they took down a government branch #lovely times #would do the date again #Danny is in awe about food that doesn't fight back and tastes good #Alfred is also great! He teaches him proper gun safety and makes sure he gets a proper amount of sleep and its great #honestly he can't wait for Ellie to get to this world but she really wanted to finish exploring the mariana trench first #And Jordan is apparently helping Clockpa with something for the last bit of his probation #Jazz is just happy for him but sad she couldn't come #but she has college that she worked really hard for so he gets it #the batfam are so confused and concerned

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rogueddie · 1 year

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El, who learnt through Hopper that if you do something bad then something you like gets taken away, kidnapping Steve whenever someone in the party does or says anything that upsets her

#stranger things #steve harrington #eleven hopper #will is the only one she can't do that with bc they live together #and the only place el can keep steve at is their house #and she essentially keeps him trapped by telling joyce that he hasn't been sleeping or eating enough #which makes joyce go mother hen and she very gently coerces steve into staying there for a weekend or something #steve secretly loves the fuss so he never really complains #they're like little vacations

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astrolavas · 8 months

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my art style is too simple for this but just know that when i draw post-ttt hunter, in my mind he has central pink-brown heterochromia. like this, kinda:

#just..... so neat to me #i love the brown but sometimes i miss the pink + it being a visible grimwalker feature so THIS is how i cope #also To Me his eyes also absolutely reflect pink in the dark still #the owl house #hunter toh #toh hunter #my art #?#my sketches #my doodles #hunter #my toh talk #headcanon #nicole talks #there's also the quite popular complete heterochromia headcanons where his right eye is brown and left magenta #but i can't FULLY commit to those cuz ig the logistics of it depends on what fully happened and WHY hunter's eye color changed. magic-wise #and we don't knowwww! and i'm not sure what to go with and it's gonna bother me if my headcanon is not Air-Tight XNSKSJK #and even if it's “he gets flapjack's eyes thus only the right one” it also won't let me sleep at night cuz #there's the fact that we've SEEN flapjack's left eye open! which might've been an animation error but AUYGHGHHH.....#also . 2 different eye colors make color palettes harder LMAO i make them slightly different when i draw him with brown eyes vs pink. so!#but central heterochromia....... oh my mind is SET on this. like it's canon To Me

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ryllen · 5 months

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I wanted to reblog that one text post that said imagine waking up to sebek and his hair is down and he is looking so handsome just like his newest appearance on book 7

and i just bumped to this video and was like "Ffshds what if he SURPrisINGLY wa kes up EXA CT LY like thi s fsjdsd? ? "

#SKRUNCKLES CAT #twisted wonderland #twst #sebek zigvolt #twst yuu #twst mc #fanart #best hairstyling is done by ur pillow when u sleep with semi dry hair #one time i woke up with totally anime hair look #forehead stroke is actually pretty calming yea #the one that goes straight up to ur head especially if the hand that's stroking is big #my parents used to do it sometimes #he would definitely loves some forehead stroke #once he let u do it #that cat face and standing fur is so hi m i can't #also ay that text post is gone #i think i read another post of tags being broken #so maybe it was planned to be repost some time later actually

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gauloiseblue · 1 month

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[TW: rape, non-con, dark]

There's something about stray dog's behavior that speaks König to me.

He'd been kicked around, ridiculed, and left on the cold pavement alone. He had no real house, and had to beg even for a scrap of food. Those were the factors that forced him to grow teeth way earlier—and sharper—than he's supposed to.

He'd held the bitterness in his heart, causing him to despise the weak, the poor who couldn't stand up for themselves. The perfect replica of his past self.

He hated seeing them, he'd even go as far as 'taking care' of them. Letting them know that no one would help them, no one would come to the rescue. Just like what people did to him back then.

He recognizes his contribution to the vicious circle, yet he finds himself helpless as he's unable to break free from it.

Perhaps that's when God decided to punish him for it.

There's a mission that required him to work together with the other team, and met with the reprisal for his bad deed, in the form of a medic.

He didn't spare a glance at her, didn't acknowledge her existence, until she defended her patients in front of him.

One of the missions went wrong, causing the soldiers to be injured by gunshots and a grenade. It was theirs to blame, because they didn't pay attention enough, but she shouted at him, telling him if he'd given them a deserved break, it would've been avoided.

He, of course, was angry at her.

He told her she didn't know anything, that she's hindering the mission. But she didn't flinch, even when he growled at her.

It frustrated him, because even his glare would send his soldiers running. Yet it didn't work on her. The people who's not afraid of him are usually those in power, but she isn't one of them. She's just a mere medic.

He tried to kick her out of the team, but the higher ups told him that there's no one available for her replacement. He also tried to make her quit, but what he did came back around to him, as he received a penalty.

It stresses him out, to the point that he'd overwork himself to distract him from his thoughts.

One day, a bullet passes through his heart and lungs, causing him to collapse on the spot.

In daze, when his consciousness slips in and out, he thinks how he could've easily avoided it. But his body wasn't listening to him, delaying his feet to move back.

In what feels like months, he opens his eyes for the first time after the incident.

What he sees, is a pale light on the ceiling, and a blurry figure by the bed.

And there she stands, just like the angel of mercy.

She doesn't say much, except for telling him to rest, and that he's lucky he survived.

She tells him the same thing for days, before he can muster two words out of his mouth.

Shut up.

And strangely, she smiles.

"Seems like you've recovered well." She responded, "Welcome back."

She continues to nurse him, despite his snarky remarks that she easily deflects. She takes care of him with patience that should've withered away from the moment she joined the army.

It shouldn't have bloomed in front of him.

For the first time in his life, he feels the weight of his guilt on his chest. He could've been kinder, could've been softer, and he would've broken the cycle just like she did. But he chose to nurture his anger—just like his father, and his father's father.

Then again, she could've gotten it easy from the start. Though in his heart, he knew it's just an excuse for his behavior.

The day he's permitted to work again, he left without saying thank you.

At night, he wonders if she'd come to hate him as well. No one would blame her if she does, but deep in his heart, he hopes she doesn't.

Since that day, he has followed her like a lost dog. But he would turn his head away whenever she looked at him.

Sometimes he scoffs at himself for thinking about injuring himself, just so he could receive her care. Yet he couldn't help but panting at her feet, lapping up every little conversation they made. He wants to surrender himself to her, letting her put a collar around him and call him hers.

And it's all because she showed just a little kindness to him.

On lonely missions, or lonely nights, he often imagines what they could be. Living in the suburbs, white fences, and kids. The picture perfect of the marriage.

Until it all shatters on the ground.

It's not his intention to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help but lean in when he hears her voice. She sounds happier, as she shows her friend the ring on her finger.

So he bares his teeth,

And bites.

(One time, her uncle had to put down their dog

Because he bit his children for no reason—

Other than jealousy

He heard the dog whined

on the cold table,

alone, and scared

As the vet slowly pushed the poison

Into his bloodstream

And God, how cruel is it

To put a heart inside of a beast

When all his life

He only knew

How to bite?)

He pants as he presses himself into her, causing her to whimper, as her voice is long gone from screaming and crying.

She must've had no idea of what's coming to her when he called her to his office. The scratches and bruises on his body were enough proof of her gullibility, that she came to him, unassumingly, and trusting.

He had her bent over his desk, smothering her easily with his body as he forced himself into her. She was a fighter, but not strong enough to defeat him.

He had lost his inhibitions, as his back arched for the eighth time, spilling his seeds into her.

And she's lost as well, as her eyes were unfocused, and all her energy had been zapped from her body.

"Leave him." He said, as he drove himself into her once again.

She lets out a high-pitched moan when his cock stretches her open again, filling the room with sticky sounds.

"Leave him and love me instead." He said for the second time, and she cried in pain when he buried himself too deep.

"Love me," He sobbed as he pulled the ring out of her finger, knowing fully well he couldn't replace it without twisting her arm. "Please love me."

Her tears flood her cheeks as she watches him discard the ring from her, before latching his mouth onto her shoulder. Marking her with another bite, drawing yet another blood with his teeth.

He knew she had closed her heart the moment he slammed her on the table. He knew she wouldn't come to love him. But if he's not loved by her, then no one should.

#i wrote this instead of sleeping #i don't know why i wrote this #tw noncon #konig x reader #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #stray dog behavior as a metaphor of monstrous love #könig x reader #könig cod #i feel like konig is so angst coded that I can't think of happy fics whenever I think of him #or yandere coded #whatever #you get the point

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fennethianell · 11 months

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😘💫

#starmora #gotg #guardians of the galaxy #peter quill #gamora #star-lord #mine #sketchy #art #like I couldn't sleep so I drew them bc I just can't stop thinking about them #my beloved #the amount of love I feel toward them #I just scream at myself about them lololol

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andthebeanstalk · 2 years

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Fat butches are the closest thing we have to proof of a loving God

#original #fat pride #fat positivity #i see a big bitch with a boy's haircut and i go a little feral #can't wait til i get to be a big fat old dyke #I'm already a big fat dyke but someday i will have wrinkles and grey hair and tattoos #i can't get piercings bc of the dog but i love those too #(got a cartilage piercing and had to take it out cuz i couldn't sleep on 1 side and my pitbull accidentally headbutt it. so tattoos it is!)

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journey-to-the-attic · 6 months

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happy fnaf movie (uk) release day!

#art #obey me #it's 5am and i can't sleep but i managed to finish this in time so who's the real winner here #fnaf #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #jtta ik #fnaf saga #can you tell that i've developed a love for those big cartoony shock eyes since i first used them in the rpg comic #i feel like i've been drawing lucifer too much recently so i did contemplate using a different brother #but the scenario wasn't as funny with anyone else #in hindsight barbatos could've been funny but i'm not redrawing all that to put him in #i keep wanting to draw some cute dadcifer stuff but i feel like i ought to balance him out with some other characters first #luckily i have a Massive reserve of shitposts to apply them to #also i KEEP meaning to do more of those cat picture redraws but i keep not getting around to it

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murderofcrow · 11 days

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Look at him goooo!!!

#i can't even begin to describe how much i love his lil dances #sleep token #sleep token worship #sleep token vessel #vessel #vessel i #tw flashing

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misdior · 2 years

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✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ . ✦

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gummi-ships · 3 months

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Kingdom Hearts 0.2 Birth by Sleep - A Fragmentary Passage - Forest of Thorns

#kingdom hearts 0.2 birth by sleep a fragmentary passage #kh0.2 #forest of thorns #enchanted dominion #realm of darkness #scenery #my gif #it's cool to see this world become more gnarled and dismal as you progress #vines constantly shoot out of the ground to block your path as if this forest is alive in some way #and the further you go the more darksides you encounter #you'll have to fight the ones standing in your way but there are so many more that are just lurking on the sidelines #they wont attack you even if you get close. instead they'll just stand by and watch you delve deeper into the forest #you can see their heads turn to follow your movement as you walk past them it's kind of spooky #can't help but wonder why so many are grouping up here it's really unusual #for the most part they seem peaceful but there are a few that lunge at you unexpectedly #very cool world i love wandering around here

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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Clone^2 Damian

If you really think about, Damian's situation in the clone^2 au is... kinda tragic? Especially in the early months of his arrival. Like,,, think about it. Damian has always known he was a clone of Damian Wayne, that he was a copy of the blood son. There was nothing 'original' about him, not even his name (of which at least Danny has that). He was just... a replacement. A disposable one, to boot.

And he knew that, to an extent, by the time he was six years old. he might not have been actively acknowledging it -- he's six years old -- but deep down he knew. And like, he's six years old. Every small child craves the love and affection of an adult, especially their parents, and even though he knew he was clone, I imagine he still considered - and still does consider, somewhat - Talia and Bruce as his mother and father. And I really doubt he was... getting it?

Now, I know Talia loves Damian, her son. At least in some interpretations she does, and in this au she does. But... a clone of her son? I'm not so certain if she would have the same affection for baby Dames as she would for Damian. I don't think she would treat him badly, but I don't think Talia would treat him warmly either. Kinda just, distant. Colder than she would have been with OG Damian.

And, I know I've mentioned Damian's arrival from Danny's point of view, and its kind of comical kind of insane from his perspective -- a little boy clone of Damian Wayne falls through a portal and immediately attacks him. That sounds like a bad joke.

But, if you think of this from Damian's point of view? It's like he just got dropped into a scary movie. Like, think about it. You're six years old, and suddenly a portal, as green and as swirling as your grandfather's pools, opens up beneath your feet and sucks you through.

After an intense bout of vertigo, you end up in a massive, urban city -- completely different from the rural mountain palace that you lived in for the last six years of your life, and in this city, you don't know any of the language. You don't know what anyone is saying, you can't read any of the signs - you are completely stranded, away from home.

And then, to make things worse, you're facing a figure with a terrifying mask and eyes as burning green as the portal you fell through. Of course Damian's first instinct, six years old, is to attack. He's terrified.

And this figure, he's not a good fighter, but he's fast, and he dodges you quickly. He grabs your sword with his hands, and tries to restrain you, saying something in a language you don't know. Naturally, Damian is just scared. He's six! He'd just be learning how to read if he was normal child going to school.

This figure halfway through the fight yanks off his mask -- he realizes you're scared -- and looking at you now, is a youthful version of your father. This is a clone of your dad, someone you have never met but, six years old, still wants to. Damian gets defensive. This is an imposter.

But this imposter eventually gets you home with him - and he's using his little box, his phone, to communicate with you through a mechanical voice speaking in arabic. and it's frustrating. The boy, the imposter, can say whatever to you just fine, but trying to talk back is a hassle and a half. He's six, he doesn't have that much patience.

He wants to go home.

And so he keeps trying to run away. He keeps trying to find out of this hellish concrete jungle, and he keeps getting lost. It's loud, and busy, and there are people talking to you and you don't understand them, and there are rules and signs you don't understand - Damian tries to cross the street and nearly gets hit by a car. He doesn't know how the road signs work, he was never taught. They didn't get to that.

And he gets lost. And it gets dark, and Damian is brave, but he is six, and this is the worst stress he's been under in all his six years of life. He wants, desperately more than anything, to go home. Why wouldn't he? The only stable... semi-stable environment he was in just got ripped out from under his feet, literally! He wants his mother.

And it's not happening.

But there's something good to be said, at least. The imposter that looks like his father always comes and finds him, no matter what. He could have left that morning, and he will find Damian at midnight, frazzled and worried, and carrying an extra jacket with him because it is cold in Amity Park and Damian is six years old.

And sometimes Damian attacks him - he's scared and stressed and he doesn't want to be here. And every time he catches the sword. Even though Damian can see it cut into his hand and pearls of blood well up and stains his fingers. Even though Damian can see him wince in pain and bite his lip, he still catches it.

But with that little box, he coaxes Damian to come back with him. It's cold, it's dark, Amity Park is unsafe at night. They can figure something out tomorrow, please. And every time, he agrees, reluctantly. And the imposter takes the extra jacket he brought with -- a flannel, a hoodie, a jacket -- and he wraps it around him. It's warm, Damian's clothes are not that thick, and even though he thinks he might hate this imposter, he still sticks close to his legs as he leads him down the street.

And sometimes the imposter carries him, because Damian's shoes are not that thick, and he cuts his foot on broken glass while they're walking home. The imposter sits in the bathroom with him and carefully cleans the cut out, and makes sure it doesn't get infected.

There's hope you know, he still has it. His mother will be looking for him. She'll be worried. He's important to them. Damian may not be the original, but he is still a blood son. He is still her son. She will come find him. This nightmare will end soon. He can go home.

And then weeks pass, and nothing. Then months, and nothing. His family is not coming for him, and it hurts. Hurts more than anything. And yet while that happens, the boy he's attacked, and hurt, teaches himself arabic in order to speak to him. He takes Damian out of the house one afternoon and buys him new clothes, or tries to. And then he keeps buying him new clothes. He gives him blankets and gives up his bed to him until they can get him one himself, and steadily he teaches Damian english.

This boy is kind. Kinder than Damian's ever experienced, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He's devastated by the fact that he is not as important to his family as his family is to him. What do you do when you're six years old and you learn something like that? When a random stranger who looks like your father is kinder to you, and cares more about you than your family did?

And then Damian tells him he's a clone. He's Damian Wayne's clone, and he tells him his purpose - that their grandfather made him to kill him. And the boy, the imposter, Damian thinks he probably already knows that he's a clone. But he doesn't say that. He just nods, and asks him if he wants to tell his original about him.

Damian says no. He doesn't want to. He's tired of living in the shadow of his original. He wants to keep this to himself. This is his. For once, all of this is his.

And to his surprise, the imposter doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He just nods, and says okay. And when Damian asks why, the imposter - his brother - looks at him and says.

"I don't care about Damian Wayne. I care about you." And in Damian's gobsmacked silence, his brother continues. He tells him that if Damian doesn't want to tell his original that he exists, then they don't need to. They don't need to worry about the LoA going after him, because clearly if his 'grandfather' needs to make a clone of Damian in order to take him out, then whatever it was that Damian Wayne was doing to keep himself safe, was working.

"Wayne already has people in his corner, he's got Gotham's army of vigilantes to keep himself safe." his brother says with his eyes as blue as moonlight. "You, however. Do not." And he continues, and says that if Damian Wayne has the same training as Damian does, then he will be fine. He doesn't need to be aware of his clone. Because if DW doesn't know about Damian, then the LoA doesn't either.

And here's the thing. Damian would not have survived in the LoA for long. Not as a clone. No matter what, he was going to die no matter what he did, and sooner rather than later. The sword of Damocles was always hanging above his head in the League of Assassins.

That portal, and meeting Danny, saved his life. There's no way around it. And to an extent Damian knows this even at six years old. He may not be aware that he would've died, but he knows that meeting Danny was the best thing to happen to him.

It's no wonder after that, that Damian is as clingy to Danny as he is. Danny is the first person he's met to offer him unconditional love, with no strings attached, only pure affection.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #clone^2 #like god can you imagine how scared he must've been? how afraid? he just wants his mom - only to realize he doesnt even matter to her #dpxdc au #danny fenton is not the ghost king #this poor kid man. no wonder he latched onto danny the moment he gave up on the league like a leech. he's a six year old kid man and #it doesnt matter how smart he is or how mature he acts. he still is six years old. he still needs that validation and affection from adults #or from people older than him. and his emotional needs were just not being met in the league.#cue the song “two” from sleeping at last - some of their songs are very clone^2 honestly.#'sweetheart you look a little tired. when did you last eat? come in and make yourself right at home. stay as long as you need.'#'tell me is something wrong? if something's wrong you can count on me'#'its okay if you can't find the words. let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders'#'like a force to be reckoned with. am i the ocean or a gentle kiss. i will love you with every single thing i have'#'like a tidal wave i'll make a mess. or calm waters if that serves you best'#'i will love you without any strings attached'#like just. just *imagine* being in damian's shoes during all of this. he's *six* you guys. i've worked with six year olds and they're #pretty independent but they're still six. they get excited when they see their parents and they get upset when an adult is angry with them.#they're still developing their motor skills. they're still developing everything else!

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desceros · 23 days

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tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that.

It’s late. You can’t sleep.

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded.

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now.

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened.

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t.

“…Please?” you try again.

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.”

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.”

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room.

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night.

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin.

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more.

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face.

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh.

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep?

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear.

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily.

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.”

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

#me slurring with a voice thick with sleep: two best friends that are in love but too close to tell and so they dance like leaves in the wind #forever brushing close. darting about like little butterflies. gossamer wings catching the light and enchanting one another w each breath #but too close. too close. you can't see the scope of a painting when it's the single strokes that catch your eye.#.....................it's almost four in the morning. im sure there are errors but i shan't be fixing them now. have it as it comes #tmnt #rise #donatello/reader #my fic #rating: t

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